Freedom Fries and Cafe Creme (7 page)

Rita had actually had a bit of a crush on Adam when she'd first met him. Too bad he wasn't attracted to women any longer.

Rita was convinced that her son could learn so much from Adam. She still blessed the day she'd found the ad Adam had placed on the bulletin board at a fancy supermarket in the neighbourhood, seeking a flatmate. And she loved it that her son was becoming a little more sophisticated. Rita was aware she hadn't been able to give Paul the best education, being a single working mother with two children. Since getting to know Adam, she tended to speak quite highly of gay men. In addition to being cultured and good-looking, she maintained, they usually had money. And why was that? Because they didn't have to spend all their income on little brats, needing to satisfy their budding consumerist appetites! At times Paul even wondered if Rita would have preferred him, her own son, to be gay.

It was true that Rita had always dated men who were a little effeminate. She hated the macho male chauvinist type
and thought hairy chests and big muscles were repulsive.

Paul was still talking about Lily-Fromage's upsetting email.

‘… And she assured me that if she hadn't met this new guy, she would have stayed with me.'

Since the first meal Adam had cooked for Paul's seduction of Lily-Fromage – needless to say, every dish was made with cheese, from appetiser to dessert, with the obligatory chilled bottle of root beer instead of wine for her – he'd regularly used cottage cheese, just to please Paul who, oddly, had taken to it as well. That was why Adam had decided to cook this evening's pasta with cottage cheese and smoked salmon.

‘The guy even has a farm and makes his own cottage cheese. She said it's the best she's ever tasted in her entire life! She seems completely smitten by him. And she also says that he's a kind of spiritual guide for her. She had the nerve to accuse me of never really being into cheese; that I was only pretending to like it to please her.'

How could Paul ever triumph over Mr Cheese Guru, who makes his own cottage cheese? Adam wondered, trying to suppress a grin.

The situation was ridiculous and rather comical, Adam thought. He had never been quite sure why Paul had fallen for that cheese-obsessed idiot in the first place.
Ah, l'amour
and its opaque mysteries.

‘And listen to this: the two of them have decided that they're going to work on a cookbook of cottage cheese recipes.'

‘She won't get mine,' Adam said light-heartedly.

Not that he really cared if someone stole his recipes; on the contrary, he would have taken it as a compliment. But Lily-Fromage? He didn't think she should have any recipes from his kitchen after what she'd done to Paul.

‘Funny you should say that because she asked me in her email if I could help her a little.'

‘She's got some nerve, hasn't she?' Adam mumbled. ‘Tell her that if she wants your recipes, they're actually mine.'

‘Oh,
I
know they're yours.'

‘She'll have to reconstruct them from memory.'

‘Her memory is not her strongest feature …'

What was her best feature, actually? She didn't even speak English properly, Adam thought.

It suddenly dawned on him that he and Paul should get out of the house tonight, and he woke Pastis from the digestive nap he was taking on his lap.

‘Let's go out! How about a big, juicy steak and crispy French fries?'

‘Yeah, great idea! And no cheese for a while …'

They left the house, braving the cold and looking forward to the delicious meal they'd soon be eating. All the talk of food had made them hungrier than they realised.

Meanwhile, Pastis was back on the cosy red sofa in the little alcove, dozing off and quite content not to be human, since it seemed to be so complicated.

Six weeks went by. Spring was definitely in the air. It was another night like any other at Adam and Paul's. Paul was just coming in from work. Adam was preparing something delicious in the kitchen while listening to the latest Paris
Combo CD, which he'd bought when he and Paul had gone to see the band playing at the Somerville Theater a few weeks before. He was humming the tune, though he knew the lyrics by heart. Pastis, who also appeared to be enjoying the music, watched him, perched on one of the black bistro chairs.

‘Mmm. That smells yummy!'

Adam knew then that Paul was in a good mood. When he commented on the food or asked about the evening's menu right after walking through the door, it was a sure sign that he was happy.

Good, Adam thought. It's been a while!

And even better tonight! After a quick shower, Paul came back to the kitchen, walking lightly and whistling along to Paris Combo tunefully instead of going into the media room and switching on the TV. Even Pastis seemed to share his master's sunny mood. Paul uncorked the bottle of red wine he'd just bought at the corner store, to give it a few minutes to breathe and come to room temperature.

‘Jeez, a Madiran 1989!' Adam exclaimed. ‘You must have some special news.'

‘Yes, I have, but it's also because you said you were going to make an
entrecôte au bleu
for dinner.'

Adam hadn't cooked with cheese for weeks, not since Paul had suffered his email dumping by Lily-Fromage, because he'd been afraid it would be too upsetting for Paul. But he'd decided to do so tonight because Rita had given him a beautiful wedge of Roquefort. She'd wanted to know if Paul was getting over his breakup; could her son ever eat cheese again?

Adam was pleased because he'd been starting to miss having cheese for dinner.

‘Like a glass of pastis first?'

‘Yep!'

Like his friend, Paul loved the aromatic drink from the South of France.

He sat down and watched Adam as he made dinner. In turn, Adam noticed Paul was smiling cheerfully as he sipped his aperitif, ate cured black olives and petted Pastis, who now purred contentedly on his knees.

‘Today I met this incredible woman …'

Adam smiled and rolled his eyes, waiting for the details.

‘Actually, she started working at my company two weeks ago. We were never officially introduced, but she had caught my attention, and today I went over and said hello.'

If Paul had met her at the office, maybe there was a decent chance that they had something in common. He worked for a firm that dealt in international luxury products. The employees seemed to be chosen first and foremost for the way they presented themselves. So, since Paul listened closely to Adam's advice, he usually looked suitably stylish when he went off to work every day. This was the first time that he'd met someone there he liked, however. Until now he'd been intimidated by most of his female colleagues. What a change after the sloppy
root-beer-drinking
Lily-Fromage.

Paul described the new woman.

‘… And guess what!' he continued. ‘Who is the lucky guy who gets to work on a project with her?'

They raised their glasses.

‘We went to lunch together to discuss the project. Instead of talking about that, though, we spent two hours chatting about all kinds of things.'

‘You took her to Le Petit Champlain, I suppose?'

Adam thought that Paul was fortunate because every time he had an important business lunch, he got to go to Le Petit Champlain.

It was an excellent authentic Quebecois restaurant. The chef was passionate about his style of cooking, and even emerged to talk to customers about what he was preparing before they ordered. The rest of the time he was in the kitchen making sure everything ran smoothly so that his customers would be happy. Once in a while he returned after dessert to thank them and ask how they'd enjoyed their meals. He was not like so many so-called chefs: interested only in making money or becoming stars, too busy with business to spend much time in the kitchen, opening restaurants all over the place, where they never showed up, or playing the part of celebrity chef on TV, cooking to techno music with their top-of-the-range equipment.

‘While we were having dessert we started talking seriously about fine food and wine.'

‘That's a good start!'

‘Her name is Audrey-Nicole.'

‘Part French?'

‘She may have some French family, you're right, with the Nicole part. I'll ask her.'

‘Be careful, it might be a mistake to date another woman with French blood. Remember Justine's bad temper! I liked her a lot, though.'

They both remembered when Paul had dated Justine, a French au pair, who had been stressed out most of the time, in addition to being moody. She would laugh loudly and sincerely, then a minute later be in such a rage that it was frightening to witness, or she would cry as if all the evil of the world had fallen on to her shoulders. And she smoked like a chimney! But she was a very good cook. Adam didn't have to do a thing. And he'd learnt a lot from her. Paul had broken up with her when he'd realised that Justine was spending more time having fun in the kitchen with Adam than she was with him.

‘Well, Audrey-Nicole seems to be a real gourmet. But, she doesn't like to cook because she thinks men are better at it than women.'

So, she's not a real gourmet. Real gourmets enjoy preparing food as well as eating it, Adam thought. And here we go again. Another twenty-first-century feminist, convinced that men should replace women in the kitchen. Men and women should enjoy the pleasures of the kitchen together, side by side!

In a way, though, Adam couldn't blame today's women for having no desire to cook since, over the centuries, so many had been treated as slaves in the kitchen, having to feed entire families with hardly any thanks or recognition. Where was the enjoyment when you had to prepare meals, day in day out, for a husband and children, and sometimes even for siblings or elderly parents, who often didn't care at all what they were eating and simply wolfed down their food like animals?

Well, Adam decided, contemplating the tender steak on his fork, the ideal mother-housekeeper from the 1950s,
with a spotless apron around her waist, has disappeared. Now nobody wants to cook. That's sexual equality, for better or for worse. It explains why our society eats so poorly: no one wants to be in the kitchen.

Pastis was happy stretched across Paul's lap; the two friends exchanged smiles as they listened to his purring.

‘I suppose I'll have to cook a gourmet dinner soon,' Adam said, with an amused look. ‘I'll enjoy it a lot more than making something with cottage cheese or, even worse, soybeans.'

They both laughed at the memory of Melissa, who was a fanatical vegan, always asking and worrying about every ingredient in every dish when she wasn't eating at home. Paul had quickly tired of her.

Being in the mood – the
entrecôte au bleu
and the Madiran helping things along – the two friends went through the list of Paul's other ex-girlfriends that Adam had had to cook for. Apart from Justine, Paul had never dated a woman long enough for her to discover that he hadn't been the one doing the cooking.

Feeling that another trip to Quebec was on the cards, Adam announced with a wry smile, ‘By the way, I just read this week in the food pages of the
New York Times
that a new Breton-Normand restaurant has opened in Rue Saint-Jean.'

‘It's good to know,' Paul replied. ‘Don't worry, our deal hasn't changed. You'll have your weekend in Quebec and, of course, I'll be there to share it.'

‘Glad to hear it!'

They shook hands, laughing.

Every time Paul revealed that he'd just met the woman of his dreams, Adam was amused because he enjoyed the challenge of creating a new menu.

First of all he needed to know a little more about this Audrey-Nicole. What should he cook for the first dinner date? Was Audrey-Nicole allergic to any foods or spices? Did she have a favourite dish? How many courses should he prepare? What kind of aperitifs and wine did she like? Where and how should the table be set? Would they eat in the kitchen or in the more formal dining room …?

Paul, of course, couldn't answer most of these questions yet, but he promised that he would find out soon.

‘Won't you have to look smart all the time with this Audrey-Nicole? Isn't she a little too polished for you? I dread to think what you'd be wearing to work if I wasn't here to raise your standards,' Adam laughed.

‘I don't know really. I've only seen her in the office up to now. But I'm prepared to make even more of an effort for her, if necessary.'

Paul seemed to have met a real gem from the way he was talking about Audrey-Nicole. But then he always did his best to please the women he dated – even pretending to enjoy dishes made mostly of tofu or cheese, for example. He was like a chameleon trying to adapt to every new situation.

‘And the best thing of all is that Rita will be happy,' said Paul. ‘Because in addition to being beautiful and stylish, Audrey-Nicole doesn't want to have any kids.'

‘You've talked about kids already?'

‘Well, it's just that there was a couple with a child having a tantrum at the next table. It became so bad that
they got up and left the restaurant. On the way out the woman stopped at our table and asked whether we had children. We said no, we didn't. She then said that if we ever decided to have any we should think twice about it! That's when Audrey-Nicole told me that being a mother wasn't in her plans.'

‘Yes, kids who take the best years of your life, as your mother would say.'

They both laughed again.

So this Audrey-Nicole doesn't cook and doesn't want kids, Adam thought. Well, I'm starting to picture her: ultra career-oriented, very high maintenance, eating in very expensive restaurants. Fussy, fussy! Certainly the opposite of a cheap date, that's for sure. But I'd better keep all that to myself; she may turn out to be just the woman Paul has been looking for, after all.