The salt skittered across the kitchen counter and mingled with the rosemary and pepper that were already lying there – spoils of cooking. The chicken looked pale next to the black roasting tin, but soon would be coloured by the oil and spices that were being prepared in a small mortar. The pestle is rammed in and the herbs give up their essential oils. The mess around the preparation area builds as more boards are used and things are chopped.
Jenny stops adding to it for a second and decides to clear down her station. Even though this is her own kitchen in her own house she still thinks of it as a station in a fancy restaurant that she wishes she ran. Michael is watching the football in the living room and the sound is way up. He won’t be able to hear her. She walks over to the kitchen door and closes it a bit more.
She takes a swig of her Sauvignon Blanc and starts to commentate, just audibly. “It is always important to keep your station clear. Although don’t worry too much if you make a mess as you’re going along. After all this is supposed to be fun. But do try and not to let it get too far away from you.” She finished wiping down the counter with a paper towel and threw it in the bin.
“Now what you need to do is make sure your hands are good and clean because we’re going to rub the suffusion we’ve made onto the chicken skin.”
Just as she’s saying this the door opens, Michael walks in and starts rummaging around in the fridge for another beer. “Who were you talking to”? He wants to know.
“Nobody,” says Jenny.