Page 19 of Faking It with the Off-Limits Doctor

Placing the mixture in a plastic bag, I snip the corner off, and then need a hand that’s steady as a rock to squeeze it back into the tiny eggs, filling them to the top. Finally, I add approximately an ounce of caviar, garnished with a snip of chives.

“Service,” I call out, pushing the plates across the counter.

Craig and Jack grab the plates, expertly taking four each, and leave the kitchen. But I don’t have time to relax. I have to start on the entrée, and half lobster thermidor is not a five-minute job.

Diced shallots sizzle in the pan, basking in the melted butter. I add sprigs of tarragon, which will give it a wonderful aniseed flavor, letting it simmer for just a minute before I add the fish sauce. Then I blast the heat and let it bubble away.

I grab another pan and start the bechamel sauce, the staple of all sauces. With the butter melted, I add the flour, letting it soak into the butter. Then the milk goes in, a little at a time.

Straining in the contents of the other pan, I let the sauce thin down, stirring it until it’s smooth. It smells delicious. I then put the sauce in a bowl to cool. A minute later, I add egg yolk, mustard, grate some nutmeg, and dash in some salt and pepper.

The door opens, and plates are already coming back.

Don’t panic, Dara. Do not panic.

Thankfully, I’ve already prepared the lobster, and warming it in the pan, I ready the cognac. A quick flash of a flame jumps up as I light the brandy, and a minute later, the alcohol is completely burned off. Only then do I add the half lobster to the sauce.

With the finishing touches added, I plate it all up in the lobster shells and call out again, “Service.”

Craig and Jack repeat the process, leaving me to check on the lamb shank that’s been braising. I’m doing that in a red wine sauce with roasted garlic, roasted baby carrots, baby pearl onions, fondant potatoes, and a parsnip puree.

Alex’s kitchen is nowhere near as hot as the diner, but I can still feel the sweat breaking on my brow. Downing a glass of water, I carry on, and twenty-five minutes later, the main course is being carried out to the guests.

I’m making a layered coconut panna cotta with passion fruit on a pate sable cookie base, so I’ve got no time to waste. Not only because of the design and mold I’m using, but also because I need time to freeze the layers so they won’t melt into each other.

I already have my gelatin sheets soaking in cold water when I start to heat the coconut milk and sugar. Once the sugar dissolves, I squeeze the excess water out of the gelatin sheet and drop it into the pan. It dissolves pretty quickly, and I give it a good stir. The passion fruit compote is made in a similar way, and soon, they’re both ready.

Grabbing my doughnut mold, I start the process, filling each layer, and then adding them to the freezer until they’re set. In the meantime, I prepare the cookie bases I baked earlier. Layering them with white chocolate, I sprinkle desiccated coconut over them and leave it to set. Now for the tricky part. Getting the panna cotta and passion fruit out of the mold.

I silently pray that they’ll come out smoothly. Holding my breath, I ease each one out of the mold, finally gasping for air before I pass out. That wouldn’t be great.

The empty plates from the main course are starting to come back now, and after Craig and Jack leave them on the counter, they watch me intently as I release the last two desserts. The tension in the room is palpable, and I can physically hear them breathe out when the last one releases. It seems someone upstairs was listening.

“Well, thank the Lord in heaven for that,” I breathe.

When I look up at Jack and Craig, they’re grinning from ear to ear.

“They look pretty amazing, Dara,” Jack says. “Well done.”

“Thanks. All right. For the last time this evening, service,” I say.

The men take extra care with this dish, for which I am eternally grateful, and even I can hear the exclamations of delight from the guests as the desserts are served.

It gives me a great sense of pride. I also realize, now that I can relax, how much fun I’ve had over the last four hours.

It’s been hard work, but I’ve loved it.

And I’m not done yet. There’s a mountain of dishes behind me, and it’s going to take an age to get through them.

A little while later, while my arms are elbow deep in soap suds, the dessert plates come back, every one of them scraped clean.

Good.

I’m about to ask the greatest servers in the world whether anyone wants coffee, when Alex strides into the room. His eyes widen when he sees me washing up.

“What are you doing? There’s a perfectly good dishwasher there.”

I shrug. “Honestly, this is quicker. Besides, I kind of like leaving a clean kitchen.”

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