Page 36 of Mistaken Impression

“Something like that.”

“Can we manage without, just for today?” he says.

“I guess we’re gonna have to. You’ll have to pretend I’ve added some salt to this, and just so you know, you do that to help with mashing it.” I chop the garlic roughly, then place the blade of my knife over it and flatten it against the chopping board, scraping it back and forth. “It would work better with the salt, but you get the concept?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, once that’s done, we can put it into a bowl.”

“Shall I find one?”

“If you can.”

“How big does it need to be?”

I hold out my hands, making a circle with my fingers to show him. “Just a small one.”

He nods his head and starts opening the cabinets, coming back after the third attempt with a glass bowl that’s just the right size.

“At least they’ve given us the right equipment, even if we’re short of ingredients.”

I’m not in the mood for giving credit at the moment, so I take the bowl and add the garlic to it. “We’re going to make a spice mix,” I explain, taking the jars from the back of the countertop and setting them out in front of us. “This will make the dish more interesting… because, according to Vivian, my ideas were boring.”

“Did she really say that?”

“Yeah. I don’t know what I’d done to offend her, but she seemed to take an instant dislike to me, and my food, even though she’s never tasted it.”

“Well… I’m glad to know it wasn’t just me who they thought of as dull. And look on the bright side, at least they didn’t change your name.”

“That isn’t permanent, you know. It’s just for the show.”

“That’s what you think. Kennedy told me yesterday that all the time I’m here I’m to be known as Blain.” He says the name with such scorn, it’s hard not to smile.

“All the time?”

“Yeah.”

“But that’s ridiculous.” I can’t understand why it’s so important he should be called ‘Blain’, other than in recordings… especially as he seems to hate the name so much.

“I know that, and you know that…”

I shake my head. “I guess we’d better get on,” I say, tapping the tops of the spice jars. “We’ve got coriander, cumin, and turmeric, and we’ll put a teaspoon of each into the bowl.” I open the drawer and find some measuring spoons, thank God, using them to measure out the spices. Then I open the olive oil. “We need to make this into a runny paste, so we can use it to coat the vegetables,” I say, pouring some into the bowl.

“How do you know how much to use?” he asks.

“Experience. But you don’t need to worry. This will all be pre-prepared and waiting in a bowl. You’ll just recite the ingredients and give them a final mix.”

I hand him the bowl and a spoon from the drawer and he stirs it around a few times.

“Is that enough?”

“It’ll do.” I push everything to one side and pull the roasting pan forward. “Pour it over the vegetables…” He does as I say, setting the bowl aside. “Okay… now we get our hands dirty.”

I tuck mine under the vegetables, lifting them slightly and letting them fall again.

“We have to do this with our hands, do we?”

“Yep… nothing better for mixing.”

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