Page 106 of Fluke
Bobby furrows his brow.
“I’m her boyfriend—her man since we aren’t in high school.” I grin, challenging Pippa. “She tries to resist me sometimes, but it doesn’t change the fact that she owns my heart.”
Pippa grins, resting her forehead on my arm. I reach behind her and grab her waist, pulling her closer.
“May I ask who does the majority of the cooking in your relationship?” Bobby asks. “Does one of you do the heavy lifting, or do you both enjoy it equally?”
“I do most of it,” Pippa says.
“Awesome. What’s your favorite thing to make?” Bobby asks.
“I’m in a cold soup season,” she says, laughing. “I just made a tomato with tarragon concoction with a dollop of crème fraiche on top. So good.”
Bobby looks impressed. Iamimpressed.
She can cook, too? How does she just get better?
“The tarragon is a nice touch,” Bobby says, moving around the oversized island. “So many people are afraid of using fresh herbs, but I couldn’t cook without them.”
“Me either. The freshness really brings a dish together.”
“Have you ever used fenugreek leaves?” he asks.
“No.”
“We’re going to make a chicken tikka masala today, and the fenugreek leaves at the end do just what you’re saying. It gives the dish a maple-y flavor that makes you go, ‘Hmm, what am I tasting?’”
Pippa smiles brightly, taking an apron from Bobby. “I can’t wait.”
“Thanks,” I say, taking an apron too.
We fasten them around our middles, then give our hands a good scrub. While we prepare, Bobby gives us the history of Chutney. As fascinating as it is to hear about the fire that destroyed the kitchen fifty years ago, I’m more interested in Pippa.
I’ve never seen this side of her before.
She soaks in the information, engaged in the learning process. Her brows pull together, and she nods eagerly. I don’t even know whatmasalameans. She’s speaking a language I don’t understand with Bobby … and it makes me smile.
I take a step back and observe.
Pippa asks questions about spices and cutting techniques, surprising Bobby with a knowledge base I didn’t know she had either. She stands a little taller when he asks her if she’s thought about working with food professionally.
What else is there to know about her?
“Jess, if you could join us over here,” Bobby says, waving me to the island. “We’re going to start our chicken prep. I prefer chicken thighs for this dish because they’re a juicier and more forgiving cut of meat than, say, breast. But you can absolutely use something else if you’d like.”
“I prefer breast,” I say, taking an elbow to the ribs from Pippa.
Bobby laughs. “Me too, man. Me too.”
“I’m a shoulder girl myself,” Pippa says, making us all laugh.
“We’re going to pierce the thighs with a fork so the marinade we make can soak all through the meat. Pippa, would you like to do the honors?”
“I’d love to.”
She takes a fork off the counter and pokes it all over the thighs lying inside a foil-lined tray.
“While you do that, I’m going to grab the fenugreek,” Bobby says. “I leave it out during a lot of these classes, but I think you’ll enjoy it.”
