Page 21 of Second Chance Vacation

“It just looks like a stew.”

I squint down at the picture on Savannah’s phone featuring an array of bright vegetables. She signed us up for a cooking class today, and we are supposed to be making ratatouille. I don’t consider myself a complete novice in the kitchen, but as I look down at the photo in front of me, my confidence is beginning to waver. I have never made the famous French dish, but I have seen Ratatouille. More than once, actually, the mouse is so cute.Thatis definitely not ratatouille.

“Ratatouilleisstew…”

Savannah looks puzzled.

You’re confused? I’m confused.

The sight in front of me is nothing like the beautiful array of stacked slices of summer vegetables I envisioned, but a depressing mixture with much less finesse.

Jackson’s knowing smirk is taunting me. He seems to be amused at my expense. Shaking his head with a chuckle, he looks toward Savannah.

“She’s picturing the dish with the rat from the movie.”

Savannah’s expression is a blank canvas of ignorance before it finally looks to click.

“The Disney movie?” Her amusement seems to match Jackson’s now that she is caught up. “That’s notrealratatouille.”

“Yes, it is. The cute little mouse guides the chef to cookratatouille. I remember it specifically.”

“First of all, Gen, it’s a rat, not a mouse. Second of all, that’s a fictionalized ratatouille. Or Americanized, I’m not really sure. Either way, this is real French ratatouille.” Jackson points toward the screen that is now taunting me. The excitement I had been consumed with upon finding out the dish we would be making dissolved. I envisioned a beautifully crafted mold of bright hues. The reality just reminds me of soup.

“Okay, fine. I’ll admit you’re right about the food, but it was definitely a mouse. Rats are gross.”

“I assure you, it was not. The movie is called Rat-atouille,” he emphasizes, his hands moving with each enunciation, arguing his point.

“Yeah, because that’s what they cook.”

“Also, because it’s a rat.”

“Jackson’s right,” Wes’s voice travels from my periphery with his iPhone in hand. “Remy is a rat.”

I apparently can’t win on even one front today.

“Whatever.” I roll my eyes as an unfamiliar chime travels through the house. Savannah instantly shifted off her stool to walk toward the front door. I am relieved that she hired a private chef because I’m not feeling up for a public cooking class.

“Bonjour, je suis Chef Dubois et je vais vous apprendre comment préparer le plat populaire, la Ratatouille.”

A man with salt and pepper hair steps into the kitchen with what I assume to be a rolled bag of knives tucked under his arm. While I’m no Gordon Ramsey in the kitchen, I am very acquainted with his shows, and thus, I am sure those are knives.

“Veuillez parler anglais si possible. Tout le monde ici ne parle pas couramment le français.”

I rarely hear Savannah speak French or really any language but English. Her fluency in various languages was her fun fact in our dorm room meet-and-greet freshman year. For being fluent in three languages, she doesn’t use them all that often.

“Of course.” He smiles, his thick French accent speaking perfect English. “I am Chef Dubois. It is my understanding that you would like to learn how to make ratatouille?”

“Yep!” Savannah perks up, shifting toward the counter next to Wesley.

We went to the farmers market earlier today to pick up a variety of bright ingredients. An array of fresh summer vegetables now litters the island.

“I ask that you pair up for this, as I only see one range to use. We will be making two ratatouille dishes today.”

I glare over at Savannah, who is firmly at Wesley’s side, already grabbing ingredients from the pile. Exhaling, I step next to Jackson. He grabs one massive eggplant, an onion, a pepper, and an array of other ingredients. While I often cook at home, it is mostly by necessity and rarely with fresh ingredients, unless you count lettuce from a bag and the occasional onion that I typically mutilate before it finds its way onto my salad.

“We are going to begin our mise en place. Please take your aubergine. We are going to be cutting it into one-centimeter cubes. Try to be as consistent as possible.”

Chef Dubois unravels his knives, pulling a large chef’s knife out. He picks the remaining eggplant from the middle and begins chopping with ease.

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