#THYME OUT KATIE FFORDE PROFESSIONAL#

Mâche, various chicories, some Ragged Jack kale, the usual saladinis, lettuces and some pea plants.''Pea plants?''Yes. 'So, what have you got there?'Perdita looked down at the contents of her trug. 'I still am young,' she said.He shrugged. Lucas didn't want his failed marriage known about either. 'It was only for a short time, years ago, when we were both very young.'She relaxed. She didn't want their dirty and tear-stained linen washed in public. It was not hard to find the warlock responsible: Lucas Gillespie.'You will have gathered,' he addressed his workforce, 'that Perdita and I used to know each other.' He gave her a slanting glance and she stiffened. Her eyes were red with weeping, but whether this was because of the pile of finely diced onions on her chopping board, or Enzo's replacement, Perdita couldn't tell.Greg, the washer-up and general dogsbody, had his long hair tied back in a ponytail under a white cap insteadof a bandanna, and didn't make one of his sexist, racist, politically incorrect jokes, which always made Perdita laugh, in spite of herself.The whole kitchen seemed under a strange, sinister enchantment - like Narnia under its blanket of snow. She didn't offer to put the kettle on or make toast, nor did she start rummaging through Perdita's vegetables, exclaiming with delight or horror at what she found. Janey had taken on the appearance of a rabbit in thrall to a stoat. How are you?'Greg and Janey nodded stiffly, but didn't speak. The disappearance of the boob chart was the ultimate symbol of the end of Enzo's regime: an evil dictator had dethroned him.Aware that she had become the focus of attention, and that the evil dictator was wearing a very familiar scowl, Perdita decided to pretend everything was as normal.

The person with the most cock-ups - usually Enzo - brought in some lagers to be drunk after service on Saturday night.

As had the fat string of garlic, brought over from France by someone, the chilli peppers, too hot to use but so cheerful and the 'boob chart', a list of the mistakes made over the week. The large pots of fresh herbs, grown by Perdita, had disappeared from the windowsill. In its place was a smart white board and marker pen without so much as a smiley face to relieve its blankness. Janey, the young sous-chef, who looked about seventeen, had tried to confine her Pre-Raphaelite hair under a white cap but, like its owner, Perdita suspected, it was desperately trying to escape.The grease-spattered, doodled-on calendar, marked with everyone's holidays and birthdays, no longer hung by the telephone. Instead of a pair of brightly coloured cotton trousers, be-sloganed sweatshirt and a striped apron in one case, and a pair of ripped jeans and grubby T shirt, in the other, the they wore white overalls and chef's trousers. In fact no one seemed to be doing anything.The other two occupants of the kitchen were still justrecognisable, but looked completely different. No one was singing, swearing, or clattering pots and pans.

The noise and clutter had all gone, as had the cheery hum of Radio One, a Greek chorus to the hubbub of the kitchen. The friendly, busy place she had been delivering veg to for five years had metamorphosed into something akin to an operating theatre. She had an impression of a strange whiteness. The rest of the kitchen had been affected too. How the hell should I know?'Perdita suddenly became aware that it wasn't only Enzo that had undergone a hideous transformation. Where's Enzo?''Fucked off to sunny Napoli, I expect. 'No.''So you've got bolshi in your old age, have you? You always were difficult.''I'm not at all difficult.

#THYME OUT KATIE FFORDE PROFESSIONAL#

How could short, plump, amiable and easy-going Enzo have, almost overnight, turned into the tall, black-browed monster she had divorced ten years before? Somehow she got herself across the threshold.'And take off those bloody gumboots! This is a professional kitchen, not a farmyard!'Perdita looked down at her feet and noticed that the floor was a lot cleaner than usual. 'Well? Are you going to come in? Or just stand in the doorway with your trug, looking picturesque?'Perdita was almost paralysed with shock and confusion.

Thyme out katie fforde