The day of the party went well.
The puff pastry was the best I had ever made. The onions were beautiful
and savory. I made a light, refreshing tomato-lemon sauce for the fish.
I prepared the tarte.
The
day pressed on. I slid the
fish into the oven to poach in low heat. Guests and distraction arrived.
I removed the fish, leaving the oven on since I would shortly turn the
flame high to cook the beef. More guests, friendly welcomes, chatter.
I took out the fish and put in the meat, then sauced the fish. Dinner
was served. My guests were duly impressed. I was glowing.
Then, oh then, I went to check the
roast.
Not a puff in sight! That which
I called pastry hung over the meat like the limp arms of a dying octopus.
In panic I looked at the thermostat to discover that I had forgotten
to turn up the heat. I was poaching the most buttery of pastry doughs.
I shot the heat to broil and cowered
in the kitchen. When I mustered the courage, I offered my guests excuses
as limp as my pastry. They grew restless. I returned to the kitchen
for further cowering. Once the meat had cooked a little and the pastry
had crisped, I brought my disaster to the table.
My guests ate slightly undercooked
meat with great understanding. Being kind people, they toasted the success
of the fish and marveled at the even slices of apple. The
next day I made another pate feuillete.
Try Diana's
sole a l'italienne
Diana Serbe is the
editor of In Mamas Kitchen. Click to meet her on the about
us page.
back to 'food is art'
back to Diana's
'mother' page top of page membership
agreement
contact us
© Diana Serbe 2001
©
