Sex, Lies & Crazy People. John Hickman

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СКАЧАТЬ new gas-fired hot water system became Dad’s priority but being short on capital he decided to negotiate a larger bank overdraft.

      Barclays Bank were less than helpful. “They offered to lend me an umbrella while the sun shone but warned they’d want it back as soon as it started to rain,” Dad said.

      Another bank was more obliging. Dad struck a deal and we celebrated. Within a few days there was no more coal-fired boiler to stoke. What now to do with Beau?

      Chapter 19

      Kentucky What?

      Gramps became a welcome distraction when he said. “I’ve been asking around and from what I’ve learned the local restaurants don’t sling a good steak.”

      “Even I can char meat on the outside.” I piped in enthusiastically.

      “That might be the high point of your career,” Gramps lit up a cigarette.

      Dad was in the habit of telling dissatisfied customers, “When my son is on kitchen duty his concentration matches a chimpanzee chewing on a fly swatter.”

      If they said, “Oh well, we don’t really mean to complain, not if he’s busy.” Dad replied, “I sympathise, sir. But you’re only dining here. I have to live with him.”

      I rebelled. “That’s unfair. If someone asks for their steak bleu, of course I undercook it. What’s wrong with that?”

      Gramps was thoughtful. “What about the diner who ordered his steak bleu, complained and then called you to his table with a smile and said, ‘this steak’s so raw people in India could worship it.’”

      “I saw the humour in his comment. But I said defensively. ‘I understand, sir, what you want is a steak that you can eat, not one that will want to eat your side-salad.’”

      Gramps and I shared a light. “When you’re at the grill it’s almost a case of round them up, herd them in, and cut off a slab.”

      Chef Peter interrupted us. “Aye, with the volume of food being cooked in our wee kitchen we need an upgrade of equipment, so we do.”

      He received blank stares. Chef continued. “Aye, especially as everything tends to end up on one wee cooker’s grill. What we need is a new turbo-charged gas-fired grill. What we have now is summat fine for camping or a family of four, but not good enough for a first class restaurant. At this rate I’ll be cooking at the same pace as a tranquilised soddin’ sloth.”

      For fear of upsetting Chef Peter, Dad sent away for leaflets and soon, sniffing a sale, salesmen came peddling their wares.

      One was flogging something called a microwave oven that weighed about half a ton.

      Dad was hesitant. “What do you think, Peter?”

      Chef stroked his stubbled chin thoughtfully. ‘Aye, technology I know is new, but what does it do?”

      Young salesman Fred explained. “It’s really, really, excellent.”

      “Aye, but what does it do?”

      “It cooks food really, really fast.”

      “Aye, so it might. What about steak? It’s steak we be cooking, lad.”

      Fred the salesman looked worried. “When it cooks meat, sir, it doesn’t brown.”

      Chef Peter frowned. ‘Not exactly meat over flame then is it? Not ideal way to cook a soddin’ steak then, is it, lad?”

      “It’s fast but restrictive,” Fred added.

      “Aye, but fast at soddin’ what, lad?”

      “Well, it’s quick to defrost frozen food and cook vegetables, Chef. It’s really good at that.”

      Chef Peter was thoughtful. ‘There’s nay problem here wi’ steaming vegetables, lad. And it’s better t’defrost food slowly. Does new-fangled machine do summat else,

      worthwhile?”

      “Well, if you put cold soup in a bowl it’ll heat the soup, but not the bowl. That is

      unless you go overboard with the settings, or leave it in too long,” Fred gushed.

      Silence.

      “Aye, hot soup in a cold soddin’ bowl, fantastic. What else?”

      “It warms food, Chef.”

      “I see no use for it.” Chef declared, shutting down the conversation. The levity had peaked and died in seconds.

      On Chef Peter’s advice Dad dismissed the new fangled microwave in favour of a swash-buckling, new turbo gas grill. Much to Chef’s delight, he ambled off whistling the latest hit California Dreaming.

      After Fred left, Gramps commented, “I’m pleased he doesn’t work for us, he’d have trouble selling a vowel.”

      Another salesman called selling a franchise for chicken. We listened to his spiel.

      “Aye, their blurb sounds good, but under closer scrutiny do they not rely on getting eight portions of pressure cooked chicken from one wee bird?”

      Dad agreed with Chef Peter. He worried their franchise fees were too expensive. “We’d have to sell vast quantities of product to make it pay,” he warned.

      “Aye, paying so much in commissions makes their deal unattractive. Summat like that’ll not catch-on, ye’ll see.”

      “I think Kentucky Fried Chicken is too Americanised for Royal Tunbridge Wells,” I said, turning their glossy brochure over in my hand.

      Pandy was rapt, with its slogan ‘Finger-lick-in’ good’, and Colonel Sanders in his

      sparkling white suit. But she stood alone in favour of her Colonel.

      Chef Peter shook his head. “Aye, it might do all right in the West-End of London slap bang beside a Wimpy Bar, but not here.”

      Dad gave Chef Peter a small increase in wages for his valuable wisdom and business acumen.

      I figured seeing as money was free flowing, I might venture the topic again of me being paid. “When might I expect to see some remuneration?”

      Dad looked at me as if I was a moron.

      I sulked back to the kitchen. If I could get the Crème Brûlées out of their containers

      before breakfasts tomorrow—I might be looking good.

      Chapter 20

      Three Old Crones

      Our restaurant cliental included three difficult women, old enough to have sailed with

      Admiral Horatio Nelson. The last time they dined, СКАЧАТЬ