Welcome to MaY MEMOIR!
Day 6
For the entire month of May, I'll be sharing part of each chapter from my memoir, Ca va? Stories from Rural Life in Southern France.
When I first arrived, Christophe didn’t let cook – at all. This might sound like a dream scenario to some, but I really like to cook, so I felt like I was being denied something I enjoyed. Christophe did this because he said it was to make me feel more at home, but I eventually got the truth out of him: he thought I didn’t know how to boil water. He was scared he’d being eating half-baked, half-burned dishes. He’s a very good cook, so my first venture into the kitchen didn’t sooth his worries...
Chapter 5: Let Me Cook
“I’m making dinner,” I affirm.
He strains his head to look over me and into the basket I just brought back from the garden. “What are you going to make?”
“Stuffed peppers,” I reply. “We’ve got some rice in the cupboard and some chorizo in the fridge.”
My response appears to have calmed Christophe, so he settles into a chair and leaves me alone at the stove. I clean and chop the vegetables, cook up the rice, mix them together, and then remember I have a few hot peppers in the bottom of my basket. I take out three, quickly sauté them, and toss them in. Shortly thereafter, I pull dinner out of the oven and present it to Christophe.
“This smells great,” he says. “I’m starving.”
“See,” I say with a smile. “You had nothing to be afraid of.”
Christophe’s apprehension is gone, and he takes his first bite with a wide grin. He chews for a moment, and then his eyes widen and his face starts to flush. He reaches for a glass of water, and after swallowing a large mouthful says, “Wow, this is spicy!”
“You have hot peppers in the garden; I thought you like spicy foods”, I reply.
“I do, I do. Maybe I got just a large piece in that fork”, he says and then takes another bite. His face gets redder and Christophe finishes the glass of water in front of him. Reaching for the carafe he asks, “How many peppers did you use?”
“Three,” I say while having no problems with the plate in front of me.
“Three! I’ve never used more than a quarter!”
“Well, you should have told me that,” I say.
We sit in awkward silence for a few minutes as we continue eating. Christophe is trying to be polite, but it is just too spicy for him. He’s sweating and fanning himself.
“I’ve missed spicy foods,” I say in my defense. “You’re a great cook, but I just had a taste for something else. Do you want me to warm up the leftovers for you instead?”
Christophe nods and then laughs. “You know, when a Frenchman says he likes spicy foods, you need to bring the level down to one, cut it in half, and then add crème fraîche?”
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