8. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Sam
E veryone rolls in, minus the red head. I almost want to punch myself for even noticing. I blame it on the entertainment factor she and her dynamic duo partner, Isla, have on the class. Not me. The class.
The room quiets as my feet pad against the carpet on my way to the front. “All right, guys, glad to have you all here. There is a recipe card sitting at your table, and I also have a cheat sheet for why measurements are important and why each ingredient is used when it comes to things like pancakes and waffles. Today, we will be doing a few things: frying eggs, scrambling eggs, and of course, my personal favorite, waffles. I decided to save the cooking temperatures until next week’s class, when we dive into lunch and dinner items.”
The class chatters about agreeing to the plan. Breakfast sounded like a safe place to start, while still being able to teach some basic cooking concepts.
After some thought, I decided it would be best to lead the class with demonstrations, explaining each step and then letting them try their hand at it.
“I have a somewhat controversial approach on scrambled eggs. Gordon Ramsay says the butter works as the fat, and while I still like to use butter at the base of my pan, I prefer to incorporate just a splash of milk. I feel like it helps the texture of the eggs and prevents them from becoming rubbery.”
Not following my own rules, I eyeball everything and get to whisking. “This is the most important part: we are incorporating air when we whisk, which will give the light and fluffy texture.” Eggs borderline repulse me, and once they are rubbery and dense, I’m gagging.
A hand pops up in the back, I nod to the girl, Emily, to go ahead and ask her question. “If we don’t like eggs, is there a substitution we can do instead?”
There it is. I knew last class gave me too much faith.
“Is there a substitution for eggs in scrambled eggs?” Maybe hearing it back will help the girl hear the problem with that sentence.
“That's what I asked?”
My smile slips and I realize I'm glaring a minute too long when her face drops. A sliver of guilt floods me. So, I fix my face and try to clamp down on my remarks.
“Um, I have never looked into that, but I will check and get back to you next week.” My voice is disgustingly more polite than before. With my luck, there will be a satisfaction survey at the end of this. If I don’t get the promotion due to stupid questions, I will lose it. I can already hear Chef saying, there are no stupid questions in the kitchen . Respectfully, I am going to have to heavily disagree with that statement.
Before I can move on to the next step, a streak of red enters my vision. Jesus.
As much as she makes me question my sanity—for no reason other than she tends to meet my attitude with more attitude—Addie is a fucking knockout. Add in dressed up and in heels? Jesus. Even in a rush, her confidence and swagger demand attention, and damn it, I am giving it to her.
She must misunderstand my reason for staring because she notices and immediately rolls her eyes. Why is that attitude equally repulsive and attractive?
“I know, I know. I am late, Prince Charming. You can quit staring.” She drops her purse into the cupboard below the sink. “I’m sure you haven’t revolutionized the culinary world in the few minutes I was running behind.” She tosses her hair off her shoulder and pulls the apron over her suit. Fuck. That shouldn’t be attractive. At this point, I don’t know if it's the sass that is turning me on or the suit.
I snap out of it and roll my eyes for good measure. “You would know, if you could show up on time,” I mutter.
Across the room I hear her mimic my words and Isla hides a laugh.
“Okay, up next is the cooking part. We are going to butter the pan, whisk the eggs so they have the max amount of air in them, and then pour them into the pan.” The eggs start to cook, and I show the class how to pull the cooked pieces with a spatula off to the side to let the raw eggs find the bottom of the pan. I repeat until all the eggs are perfectly cooked.
“All right, guys, for scrambled eggs, that's it. Now, let's move on to frying eggs, which doesn't have to be as hard as you think it is. Raise your hand if you always break your yolk while flipping your egg.”
Over three-quarters of the class raise their hands.
“There are a few things to make sure of, and I also have a tip so you don’t actually have to flip the egg.” I start dishing out tips, and then set the class loose.
I have to help a few of them grasp the idea of pulling the eggs out of the way of the loose stuff and help them successfully flip eggs. As much as I hate to admit it, watching some of these people get excited about executing a new technique brings me a little bit of joy. Sharing my love for cooking isn’t something I’ve done much of.
I got my love of cooking from my mom. I spent so many hours in the kitchen with her growing up. While Dad and Cal were playing catch, I was dicing vegetables and helping Mom prep our lunches and dinners. Spending time with my mom in the kitchen was the highlight of my childhood.
A pang of sadness hits me as I realize it's been a long time since I’ve done that. Probably not since my dad and I had our falling out, which has been about four years. Of course, I’ve seen her. But the more Dad and I fight, the more I distance myself. I don’t even bother showing up half the time anymore. I make a mental note to try and stop by this weekend to see Mom.
Walking around, I hear Isla bickering with Addie.
“It’s not fair that you are good at this,” Isla says as Addie flips her egg with a flick of the wrist. No spatula, just using the momentum and curve of the pan. Isla goes to flip hers, but fumbles the spatula and it breaks her yolk.
Unable to help myself, I pop by their station.
“Do you mind if I give you some pointers?” I nod to her now scrambled egg.
“You know, at this point, I would beg for some. No shame.” I can't help but chuckle.
She tosses her messed up egg into the discard bin in the middle of the cooking station. I will say, they did a good job designing these. Each station has two separate burners for each student, a small oven under that, and a trash spot between the two.
“All right, first thing, did you add non-stick spray before you cracked your egg into the pan?”
Judging by the look she is giving me, that's a no.
“Okay, let's start with that, and let's check the heat, too. We want medium-high so that the egg bottom will cook quickly.” I check and see if she does have the temperature right. “The temp is right. So, good job there.” I don't miss the little dance she does with that. She’s making it harder to not like her. Do I have a good reason for not liking her? Honestly, no. But Cal is on my shitlist and she’s marrying him, so she’s guilty by association.
“All right, Isla. Let’s try to have you crack the egg into this little bowl here, and then pour that into the pan, just in case you get any shells.” She follows my directions, then immediately grabs her spatula and goes to mess with the egg.
“Isla, put that thing down. It’s only been in the pan for like three seconds. No wonder you always make scrambled eggs. You have to let it cook,” Addie says.
“Arrives late and decides she’s also the teacher? Sounds about right.” Shaking my head at her, I look back at Isla.
“Oh, boohoo. Don’t get your panties in wad.” She gets back to leaning against her station and eating her eggs. Which, much to my dismay, are perfectly cooked.
Deciding that ignoring her is the best option, I look back to Isla and see she has a smile on her face. “What?”
“It’s funny watching someone match her attitude. I do my best, but I usually fall short. Probably because you have the whole kind of a grumpy asshole thing going for you.”
“I’m not grumpy,” I say. The second it's out of my mouth, I know it's a bit of a lie. I’m not grumpy all the time. Only when I'm forced to do things I don’t like. Like this class, for example. “Focus on the eggs and not my supposed attitude. You’re probably good to flip now.”
“Okay, Eggburt, let’s see if I can flip you before I have yet another scrambled egg.”
Eggburt. Get me out of here immediately.
“With your spatula, check all sides of the egg to make sure it isn’t stuck. Once you’re sure it isn't stuck, drive the spatula underneath it until almost all the egg is on the spatula, and then flip.”
Addie and I borderline wince as she starts to flip the egg, but before we know it, she has successfully flipped it. She jumps up, cheering like she just won an Olympic gold medal in cooking a fucking egg. She reaches over and hugs Addie, still jumping. Now, Addie is jumping, and I have to walk away to hide my smile.
Walking around the class, I try to be a bit more upbeat so that I don’t come off as a grump. I stop by each station and try to remember each of their names. There’s one other set of friends here and the rest are couples. I chat with them all for a few minutes, and by the time I finish my rounds, everyone has successfully managed eggs and I have managed to enjoy myself more than I anticipated.
“All right, class. Thank you so much for joining me. Next time we meet, we will be working on pasta, and yes, we will be making it from scratch. Thanks for hanging out with me tonight. Don’t forget there’s no class on Valentine’s Day!”
My gaze catches on Addie as she and Isla pack up and start to walk out. God, I hate to see her come, but I love to watch her go. Since when does corporate attire look that good?
Fuck, I need to get a grip.