Isobel Asks The Internet

XXI - The Cooking Class

I took my friend to a cooking class but she caused havoc! How can I get her to improve her cooking skills?

Hey everyone!

So, the other evening me and Nigella were having a strategy meeting at her place; we were about to present a MAJOR proposal to head office to seek planning permission to construct a user-friendly salad bar nearby to the foyer of the supermarket that I am the part-time, head-manager of (while studying for a degree in physics). Although I am held in very high regard by head office (especially after Angelica was fired), this was a highly innovative and unprecedented proposal, and therefore we needed to be thorough. As a result, evening had fallen while were knee deep in paperwork, and Nigella said that she would make us some dinner. I accepted, and continued to look at our plans while she clattered about in the kitchen. After about 20 minutes, I decided to see what she was rustling up.

I was MORTIFIED.

She told me that she had made a salad, but handed me a bowl full of thousand island dressing, with a bag of croutons emptied into it (kind of like cereal). She had also grated some cheese on top. There were also some chicken breasts plopped onto the counter, about which she turned to me and said that she had cooked them medium-rare (omfg). As a final accompaniment, she had thrown some raw potatoes against a wall and placed them into a bowl with a tasteful parsley garnish. Using the skills that I had cultivated through attending several courses on outdoor survivalism, I soldiered through the questionable fare, but resolved to stage an immediate intervention.

The next day at work, I called Nigella into my office. I had asked Britney (who works on the complaints desk and LOVES writing correspondence) to falsify a letter from a local organisation that arranges classes in food preparation and cooking. The letter was addressed to Nigella, and said that she had won a free class for her and a plus-one! Nigella was initially confused, as she said that she couldn't remember entering the competition, so I just told her that I had entered the entire staff of the supermarket on their behalf. I secretly purchased two tickets to the class, and deducted it as a reasonable business expense. 

The cooking classes were held in the civic centre of the town, in the same building as the courtrooms. When we made entry into the learning environment, we saw that the room was equipped with a number of cooking stations, with space enough for two people each. We picked a station, and waited for the remainder of the course-goers to turn up. The main instructor for the class was a chirpy, middle-aged woman named Ginger and her younger, slightly sullen assistant, Bunty. 

They started the lesson by instructing us on the theory and execution of a basic cheese sauce. I already knew how to make an advanced cheese sauce, but I made sure to look like I was deeply interested by nodding thoughtfully and saying "yes, that's correct" every now and again. Nigella was doing NO SUCH THING. Last week, Evangeline (the official union manager) had submitted a complaint about Nigella's demeanor towards the rest of the employees. Subsequently, I performed a thorough evaluation of said complaint and deemed it to be frivolous, so I burned it. However, significant enmity remained between the two, and I could see that Nigella was typing an inflammatory message to Evangeline, and not bothering to pay attention to Ginger probing Bunty's roux.

After the demonstration, it was then our turn to make a basic cheese sauce. I was quite concerned when I saw Nigella select a sauté pan as her vessel of choice, but I chose not to intervene as she might have been employing some kind of technique that I was not aware of (which I highly doubted).  When it came down to the actual cooking, I had no issues; although I didn't need to, I had absorbed all of the information from Ginger and Bunty's tutorial, and had filled in the gaps in their expertise with my own. I stirred my varnished mahogany spoon (which I had brought from home) through my silky roux, and its luscious folds sent a frisson of pleasure through my delicate spine. 

I gazed at Nigella's pan and was AGHAST.

Her roux was dark brown, and was burning to the bottom of her non-stick pan! Her response to this crisis was to pour water into the pan (instead of milk), but it just sat on top of the overcooked debris and refused to integrate. Ginger came over to check on our progress and immediately said "ooh Nigella hun that doesn't look like quite the right consistency x". This ignited Nigella's rage, and she grabbed her pan and THREW it's contents over Ginger, who looked shocked and slipped on the liquids (she was wearing heels). In her panic, she accidentally grabbed a bottle of olive oil and it went everywhere, so she slipped again and hit her head against the corner of our workstation.

Ginger looked like she was unconscious, but technically that part wasn't Nigella's fault as she didn't even touch the olive oil. We looked across the room, and saw that Bunty was busy providing what limited assistance she could to a pair of unprofessional amateurs. Nigella then turned to me and said "let's get out of this ditch". I wanted to stay and finish the class, but SO many people were trying my cheese sauce and accusing me of being a professional chef, so I thought it would be best for us to make our exit. 

As we left, we passed the courtrooms, and to our HORROR we saw Winona (the ex-president of the newspaper society) leaving with an unidentified man. As I looked closer, I saw that she was with Professor Sivam, who I had discovered had an affair with Mavis prior to her sudden death, and who we had alleged was involved. They turned to us, and marched up to us with smug expressions.

"Isobel and Nigella", Winona crowed. "What the FUCK are you doing here? Isn't Katie with you?" I told her that we were here for a cooking class, not that it was any of her business. She ignored this, and went on to inform us that she and Professor Sivam had just submitted a motion to sue the newspaper society for defamation! I was momentarily speechless, and felt appalled that Winona would attempt to shackle quality journalism like this; after Katie and I had taken over the newspaper society, the publication had INSTANTLY become the most prestigious in town, and I could tell that Winona was oozing with envy.

I knew that it would be a mistake to display any trace of surprise, so instead I decided to smirk and say "oh, what fun! I'll pencil it into my schedule". It was best for us to just leave at this point, so I waved and said "see you in court, Winnie!", and me and Nigella walked out of the civic centre, and into the fresh springtime air. 

What should we do? How can I improve Nigella's cooking skills now? Should we get a lawyer? Do you think we can get a refund on the cooking classes?