House of Conchita

Amuse Bouche

The lady does not like to be kept waiting. With this in mind, I regard the revolting platter in front of me with absolute disgust. Can we really serve her this? There's no time to make anything else now...

"Roy, does everything look ready?" I hear a girl ask behind me. I turn to face her and raise an eyebrow.

"Does it ever look ready?" I respond with a small laugh. I step to one side, allowing the maid girl to see the horror the kitchen staff have created. "Come on, Penelopia, you should know how this works by now; the worse it looks to us, the better it is to her."

She rolls her eyes and playfully pretends to hit my arm. "For the last time, just call me Penny. If you keep using my full name, I'll be forced to remind you of yours..."

"No," I say, suddenly not so amused anymore. "Please don't."

She tries to remain serious, but she can't help but crack a smile.

"And anyway," she continues, almost regaining her calmness. "What do you mean, I should know? I see you looking at her meals in doubt; in fact, I think you were just now. Of course, you're probably just wondering how anyone... no, anything could even go near that so called 'food'."

"You got it," I say, picking up the platter. I carry it out of the kitchens, grimacing, down the long corridor adorned with ornaments and portraits of our mistress. Upon reaching the end of this familiar walk, I turn left and a butler opens the grand doors that lead to the dining room. As always, I am greeted with the sight of the exquisite, luxurious room and the vast table in the centre. At the far end of this table, the woman we live to serve.

With an air of fake confidence, I make my way to her seat. I don't want it to seem as though I don't think she'll enjoy what the fifteenth chef this year has prepared for her.

I now stand before her. She looks into my eyes expectantly, although she does not say any words. I clear my throat and lift the lid of the silver platter.

"For the first course, the Lady Conchita will be dining on a portion of freshly baked bread - four months ago - served with samples of dipping oils: lavender, fish, and petroleum."

I set the plate down before her and immediately she tears apart the piece of stale, oddly coloured bread. She ravenously attacks the meal. Her hunger is so great that within half a minute the food is all gone.

She wipes her mouth with a napkin and hands it to me, so I reach for the cloth and take it from her grasp. However, as she removes her hand to allow me to take the napkin away, she ever so slightly touches my own, and our eyes meet for just a second, maybe even less. The contact was just a slip of the hand, I'm sure.

I pick up the remains of the first course and hurriedly retreat to the kitchens. I much prefer the company of the other staff, and the sooner I can get the upcoming dishes to the lady, the sooner this ordeal will be over for another night. As I return to dispose of the first plate, I think about how the lady's soft, warm skin touched mine, and the brief glimmer in her mesmerising pecan coloured eyes as it happened.