Cooking for a Chef

We are up and running. Paying guests have been and gone. I hadn't really realised how nervous I have been about the whole thing. I have been so concerned about getting everything right and making sure that nothing was overlooked or forgotten that I have found it impossible to sit down and write the blog. But tonight I am in a state of rare contentment and happiness, so here I am.

On Sunday morning I was about as nervous as I can ever remember because on Sunday evening I was cooking the included dinner in my guests weekend package. Debrah had been unable to get out this weekend and was in London and one of our guests was a top London restaurant chef - the real deal, classically trained and 15 years experience in Michelin starred restaurants. Oh my God - talk about a test of my home developed cooking skills.

Every possible scenario was constantly going through my head. I doubted my own ability - I knew I'd cooked the dinner plenty of times but decided today was the day it would go wrong. I decided that he might just be non-comital and nice and polite about it but then I reasoned he was French and born in Paris and was more likely to say "I cannot eet zis sheet".

The situation was made more nerve-wracking by the events of Saturday. He said he was going to the market to buy food to cook for his girlfriend that evening. Now the Apartment has a mini-kitchen with a small fridge and two electric hobs but I had never envisaged real cooking taking place there - so I offered him the use of my kitchen and in return he invited me to dinner! This was both an unexpected bonus and a rod for my own back. On the one hand, a paying guest had bought food and wine and was cooking for me in my own home and he was a classically trained chef whom I could watch and ask questions of and be his assistant for the evening. I watched the effortless ease with which he dealt with filleting red mullet and trimming up lamb chops and artichokes. On the other hand, I had to follow this display the next day.

I am glad to say that my kitchen lacked for nothing that he needed. He had even asked for an oyster knife earlier in the day because he had bought oysters for lunch. It seemed to me that they were having an enjoyable stay, which was naturally really pleasing - they seemed relaxed and happy and in love - all of which augured well.

And indeed we had a great Saturday evening, eating his beautifully prepared and presented food and drinking nice wine and chatting about all things good and life in general. When Debrah found out, she was absolutely gutted that she wasn't here this weekend - she so hates missing out on anything and this was missing out big time. He gave us scallops and red mullet and boudin noir to start and lamb chops and brochettes of lambs liver and sweetbreads on a bed of spinach and asparagus for main and a glazed pear with a pistachio and coriander creme fraiche dressing for dessert. It was all delicious, but to be honest, I didn't think the dessert worked as a dish - who the hell do I think I am!

On Sunday, they went out to explore La Cite and I fretted. I tried to take my mind off things by going out for a drive but the car threw a wobbly too and wouldn't start, so I went out on my bike which just made me hot, sweaty and tired. Bolton lost at home to Liverpool which pissed me off and two hours before I needed to, I was prepped and ready to go and couldn't wait to get on with it.

In the end it all went very well but I didn't really relax all evening which meant I probably drank a glass of wine or two too many. Two things stood out - the words 'beautifully cooked' about the asparagus starter and the fact that he finished his chocolate pudding in record time - and this a man who apparently doesn't eat dessert apart from his search for the prefect lemon tart. In between it all he gave me a tip about pulling the lower bone out of a leg of duck confit, and some hints on cooking the potatoes or even a suggestion that it would go really well with lentils - all of which at the time I took as being unhappiness with my food but on reflection, and in view of his comments today, was I think him trying to help me because he had had a good time. Hurrah - what a relief - let the paranoia go!

Most importantly of all, they seemed to have had a really enjoyable stay and will, I think, go back to London as ambassadors for our little place here. Apparently she shed a few tears this morning because she didn't want to go home and he gave me a classic french handshake, hug and kiss on both cheeks when he said goodbye after I dropped them at the airport.

Despite feeling under pressure, which probably isn't a bad thing, the whole weekend couldn't have gone much better - the conviviality was something that we always had in our minds to create because ultimately that's what makes weekends away memorable. Here's hoping it continues in the same vein.