A Menu at Midnight

The soft chiming of the grandfather clock in the hallway was what roused Adelaide from sleep ,but what pulled her from the warm side of the bed was the splendid cloud of smells that tickled her nose. Roland’s side of the bed was empty and cold to the touch, meaning he must have been the one causing the ruckus down below. Nose held firmly in the air, nostrils working to capture each individual note that wafted through the air, Adelaide gathered her robe around herself, covering her nightgown against the chill of the air and crept downstairs, a hand weathered by age holding tight to the bannister so as to ease her descent. Feet, sans slippers, padded down silently, the worn carpet cushioning each step until she stood in the foyer, the only light in the room being a single beam of dazzling silver light coming in through the window above the door.

“Roland? Ma Cher?” She called, reaching blindly for the door where the sounds of hustle had only grown louder as she had gotten nearer. Her long fingers found the doorknob, and it swung open to reveal their grand dining room and beyond it, the kitchens. Plants gathered from around the world over the course of their many travels, objects large and small sitting on side tables and desks, his armchair sitting opposite hers beside the fireplace where the remnants of the long burnt out fire could be inhaled if one brought themselves close enough.

Straightening, she found the shutters of the serving hatch that connected the kitchen and dining room and rapped her knuckles against them, the sound disruptively sharp in the cool of night. They swung open silently to reveal the grinning face of her husband, his bright eyes shining with a mischievous light, unhampered by the many wrinkles that layered his face. It was those eyes that had captured her attention as a flame would a moth, all those years ago from opposite sides of a ballroom neither particularly wanted to be in. She had been 16, he had been 18, both had been inconsolably bored. But something had sparked from that first sighting.

“Amoricito!” He chirped, his nose crinkling impishly. “You’ve ruined the surprise, I was going to come up and get you but you beat me to it!”

“The Pied Piper himself could not have resisted following such a tantalising smell. What masterpiece are you putting together in there?” She leaned closer to the hatch and inhaled, her eyes fluttering close in ecstasy.

“It’s a gift, take a seat and all shall be revealed.” He insisted, his hand finding hers in the space connecting the two rooms for a moment that had passed so swiftly, she could have been forgiven for thinking she had only imagined it.

Flicking on the lights so that they would not be fumbling around in the darkness, Adelaide sank down into her chair and breathed. For a moment, she was not in her home but in any number of strange new locals. A native tent being served soup, a palace feasting on roasted fowl, sharing plates of who knows what with whole families sitting together, the shores of Venice, the streets of Paris, the alleyways of Tokyo, in the marketplaces of India, even the neon lit joints of America, though that would be her own little guilty secret. Roland would surely be aghast at the knowledge that her mouth was watering at the thought of something as overwhelming as an American burger.

“First, Amoricito, something to wake the palate.” On a single china plate, Roland had put a single snow white steamed bun in front of her and a porcelain cup of fragrant green tea.

The bun broke open between her teeth and spilled steam into her mouth, the heat still coming off the surface in spiralling curls that tickled the back of her throat. It went down in a single bite and the green tea tasted refreshingly earthy on her tongue. It brought on the memory of how they had come together at the same ball where their eyes had first met. They had retreated to a private table loaded with food and taken turns sneaking morsels from the plates without being caught. Their shared laughter from underneath the tablecloth was drowned by the music and the hands clamped firmly against their mouths, stuffing more and more into their mouths until they were filled to the gills and longing for their beds in the way that only children did.

The next course was placed in front of her and the contrast of aromas was so sudden, she was snapped from the daydream of her memories. Before her was a single oyster, the iron-grey flesh lying sedately against the white of the shell, a thimble-sized container of deep red mignonette sitting beside it, ready. Instead of letting her take it this time, Roland delicately held Adelaide’s chin within his fingers, tipping the mignonette over the oyster and placing it before her lips. Obediently, she let the creamy shellfish fall into her mouth, down her throat with a satisfied moan as her eyes fluttered closed again. Utterly captivated by the flavour, her mind cast back for another memory and she settled on their first unaccompanied outing. He had invited her to the lake, where a sailboat awaited. Painted cream and pink and just big enough for the two of them, the wind had pulled them to the other side of the lake where he had prepared a meal for them in a wicker basket, adorned with the most darling gingham blanket. She had almost lost a slipper climbing out of the boat but all of it had been forgotten as he offered her sandwiches and pies and she poured them both sweet ginger beer. Her mother would have been scandalised if she had brought cider as she first intended.

She had told him of her dreams to write, he had confessed his desire to cook and as the summer sky bled into a warm evening, they sank onto their backs, tracing out images of their future in the clouds lazily flying over their heads. He would pass morsels of chicken between her lips and she would press scotch eggs into his mouth, each new exchange delivered with secrets, dreams, worries, words they could never share with any soul other than each other.

A sweet teasing smell alerted her to the third course, and she was nonplused to discover a single serving of orange sorbet, a single mint leaf providing decoration. Roland had retreated to the kitchen, no doubt preparing the next step so Adelaide took her time scooping spoonfuls, the sharp cold washing over her tongue, the top of her mouth, the back of her throat, filling her nose with the smell of orange blossoms and her head with the memory of mixing drops of orange into her father’s evening tea to brighten his mood as she waited for his arrival. She had retreated when the two men asked for a moment of privacy and it was only a day later, deep in the heart of her family’s orchard when Roland had asked her to marry him. Surrounded by trees bowing under the weight of their ripe fruit, the smell of the grass coming up to cushion them as she tackled her beloved to the ground, crying out her confirmations for all to hear. Again and again, until she was quite hoarse from happiness. As the sorbet danced across her tongue, she realised just how full she was beginning to feel.

Long ago, she might have had an appetite that could rival most grown men but after a certain age, her body had forced her to slow down. She believed it had happened around the time that she had birthed her third child or after she had seen them grace the aisle of their own wedding. Once upon a time, she had mourned the loss, as she could not indulge herself on her husband’s talent for conjuring culinary masterpieces on a whim, but it gave these delightful moments of peace and togetherness between the two of them just that bit more weight. Even now, they would find it in themselves to recreate the many moments that brought them to their advanced age, steering the little boat or strolling through the orchard, bare feet disappearing into the grass and amongst the tiny white blossoms that would grow wild if left undisturbed.

Roland came back with the next offering and Adelaide lifted her nose like an anticipatory dog sniffing out an errant rabbit. It was a size bigger than the last courses but no less scrumptious to the senses. Pork, nestled on a bed of rice spiced with saffron, accompanied by the tangy sweetness of apricot teased the senses, inviting her to breathe it in, demanding she consume it whilst it was still wam. Her knife cut through the flesh with little resistance and the first mouthful made her tastebuds sing rapturously.

“When you make sounds like that, I’m tempted to take it away from you lest you demand a divorce so you may find new love with the dish that brought them from you.” Roland’s voice was teasing and Adelaide gave him a half-hearted look of reproach in reply.

“I would sooner consume my own bedclothes. Why marry a meal when I can live out my days in matrimony to the chef behind such culinary miracles.” She replied, taking another mouthful. Roland reached over and her first instinct was to lean in, thinking he was going to kiss her. Instead, he removed a single grain of rice from her cheek and slipped it into his mouth. The spot grew hot and she distracted herself from the burn by scraping off the grains stuck to the sides of the bowl, the saffron rolling over her mouth like Arabian perfumes.

“What is your plan with this? Seeking to fatten me like a spring sow?” Adelaide asked, pouring water from the jug always kept sat between them and swilling it around her mouth to cleanse her palate.

“You are truly too cruel to yourself. You are no sow but a bird of paradise, as radiant as the day we first saw each other.” Roland’s words were a soothing balm over her soul.

“I am as aged as old cheese.” Was it that they said about madness and different results? Try as she may, there were old habits she could not escape from even in her golden years.

“And I see a treasure of flavours and potential, waiting to be put to use.” Roland’s fingers laced in between her own, giving only the briefest squeeze before removing her plate and coming back with what she suspected would be the last tribute.

Somehow, this was even smaller than before but immaculate in presentation. A chocolate soufflé, standing tall in the clay ramekin, proof of her husband’s talents before the stove and care of his hands that something so fragile could remain undisturbed. She sank her silver spoon into the structure and the smell of icing sugar floated through the air, mains of pure pleasure bubbling up from her throat. If before she had felt the approach of that full feeling, now she could only manage two bites before she had to set her utensil down and exhale a breath she had not known she was holding.

“Something wrong?” Roland asked, appearing at her side if summoned by magic.

“No, nothing you have done. It seems my eyes were too big for my stomach.” Gently, she rested her hand over her stomach, feeling the result of birthing a full family that she had never thought to remove.

“I can save it for you.” He offered but Adelaide knew that something this delicious could not be made to wait.

“I have a better idea. A good cook should always be willing to sample their own produce.” Roland, taking his own turn to be surprised, lifted an eyebrow. When she moved, he opened his mouth unbidden as she fed him the last morsels of the dessert.

“What do you think?” Adelaide asked, withdrawing the spoon and the pair shared a smile only seen by couples who knew each other in ways more intimate than merely naked bodies. But had seen the truth of each other’s souls, had shared joy and sorrow in equal measure.

“It is delicious.” Roland whispered, the sound swallowed as they came together in a long lingering kiss.