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Back The Chalet Save as PDF
Chapters (75)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for The Chalet
  3. Dedication
  4. PART ONE
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. PART TWO
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. 24
  30. 25
  31. 26
  32. 27
  33. 28
  34. 29
  35. PART THREE
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. 60
  67. 61
  68. 62
  69. 63
  70. Epilogue
  71. Acknowledgements
  72. Keep Reading …
  73. Prologue
  74. About the Author
  75. About the Publisher

As usual, Millie has gone all out for dinner and the champagne is flowing, but there’s a weird atmosphere. Annoyingly, Cameron is here again. He’s droning on about how fantastic his chalets are compared to all the other ones in the resort and every time he opens his mouth to speak I’m treated to the sight of red and black fish eggs coating his tongue and even flying out of his mouth now and again. It’s disgusting.

Simon is guffawing and nodding at everything Cameron says and Cass is sitting on the sofa with her eyes glazing over.

Poor Cass. Simon has pretty much ignored her on this trip. Again I wonder if he and Ria have a history I don’t know about. But I can hardly ask her, the way she is at the moment.

We sit down for dinner. The starter is foie gras, and Cameron is wanging on about its provenance, as if anyone cares. Cass is staring into space. Adam is trying and failing to look interested in what Cameron is saying.

I suddenly envy Ria, alone in our room, not having to listen to Cameron. Maybe I should have ducked out of dinner too.

50

January 2020, La Madière, France

Dinner is risotto. Mushroom risotto. The rice is arborio, and I’m told most of the mushrooms come from a local grower, probably not because his mushrooms are any better than the ones in the supermarket, but so that Snow Snow can use words like ‘artisanal’, ‘hand-picked’ ‘locally foraged’ and the like in their brochures. Such a load of bollocks.

Risotto is a quick and easy dish, with no great magic to it. People act like you have to be an expert to get it right but you don’t; you buy the ingredients, tip them in and stir. Any idiot can do it. I fry the ‘artisanal’ mushrooms with garlic, onion, and few herbs (fresh, obviously) in a pan before tipping in the rice and stock which I made from leftover chicken earlier in the week – no stock cubes allowed here. Then it’s just stir, stir, stir.

Meantime, I heat up the now-reconstituted mushrooms which I put on to soak earlier, carefully picked and dried while I was still at catering college. We learned loads of useful stuff there – not only about how to prepare dishes, but also how to forage for food, how to prepare it, what’s safe to eat and what isn’t. It’s amazing the range of edible foods you can find in the wild in the UK, even in cities.

I had to go a little further afield for mushrooms, but there are woods and forests easily accessible even on the London Underground. It became part of my weekend routine, getting up early and going out to the woods before the day really got started. Often I’d see no one at all; at most a dog walker or two.