Claire was used to all the events that Jonathan attended since she was married to him. The blonde DCI did not often follow him, but she had spent enough time there to learn how things worked. More significantly, she knows when someone is terrible. And the one she had just left was surely not good.
However, many things are different as of today. For him, the ex-soldier, and the night manager, it's a normal business dinner, but Claire is unfamiliar with it. There was no pursuit of suspects or evidence to investigate crimes at this gala dinner.
Claire was neither comfortable nor sober in front of a crowd; she chose to confront the danger because it was part of her job as a cop. Unlike wearing an exquisite dress and seated with her man here like a doll among many affluent strangers. The food on offer was in no way substantial. She barely touched her champagne since she didn't want to drink on an empty stomach; thus, the detective chief inspector had to go through the evening without any alcohol to alleviate boredom or irritation. And when she finally arrived home, she was famished.
"We should have stopped at Spar." Hand on her face, Claire muttered tiredly, kicking off her high heels and heading straight for the kitchen.
"We have food here."
"It's midnight, and I'm not cooking anything. And if I don't eat in the next five minutes, I'll send you down the street to that bloody kebab somewhere, really."
"We are not nearly drunk enough for that, love."
"Jonathan."
"Okay, okay, I'll find us something," the night manager replied while kissing her forehead, easing her furrowed brows, and sneaking past her to the fridge. Claire was full of surprise. She knew her husband was skilled at making messes in the kitchen and turning them into delicious dishes like a crime, but right now he had to fail. She then considered what kind of kebab she wanted, dragging a stool from the bench to at least keep an eye on her man.
He stood in front of the refrigerator for a minute, stroking his beard and sometimes reaching inside to flip a jar around to see what it was. Finally, he said, "okay," and started putting items on the wooden surface. A bag of carrots, many jars and sauce bottles, and other containers with leftovers from the previous evenings. Claire wasn't sure whether she ought to ask what her husband was doing. It was difficult to figure out if she wanted to know. When Jonathan appeared to be happy with the ingredients, he took out a couple of plates, a chopping board, a knife, and the air fryer.
"Entrée first," he noted, flicking a carrot into the air and catching it. And she was relieved he hadn't drunk too much, lest he try the same trick with a knife. "This," he commented as he started slicing the carrots into sticks, "is inspired by an appetiser I had at...um, well, I don't remember it. I assume that was somewhere my mother found. Anyway, they used cucumber, and we don't have any. Carrot will be good though." He continued to chop while speaking, despite the fact that the poor carrot sticks were completely uneven.
Some appeared to have been left in half, while others were almost transparent. But he didn't appear to notice or care as he laid them all out on a platter with a generous dusting of salt flakes. "Carrot sticks?" Claire questioned, taking one up. She was not going to refuse them, although she would have liked a kebab.
"Just wait; there will be a dipping sauce. And I said this was the entrée."
"What sauce? I think we're out of aioli."
"Well I don't know exactly what the restaurant served but I think I can recreate it."
The blonde ate another salted carrot stick as she saw her guy experiment. A few spoonfuls of Greek yoghurt and tahini were combined in a bowl. Next, add the garlic paste and lemon juice. He tastes each new addition and occasionally adds a little extra of one thing or another.
"Something's missing," he grumbled to himself, turning around to examine the pantry stuff while she dipped and tasted another carrot in the mixture. "I think it's pretty good like this."
Jonathan opted not to listen to her as he tossed a couple more jars on the bench. A little bit of marmite, "for the umami," was followed by a scoop of curry paste before she could stop him. It needed some more tweaking and a dash of salt and pepper to season it before he called it done. "Well, it's not the same as what the restaurant served, but it's not awful. To be honest, I don't think they used curry paste," he said, shrugging. "Here, taste."
He scooped some sauce onto one of the heavier sticks and held it out to Claire, who let him feed her. It was okay, but she had to confess she liked it more before his arrogance led him to the pantry. "Just you wait," he added, dipping a whole carrot stick in the sauce. "I could bottle this and make millions."
Claire rolled her eyes and chuckled, her palm on one of her cheeks. "What's for the main course, chef?"
"Chef? I like that," he said, winking. "For the main, today I'll be serving up leftovers." And Claire didn't bother to disguise her dismay, figuring she'd at least know what flavours to expect. "Oh?"
"No, it'll be good. I'm going to make them better."
That worried her, but her hubby looked so eager to make her something unique that she couldn't help but nod.
The tall night manager opened a tub of leftover Thai food. "What's better than Pad Thai? Hm." He drew out the last piece of roti from the bag and began putting the Pad Thai on top. "A Pad Thai pizza!" Jonathan clicked and pointed at her before sprinkling grated cheese on his handiwork. The entire thing went into the air fryer. "But wait, there's more." He continues, peeling the clingfilm from the bowl of leftover steak from the night before. He removed the steak from the top and sliced it into small pieces before returning it to the dish, mixing the meat, peas, and corn into the mashed potatoes. Then he poured in a few shakes of herbs and spices (she couldn't read the labels, so she had to hope the tastes worked). Finally, he had one egg and some flour. When the pizza was completed, he just combined everything. Eagerly, he pulled it out and chopped it in half, passing the portion over.
"Here goes nothing; still, I enjoy the show, mister," Claire murmured under her breath. However, she was pleasantly satisfied. The cheese tasted a little unusual with the Thai, but not as awful as it might have been. Utilising the roti as a pizza foundation almost tempted her to use the term genius.
He gave out a hearty, "hmm!" And he polished off his pizza, saying, "If we had more roti, I'd make another. I could use a muffin or some regular bread."
"What about the potato, honey?" The blonde spoke fast, hoping to divert him before he spent the entire night creating insane pizza combos.
"Okay, yes. Actually, can you help with that?"
She consented, and she let her husband show her how to form the mash into balls and press them flat. The combination produced more balls than she expected, so it took several batches to cook them all. He considered using a frypan, but when she reminded him that he would have to clean it, he chose to go with the air fryer. Claire ate the first batch as the second cooked. They were certainly the nicest thing he'd cooked thus far—crispy on the exterior, soft on the inside, and tasting like a full steak supper in one bite. In lieu of gravy, he proposed dipping them in the leftover sauce from the entrée, but she chose to eat them plain.
"And dessert," the tall added abruptly as the final batch of potatoes heated.
"I think there is a packet of shortbread in the cupboard. They'd pair nicely with a cuppa." Jonathan seemed offended by her. "Excuse you! I am in charge of cooking here. And I've got the ideal recipe."
"Oh, okay. Go on. Sorry, chef." She giggled. The longer she stayed up (and the more she ate), the funnier it appeared. "Do you need any help?"
"Can you core two apples for me?"
"Are you doing baked apples?" That was an excellent prospect.
"Well, the microwave version, but yes."
A few minutes later, the apples were in the microwave. Each had been coated with a considerable quantity of brown sugar mixed with butter, and some were placed into the hole where the core had been. It created a delicious brown paste that Claire could have devoured with a spoon. When the microwave beeped, the apples were mushy enough to eat with a spoon and covered in a caramel sauce. She crouched over the bench, both of them eating directly from the plate they had cooked on, and her tongue nearly burned on the first bite but it was worth it.
And her man practically moaned as he ate his, almost strangely.
"Okay, this was worth waiting for."
"Mmmhmm," Jonathan nodded, "better than a kebab."
"The apple, yes; the rest of it was a bit mad."
The scoffing noise he made was undermined by the fact that he had to complete eating before making it. "I thought it was all quite nice. I could actually be a chef, Claire!" He seemed to be filled with pride.
"Oh. Indeed, honey. But it seems you should concentrate on desserts."