This blog post is part of the weekly writing challenge over at The Daily Post. I thought it would be a great way to ‘christen’ my new blog.
A meal made with love
His obsession with food was legendary. Well, in our part of town it was. His need for perfection was tolerated. Well, by those of us who wanted to work with him at least. When Chef Jackson laid his hands on raw food it was always turned into a meal made with love. Expertly cut, delicately cooked, creatively laid out to eat. Each dish a masterpiece to behold.
I was in love with him. They all knew that in the kitchen. How could you not be? His fiery temper mixed in with his passion and desire to create the best gourmet eating experience this side of London Bridge. I dreamt about him in those brief moments when we were given permission to go home and sleep. When you worked with this man you were his 24/7/365, no questions asked, for a whole year. After that time the world was your oyster. The best jobs secured. The best salaries expected. I was ready to give this man my life for the next 12 months. I loved him that much. From afar.
He watched in despair at some of the stock brokers who sat and ate his art. Not enough time to really taste what was being chewed they gobbled it down and left. Then occasionally, like today, he’d receive a compliment from someone who enjoyed his food. Who could taste the hint of mint in his ice cream or smell the subtle aroma of spices rubbed into his Wild Scottish Pheasant. These moments he loved. When that happened he opened his heart and gave one of us the honour of standing beside him to help him cook. Today it was me. I watched his hands at work. I watched him delicately handle the food. I couldn’t help but wish those hands were on me.