The Chef's Dilemma

The Chef's Dilemma

Cuoco looked with satisfaction along the long line of his cooking pots hanging upside-down on the rack like soldiers on parade. No matter how busy his schedule, he always took time out to enjoy this, his favourite part of the day. It was at this time in the morning, as his staff made their prep for the coming evening that he truly believed that he ran his cucina with the precision of a general.
All staff, from his second-in-command Adolphus to the youngest scullery boy Leo, made ready with the effortless professionalism earned by sheer hard work. Although a hard taskmaster, Cuoco had no objections to the occasional display of good-natured banter and even mild ribaldry did not cause his fierce eyebrows to draw down in displeasure so long as the work was being carried out.
During service it would be different though. No matter how smooth the prep or the number of covers there was always a curious excitement fluttering in the breast, that flow of adrenalin which, although unnamed, was well recognised by Cuoco as the hallmark of an outstanding cucina.
Cuoco's daily speech never faltered, never changed yet was met with freshness of gaze by all present for when he gave this oration his staff knew all was right in their world. 'Every service is different,' he would boom and his voice would echo around the kitchen, making everyone stop what they were doing just for that moment and take note 'for who knows how many Don Luigi will invite to his table? Do we? Is it for the likes of us to know such things?' Even young Leo, the five-year-old scullery boy understood these questions required no answer and he waited beside his mound of unwashed salad in silence. 'No!' Cuoco cried in exaltation 'we do not! For who thinks to inform the lowly cucina about the workings of the great Don's mind? And why not?' he roared, marching amongst workers made statues by his daily discourse 'because there is no need. No!' he waved his arms expansively 'for we are true professionals. What need have we of numbers, of planning, of knowing what goes on inside the heart of our lord? We do our work, faultlessly, tirelessly and we do not expect to be praised for what we do, because for us perfection is everything. Abbastanza!'
'Si Cuoco,' came the unanimous response as, like the sleeping beauty's court, the statues came to life again and carried on with their elaborate preparations for Don Luigi's evening meal.
On that same evening Pepe the Food Taster rushed into Cuoco's domain amid the steam and organised chaos. 'Instructions from upstairs,' he gasped 'from Don Luigi himself. At table tonight will be only four. Also a menu.'
'Harrumph,' Cuoco grabbed the parchment from Pepe's hands and turned it around but no matter how he looked at it, the strange lines and symbols meant nothing to him. 'Is this writing?' he asked incredulously 'you are bringing into my cucina writing?' he regarded the Food Taster gravely.
'Give it to me signore,' Pepe mumbled, ashamed of his own ability to decipher words in the face of Cuoco's ignorance 'I will read it for you.'
Cuoco blushed, or perhaps the heat of the roasting fires caused his face to turn from its usual shade of red to purple, but to mask any embarrassment Cuoco did what people have been doing for centuries to cover that which they do not know; he blustered, stammered and became loud and unnecessarily aggressive. 'So you seek to make a fool of me,' he cried beating his breast theatrically 'you who not three months before came humbly to my door. Signore Cuoco you cried, please allow me the hand of your beautiful daughter Maria. I will be the best of husbands signore¦ I will do this, I will do that, signore if only you will consent to our marriage. So, because I like you and because of the stability of your work - after all a good Food Taster will always be employed - I agreed but now you seek to humiliate me.'
The Food Taster, well used to the gifted but volatile Cuoco, handled him as he handled his daughter Maria of the flashing eye and temper to match. She was no match for Pepe, for Food Tasters live by their wits a good deal of the time, and he controlled his prospective father-in-law with similar ease. 'Allow me signore,' he whispered, drawing Cuoco towards a private corner where they would be undisturbed. 'The Don demands these dishes for a reason.'
Cuoco felt a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach. More poisonings. But to hide his discomfort his meaty arms windmilled wildly. 'What about all this?' he cried 'I have today prepared a sumptuous banquet the likes of which has never before been tasted in all of Tuscany. I have beautiful breads, sweetened with honey and perfumed with the most delectable spices served on a bed of grapes and dried figs, I have chilled fruit soups, I have roast lamb, the most tender in all Italy, I have pheasant, I have wing of swan, I have twelve types of cheese, I have perfetto Chianti wine, I have ''
'Please signore,' hissed the Food Taster 'this is what you must cook ' and quickly for the guests sit at table even as we speak. You must make potatoes; plain, boiled then lightly roasted and seasoned with garlic, onion and leek.'
Cuoco regarded Pepe with incredulous eyes. 'Are you sure?'
The Food Taster ruffled the parchment noisily. 'It says so. Right here,' he underlined some symbols with a grubby forefinger which Cuoco pretended to understand.
'You must bake flat bread.'
'Which is lightly seasoned with cinnamon and ''
'Plain,' Pepe repeated. 'Look, look! It is written.'
'Si, si,' Cuoco mumbled confusedly 'what kind of chef serves such fare to the guests of his Don? Perhaps they are from a monastery?' he asked hopefully.
The Food Taster shook his head. 'It is Don Luigi's brother Mariano and his wife Therese.'
Cuoco scratched his bald head in puzzlement. 'The last time they were guests we served roast head of deer, pork loins on a bed of herbs and ''
'This time it's different,' Pepe hissed, coming to the end of his patience now 'Donna Therese is gravida,' he paused as if this news should mean something to Cuoco who, although utterly brilliant within the cloistered realm of his cucina was entirely innocent in all other matters. 'Don Luigi has no issue,' Pepe explained and Cuoco nodded wisely. It was true that the Don and his wife were not blessed with children but what had that to do with anything?
'It would be insulting to offer such poor fare,' Cuoco realised, thinking of his reputation.
'True signore. But Don Luigi believes that in such simple food lies the best way to hide poison.'
'Then poison the wine,' exclaimed Cuoco triumphantly 'allow sumptuous delights on table and hide poison in the wine. I have sweet Chianti and ''
The Food Taster shook his head. 'No, no signore. You seem unable to grasp a simple fact. There will be no wine at table tonight.'
'No wine?' Cuoco was outraged. After this meal he would be lucky to get a job sweeping out stables if word spread that Don Luigi's Cuoco, famous all across Tuscany, served flat bread, potatoes barely garnished and no wine.
'You will serve ale,' Pepe winked.
Despite the rapidly increasing sick sensation in his belly, Cuoco had nevertheless been forced to comply by the time the Food Taster ascended upstairs to report to Don Luigi that his orders were being carried out. Poisonings he had done before, but it seemed doubly maladroit to the meticulous Cuoco to serve death to the Don's own brother in the heart of a labourers fare. However he had worked for Don Luigi long enough to know that, should his orders not be upheld, it would be a slow painful death for them all so, giving orders to abandon the half-cooked dishes, he soon had the kitchen smelling like a traveller's tavern; of cheap food and unrefined ale.
From within the folds of his tunic the Food Taster produced a colourless, odourless vial and pushed it into the hands of Cuoco. 'You know what to do.'
I don't want to poison any more people, Cuoco thought worriedly. If Dio Himself is watching, please know I never did want to kill anyone. He thought back in his mind, trying to remember how many faceless individuals he had served with extravagant cuisine garnished with death on the orders of his lord. When he reached 15 he became muddled and could not count any more. What have those people done to me? Nothing ' yet who can be Cuoco of renown in this day and age if you are not willing to slip the odd vial of poison into a meal? But death is on my hands ' yet if I disobey then my own death is certain.
Cuoco disengaged his mind, as he had done every other time Don Luigi required someone to be poisoned, yet something about sending death on a platter to the Don's own brother and his pregnant young wife sat badly on him.
What can I do? I can poison Don Luigi but that would serve only to kill my daughter's intended as Pepe will taste the food first or I could keep back some of the vial and hope that its effects are weakened. If I don't use the vial then a slow, terrible death awaits me and the innocents who serve beside me. What can I do in the face of such evil? Oh Dio what can I do¦
Cuoco placed generous servings of potato, garnished to the best of his ability within the remit of his lord, on four wooden platters and surveyed the effects critically. The vial of poison he mixed carefully into plates intended for the Don's brother and his wife but, instead of mixing it through he left a little corner of the starchy mess untouched; for Pepe, should they be suspicious enough to require him to taste. It sometimes happened. 'If you are summoned to do so, eat from this side,' he told the Food Taster.
Pepe regarded him anxiously. 'And if they should mix it with their fingers first?'
'Dio be with you,' intoned Cuoco but there was a strange blankness ' a sadness ' around his eyes which the Food Taster wanted to mention but Don Luigi could not be kept waiting so he scurried up the stone flagged steps with the ale and dishes of flat bread in his hands.
When he returned he noticed the wooden platters had been changed and now the heap of potatoes sat proudly on the second-best salvers. 'No one said not to use the silverware,' Cuoco explained and with the rasping voice of Don Luigi cruelly heckling his jesters travelling downstairs there was no time now to delay. With a pointed look at Cuoco, Pepe lifted the plates and moved towards the steps.
'Look after Maria for me,' whispered Cuoco.
'Of course I will. Why on earth would you say that now? Signore, I know the poisoning sits badly on you but it is not your responsibility. People like you and I, we only follow orders. Ah Cuoco, I see you are upset for you are a man of perfection and gentle of nature. Let me deliver these platters and when I return ' if I return ' we will talk, si?' Pepe threw Cuoco the brightest smile he could manage before heading upstairs.
It's a wicked old world. Cuoco retrieved one of the wooden platters from where he'd hidden it and mixed the food around with his hands before cramming it into his mouth.

Prizewinner in Ludlow Food & Drink festival Sept 2006