I know that my friend didn’t mean it, because she’s one of those really ‘nice’ people that I don’t deserve as a friend. She plants pots of foliage and shit that actually grows and she knows the Latin names of every type of flower as well as making up delicious recipes out of the scraps of leftover food that I would normally give to the dog.
And let me also say that I love her and that it’s common knowledge among our social network of friends that I can’t cook and that my kitchen certainly doesn’t rule.
Nevertheless, she demoted me again.
Last time we were invited to dinner, she asked me to bring the cheese plate.
That’s right, NOT EVEN A FUCKING SALAD!
Yesterday, when I asked her what I could bring to lunch, (silently praying that I had done enough to regain my cooking stripes and clawed my way back up to salads), she asked me to bring two baguettes.
TWO FUCKING BAGUETTES!
When I got her text, I was confused at first and wrote back anxiously ‘but what else can I bring?’
‘Nothing,’ she replied, ‘I want you to have the day off’. (While we REAL COOKS make the food).
I got a little upset. I mean, she asked our other friend, who really can’t cook and has been known to buy ready-made dessert (THE SHAME!), to bring the cheese plate. And I’m not gloating when I say that she can’t balance different French cheeses with just the right amount of fruit, biscuits and quince in the way I can.
How the fuck do you make two baguettes look inspiring?
I asked NC if she thought I’d been ‘served’, in the words of Kurt? She looked at me pitifully for a minute and then being my daughter we set about planning my revenge.
‘I could make the bread,’ I suggested, and we both laughed all afternoon and poured some more wine.
We discussed going to Adriano Zumbo’s macaroon shop in Balmain to buy twelve perfect salted caramel macaroons, bashing them up slightly, and then taking them in to the lunch with an ‘Oh, just managed to find some extra time in between my dawn run and breakfast….’
But I didn’t do any of that. Instead, I took her 6kgs of potatoes from my online food shopping over-order and placed my bread proudly in between her homemade napkins and Casserole de Poussin that was probably baked in unicorn’s blood.
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