Stan booked two places at a beginners’ cookery class.
He arrived alone, then placed his kitchen smoke alarm beside the chopping board.
The teacher helped him make a proper chicken dinner. The alarm stayed silent.
Before leaving, Stan asked for a second certificate.
The teacher pointed at the alarm and asked what it needed a certificate for….
Stan had decided to learn to cook properly.
His daughter, Beth, welcomed the news. She had been eating his Sunday lunches for years and had become very good at praising the vegetables first.
What about the chicken? Stan asked.
Lovely carrots, she said.
He showed her the booking for a beginners’ class.
Two places? she asked. Are you taking someone?
My strictest food critic.
Beth looked at her mother.
Don’t look at me, Mum said. I’ve learned to eat quietly.
On Saturday, Stan arrived at the teaching kitchen carrying a shopping bag. The teacher, Anna, checked his name.
Is your guest on the way?
Already here.
He took out a smoke alarm and placed it beside his chopping board.
Anna waited for him to explain.
From my kitchen, he said.
I can see that.
It has an opinion about everything I make.
Anna moved it away from the flour and gave Stan an apron.
They were making chicken, roast potatoes and a simple sauce.
Stan asked whether he should turn the oven up as far as it would go.
Only if you’d like to finish the course before we start, Anna said.
He set it to the temperature on the recipe.
She showed him how to give the potatoes space on the tray. He usually squeezed them around the chicken.
It saves washing up, he said.
Do they cook evenly?
They finish together. That’s always seemed polite.
Anna gave him another tray.
He followed each step. He used the timer. He checked the chicken properly. When the sauce began to thicken, he stopped adding flour.
That was new.
At home, he explained, he kept adding flour until the spoon could stand up.
Anna said a sauce didn’t need to support its own cutlery.
The meal came out golden rather than black at the edges.
Stan put a forkful in his mouth. Then he took another.
Anna asked how it was.
I’m trying to work out what I’ve forgotten.
Nothing. That’s what it should taste like.
He glanced at the smoke alarm.
Not a word, he said.
At the end, Anna gave everyone a certificate. Stan carefully put his beside the containers of food.
Then he asked for another.
For your daughter? Anna asked.
For him.
He pointed to the alarm.
Anna smiled.
It hasn’t done anything.
Exactly. Best behaviour I’ve ever had from it.
She said she couldn’t give an appliance a cooking certificate.
Stan said an attendance certificate would do.
What possible use would that be?
He picked up the alarm and looked at it.
Proof that dinner doesn’t have to be a fire drill.
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