Chateau Keyboard

Here we go, then

Lunch today with the bookclub Wendy organises under the auspices of BritsNimes. This month's book is Toast - The Story of a Boy's Hunger by Nigel Slater, and a right disappointing read it is too. Really. Nigel's a great cookery writer with many, many belting recipes. But his head is a clue-free zone when it comes to ideas like 'narrative thread' and 'storyline'. He says somewhere in the book, apparently, that some of it's based on articles he wrote elsewhere. So is the rest of it, Nigel, with the slight difference that the padding bits weren't good enough to foist off elsewhere.
And, while I'm moaning (yes, yes, I know how many of you love it when I moan) it's just so un-British, Nigel, to slag off one's parents like that. Even if they were horrible. And even if they are dead. That's the sort of thing Americans do. Sheesh.
Anyway. Anyway. Interesting though the bookclub is, and good though lunch is (foie gras maison - well puhlease, it was on the menu, what could I do? - fricasée de pintade au cidre, poire au vin) the best portion of the event came when I chatted with Isabelle about my upcoming inscription at Vatel. Ah, Wendy pipes up, and can he come here and work as a plongeur?
Isabelle laughs but I say I'm serious, I'd love to work as a washer-up in their kitchen if they'd have me, I very firmly believe in starting at the bottom and, come the glorious day when I get to run the People's Kitchens at the palace formerly known as Buckingham, I don't want to be ordering some former toff to scrape dirty saucepans if I'm not able and prepared to do the same myself.
Some short discussions later and it's arranged: I'm to be given a foundation course in doing things in the kitchen Franck's way in return for teaching them some basic English. Neat!
So, next Thursday sees my first day working in a proper kitchen. I need sensible, enclosed shoes; trousers that don't matter (this doesn't narrow down my wardrobe much) and I can borrow one of Ivan's chef's coats. Cool.