The Princess and the Rogue (Bow Street Bachelors #3) - Kate Bateman Page 0,37
leading up to the cobbled mews at the back of the club. An impressive assortment of shiny copper pans and bunches of dried herbs hung from hooks on the ceiling, and a huge cooking range emitted a sweltering heat. Two maids were in the process of chopping vegetables, and a short, rotund gentleman wearing a black apron was elbow-deep in a large copper bowl. This, Anya surmised, was the great Lagrasse.
As they watched, he withdrew a ball of bread dough, threw it down on the tabletop, and proceeded to slap and pummel it with his fists as though he wanted to ensure the thing was completely dead.
He glanced up with a fearsome frown, not at all subservient at the appearance of his lordly employer, and his thin black mustache quivered in irritation.
“My lord. Zis is a most inconvenient time. I am at a crucial stage wiz my dough. If you wish to ’ave food for two ’undred zis evening, I would appreciate no interruptions.”
Anya suppressed a smile.
“Monsieur Lagrasse,” Wolff said evenly. “This is my guest, Miss Brown. She has some suggestions for you.”
The chef glared, clearly astonished that anyone should be questioning the perfect composition of his menu. Anya stepped forward, keen to forestall any objections, and spoke rapidly in French.
“It is an honor to meet you, sir. I hail from St. Petersburg, and believe me when I say that tales of your culinary genius have spread even as far as there.”
The Frenchman broke out into a delighted grin. “Why, but you speak the mother tongue like a native, my girl!”
Anya smiled. “Please, call me Anya. And of course. We Russians love everything French. I spent a wonderful year in Paris before I came here.”
She held out her hand and the little man bowed over her fingers in formal greeting.
“What are these suggestions of yours?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Wolff raise his brows in shock, although whether it was at her flawless French or the fact that she’d managed not to infuriate his volatile employee, was unclear.
“Lord Mowbray has assured me that you’re the finest chef in London, and from the food I tasted last night, I’m inclined to agree with him.”
The little man puffed up like a rooster, and Anya threw out her lure. She’d dealt with temperamental artists like this before, both in Russia and in Paris. She knew just how to handle him. Men like Lagrasse needed to be constantly challenged or they lost their spark.
“However—”
Lagrasse sent her a steely look. “Madame?”
“I’ve also heard of a rival of yours, a man named Eustache Ude.”
From behind her, she heard Wolff let out a low groan of disbelief.
Lagrasse’s face reddened. “Ude? Bah! He used to be in the service of Napoleon’s mother, but he works at Crockford’s now. Crockford pays him two thousand pounds a year! And for what? The man’s pièce de résistance is nothing more than mackerel baked in clarified butter.”
Anya adopted a serious expression. “And I am quite certain you’re the better chef. But still, people talk. Wouldn’t you like the chance to prove it, once and for all?”
Lagrasse’s mustache twitched and his eyes took on a steely glint. She had him.
“What do you suggest?”
“Well, clearly you’re both exceptionally skilled when it comes to preparing French cuisine. But isn’t the ultimate test whether you can master food from a different country? To prepare it so well that even natives of that country pronounce it the best they’ve ever had?”
She paused to let the idea marinate. “Lord Mowbray would like the Tricorn to serve some Russian delicacies in honor of the tsar’s delegation. I’ve bet him you can produce food so authentic that even I won’t be able to tell it was prepared by a Frenchman.”
Anya held her breath. The gauntlet had been thrown down. She prayed the chef would rise to the challenge.
He did not disappoint. He drew himself up to his maximum height of five foot two. “Madame, there is nothing you can ask of me, no recipe so complex that I, René Lagrasse, cannot master.”
“That’s precisely what I told Lord Mowbray. I shall be your official food tester. I will judge each dish before we serve it to the club’s patrons.”
“Which foods do you suggest?”
“Let me think. The first that comes to mind, of course, is blini. They’re tiny little Russian pancakes. Similar to your crêpes, only made with a yeasted dough, which makes them lighter. You can serve them with any number of things, sweet or savory. I personally like