Chef Maurice and the Bunny-Boiler Bake Off (Chef Maurice Cotswold Mysteries Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

chef,” he whispered.
    “Eh? Look at how slowly she works. Me, I would have covered ten cakes in this same time—”
    “If we don’t move now, chef, we’re not going to start serving on time.” He looked around the tent. “Look. Bonvivant’s already gone to set up his stand.”
    This last fact appeared to get Chef Maurice’s attention.
    “ Bof , very well.” He aimed one last glare at Miranda Matthews, who was too busy picking out the blue Smarties from her bowl to notice, and heaved himself out of his chair.
    “A sponge cake covered in chocolate sweets? The people, they call this cooking?”
    “There’s probably another step to the recipe, chef.” In fact, just as they’d left the tent, Patrick had cast one last backwards glance at the stage, in time to catch Miranda whipping out a set of plastic goggles and firing up a blowtorch.
    He decided, however, it was best not to mention this to Chef Maurice.

    The battle line was drawn, and the two opposing sides took up position behind their stations, tongs at the ready.
    Like in matters of war, politics, and competitive jam eating, when it came to running the most popular lunchtime stall, there could only be one winner.
    Chef Maurice hefted up the stainless steel lid on the big wood-fired oven. Hundreds of pounds of slow-roasting hog stared back up at him. By his side, Patrick was busy slicing open a mound of wholegrain cob rolls, while a huge vat of freshly made applesauce bubbled on the portable stove nearby.
    To their left, Chef Bonvivant and his kitchen brigade were firing up their hotplates, ready to begin caramelising scallops, piping out creamy cauliflower purée and finally garnishing the finished dish with a crisp slice of dry-cured Italian ham.
    “How do they expect those paper plates to hold up to the purée?” whispered Patrick, as they watched their rivals attempt a sample plate for Chef Bonvivant’s inspection.
    Chef Maurice shook his head. “There is a time for haute cuisine,” he said, waving his third ‘just for testing’ hog roast roll, “and there is not. A good chef must consider his audience. Once we have finished serving up Arnaud”—he patted the curved oven lid—“there will be no question as to who is the greater chef!”
    “I wish you’d stop naming our hog roast each year,” said Patrick, brushing a generous daub of slow-cooked onion mayonnaise onto the inside of each roll. “It’s starting to freak the kids out.”
    “Bah, they must learn about their food. Last week, there was a little girl in the restaurant who did not know where eggs came from. Can you believe this?”
    “Was that the table who Dorothy said left straight after their starters? And hardly touched their omelette aux herbes fines ?”
    Chef Maurice puffed out his chest. “It is not my fault that the parents of today do not inform their children of the key facts of food production.”
    “I think it was the hand gestures you made when explaining it all, more than the facts, that did it, according to Dorothy . . .”
    “Hi, guys. I thought I’d come get our order in before the lunch rush,” said PC Lucy, strolling up to the stand. She was in normal uniform, but had managed to pin a daffodil to her walkie-talkie pouch to show willing. “Three jumbo rolls and two regular ones, all with the special mustard, please.”
    “How’s the competition for the Bake Off looking?” asked Patrick, as he readied five waxed-paper wrappers for her order.
    “Don’t talk to me about it. Your mother is never going to speak to me again after she tastes my entry. How did the fish demo go?”
    “Good. We ran out of recipe cards. Though it turned out one of the audience had an undiscovered allergy to lemon sole. They had to take him off to the first-aid tent.” He handed her a paper bag, heavy with hog roast rolls. “Have you seen my mum anywhere? She wanted to try our special mustard sauce.”
    “Last I saw of her was in the demo tent, talking pastry with