The Billionaire’s Full Figured Desire

She knew she would try almost anything with Terrence, there was no denying that their chemistry made everything that much more enjoyable, but even still she wanted to look presentable around him. It wasn’t about trying to portray someone she wasn’t, and it wasn’t because she felt the need to try harder, but she still wanted to impress him.

Maybe it was sappy and a tad bit stupid, but she just wanted to give him the best of herself.

She made her way into the kitchen and started taking out pans, whisks, measuring jugs.

It wasn’t long before Terrence followed her into the kitchen and stood there, leaning on the doorway, watching her do her thing. She didn’t pay him much attention as she moved around the kitchen, zoning in on the task at hand. She loved the idea of cooking for someone else other herself. Cooking for other people was the one thing she enjoyed the most, just seeing the look on their faces as they tucked into one of her dishes was enough to make all the time and effort she had used to make it worth it.

Frida was vaguely aware of Terrence watching her but wasn’t really paying attention.

Her mind had already flown ahead to the task at hand, she’d already begun planning how much she was going to make, in what order. Not many people thought about the detail that went into cooking, TV shows often show women who cook for their families but never followed any sort of instruction, but Frida knew that sometimes to make sure it tasted absolutely perfect there were rules that needed to be followed. She liked the order of cooking, how it seemed to get messy and sometimes all over the place but in the end, there would always be a put together meal on the table at the end.

The one thing she always enjoyed about cooking was the fact that she could lose herself in it, no matter what she was cooking. It could take her anywhere she wanted to be, sometimes it would take her back to her childhood kitchen, cooking with her mother as they made a mess of the kitchen while cooking up something so delicious the mess didn’t even matter. On other occasions it could take her to other places in the world, the original destination of the dish she would be cooking, she could picture herself walking the streets of Italy whenever she smelled fresh bread and cooked pasta. It was something she loved.

Eggs Benedict was a simple dish, but there were a lot of steps, and one of a chef’s most important tools is the power to multitask. This was one of the first and most important lessons that Frida had ever learned, and it was something that she carried with her every single day of her life, for every meal that she made. It simply wasn’t possible to do only one thing at a time and make it as a chef, especially not in the professional industry.

To be a chef, you had to master the art of double-hatting and triple-hatting on the job. Because things went wrong, sometimes somebody switched off the gas hob by mistake, and you had to take a pie out of an oven and re-light the hob at the same time. There was seldom time to do things exactly and as ideally as you would like. It just wasn’t feasible, and it never had been.

Frida had made this particular dish so many times that she wasn’t even really paying attention to what she was doing. Her hands were almost a blur as they whirled around the kitchen, sliding pans all over the place, transporting ingredients from surface-to-surface and handling utensils.

“How do you do that?” Terrence asked from behind her.

“Do what?” Frida asked absent-mindedly, not even turning to look at him as she popped open a carton of eggs and cracked one into her frying pan. It hissed, popped and fizzed on the heated pan surface and the egg began to fry.

“How do you move so quickly?” Terrence asked. His tone of voice suggested that he was in awe, though Frida couldn’t see his facial expression to corroborate.

“I don’t know,” Frida said truthfully, shrugging. “Practice, I suppose. Years of it. Drills and skills is what my dad used to call it. Training and expertise.”

“And how do you do so many things at once?” Terrence asked.

Frida chuckled at this as she balanced an English muffin on her cutting board and with one smooth stroke with her chef’s knife, sliced it apart. She popped it into the toaster with one hand, and with the other, used a spatula to flip the frying egg over in the pan.

“Now that took a bit longer to master. But I have been cooking for almost as long as I’ve been alive. Must be about twenty years by now, so I ought to be good at it.”

Terrence nodded. “I suppose so. So, can you talk me through what you’re doing?”

“I certainly can.” Frida nodded. “So are you familiar with the process of making Eggs Benedict?”

“I sure am.” Terrence nodded. “Eggs, English muffin, bacon, right?”

“Right.” Frida nodded. “You forgot one thing, though,” she said, adding butter and lemon juice to a measuring jug. She cracked in a few egg yolks, added water, and began to season the mixture with salt, pepper, cayenne pepper and vinegar. When she was done, she whisked the mixture in a creamy, yellow liquid.

“Really, what did I forget?” Terrence frowned, bewildered.

“This,” Frida said, gesturing with the jug. “It’s called hollandaise sauce.”

“Ah, yes!” Terrence snapped his fingers. “How could I forget the sauce.”

Frida smiled. “It’s easier than you think, so don’t beat yourself up. Now, traditionally, in the New York version, Eggs Benedict is supposed to use poached eggs. Poached is when you cook them in hot water-”

“I know what a poached egg is, silly,” Terrence rolled his eyes.

Frida chuckled. “Of course you do, Terry,” she said condescendingly. “So, yeah, the recipe actually calls for poached eggs, but I prefer to use fried. Not as healthy, I know, but what are you going to do, sue me?”

“I’m not an expert, but I don’t think there is legal precedent for that,” Terrence snorted derisively.

“I would be inclined to agree with you there,” Frida concurred.

“So anyway, my mother used to say that rule three of the kitchen was never ever know what you’re doing.”

Terrence laughed at this. “Your mom sounds awesome.”

“She’s definitely that.” Frida nodded, agreeing. “And in keeping with that rule, I always tend to put my own personal spin on whatever dish I do, I never just stick to the recipe.

It’s not the best practice, I know, but I’ve always had great feedback from it. Like, you know, I use meat on the bone for Tavi Kosi and sprinkle cheese on top. It’s not very traditional, but eh, what are you gonna do?”

Terrence chortled. “Far be it from me to challenge your creative genius, madam.”