Cheeky Birthday Gift!

Two years ago, my family decided to gift me an innovative birthday present. I received an email two days before my birthday with the subject line obviously titled “Happy Birthday”. Without much ado, I opened the email only to be stumped by what I saw – a cooking class gift voucher called ‘Totally Tapas by Master Cheeky Chefs!’ It was my worst nightmare come true! Cooking and me??? I got dizzy at the thought. Mother Earth dramatically moved while I sat still, aghast. After regaining my composure, I promptly called my fam to thank them for this ‘thoughtful’ present – the one that’d destroy me in the imminent future – four days after my birthday to be precise. I subtly layered my mildly garbed nervousness (and huge discomfort) with a pitch perfect ‘Thank you! Wow! It’s going to be such an awesome experience!’ With fingers crossed, I made the next call (it’s possible in a crisis situation) to the cooking class center to see if I could cancel and get a refund – so that I could buy a nice bottle of Shiraz with that money. But nah it was all locked in – they were happy to put me in another slot on another day but a refund was out of the question. I had no choice but to confirm my participation and conform to the norms of a ‘present’ – to fatalistically accept it. I spent the next few hours making ‘casual catching up calls’ to my friends in Sydney – to gauge who could be up for this ‘fun’ experience. I was a man on a mission, decidedly ‘excited’ (and secretly desperate) to recruit at least one co-victim if not more. Man proposes but God disposes. Dispose he did. A very dear friend came on board with genuinely spirited enthusiasm! I, on the other hand, experienced cold feet, sweaty palms, shivers, jitters, tremors and every bit of anxiety in the week preceding the big day. My ‘actual birthday’ came and went without a whimper. It was inconsequential in the scheme of things. It was this ‘event’ that had consumed me. D-day came and with much trepidation, I made my way to the cooking class in Surry Hills – at 10 am. I wanted to stop at the pub next door to get smashed so that I could face my demons, fearlessly. But it was wayyyy too early to drink and wayyyy to late to salvage the situation. My lack of cutting and chopping skills were about to be exposed. My inadequacy of basic food knowledge was going to be ‘outed’ to the whole world (or at least to the other 14 self-inflicted martyrs). My heart was in my mouth. Seriously, if I’d puked, it’d have been on the cooking bench, palpitating and going totally tapas! And then it began... The group was welcomed by a glass of wine (smart move) – and a disposable paper chef hat where we were required to write our names. Now I’d been used to faking it in the virtual World but this was real. And the names were being matched with the list. The second glass of white had started to calm my nerves (Thank God I was empty stomached!) The whiteboard screamed – Cheeky Food Group – Team Cooking Extravaganza! We were then given our benches where lay a recipe handout for what we were going to cook and pots and pans and utensils that we were going to need to cook these Spanish appetizers with unpronounceable ingredients. Then came complicated cookware terminology – sauté pan, griddle pan, paring knife and what have you! Thankfully, all was demonstrated visually for the cooking ignoramuses. Now I vividly remember ‘what’ we cooked (but not the recipes) and there was a lot! There were cherry tomatoes in saffron and garlic oil, mussels with chorizo, smoky fried almonds, chicken wings in garlic oil and spicy pimientos. We were shown one technique and recipe after another and another. I had just been run over by a truck. But I was surprisingly enthused (must’ve been the wine) ‘BRING IT ON’ I said. My friend and I started cutting and peeling and prepping and cooking. She surefootedly. I slow-footedly. We were a perfect foil for each other. Soon enough, she smelled my reluctant lack-of-skills along with the beautiful aroma of the herbs and spices that were cooking all over and took charge! Not satisfied with playing second fiddle at what was supposed to be MY experience, I took over the stirring, blending, mixing and whisking responsibilities with aplomb. In the bargain, I understood the importance of my role. I’d learnt the art of ‘cooking just enough’ to have the dishes taste yummilicious! Moist. Fresh. Not burnt. Not underdone. Not overcooked. Just perfect. There was no scoring like Masterchef at the end of it all. But all of us stood around a big table, proudly showing off our tapas plates – and digging into each other’s with flavorful frenzy. My friend and I were complimented for generously using the ‘spices’ (of course), which gave a fabulous ‘kick’ to our dishes. (I’d like to believe that we were backhandedly adjudged the best team!) Whatever little was left was ours to takeaway – to savor or show off. And I was dying to! If I could, I would’ve framed my first formal cut, my first formal whisk, my first formal flambé. The experience had after all left me stirred and not shaken.