A Sprinkle of Sabotage by Fiona Leitch (famous ebook reader TXT) 📕

prep stuff and got everything ready to cook. I looked at my watch; I’d told Zack to take however long he needed because I liked him and I wanted to give him some time alone with Aiko, but I was beginning to regret my generosity. I was beginning to think longingly of my nice warm house, and my nice warm dog, and my slippers… Oh God, I was becoming middle-aged. It wasn’t even late; it was only 7 p.m.

There was a rumble of thunder and the lights flickered…

Luckily, I am a hardened ex-copper and I am perpetually wearing my big-girl pants, so I wasn’t freaked out. The weather was bad. Of course it was; it was autumn, almost winter. And of course the lights were flickering; I was in a caravan, hooked up to a generator that had already packed up once today. There wasn’t some ridiculous curse, locking women in caravans, exploding lightbulbs or tripping power breakers—

The door of the food truck rattled and a small, involuntary shriek escaped from me. I casually picked up Zack’s filleting knife that was lying on the chopping board closest to me, and flexed my arm. Bring it on, I thought.

‘Whew, it’s getting wild out there!’ Zack stepped cheerfully inside the truck, giving himself a little shake like a soggy dog. He saw me holding the knife and gave me a curious look.

‘Just admiring your set of knives,’ I said, turning the blade over in my hand and looking at it appreciatively. ‘Very nice. Professional.’ I put it down again, feeling a bit daft. ‘Let’s get cooking, shall we?’

I mixed together plain flour, potato starch, and ice water to make the tempura batter then popped it into the fridge. I took the black-pepper-and-sake-marinated karaage chicken and tofu chunks, dusted them with more of the potato starch to make them nice and crispy, and turned on Gino’s deep-fat fryer to heat.

Zack, meanwhile, had started on the pufferfish. I watched him cut around the mouth of the fish and pull off the skin; there were no scales, and it really was unlike every other fish I’d ever seen. There was a layer of jelly underneath which he carefully washed off with a paper towel before removing the eyes. He dumped skin, eyes, and paper towel in a plastic bag, then took the sharp filleting knife I’d, ahem, admired earlier and very, very carefully gutted the fish. He slowly, gently removed the ovaries and the liver – these were the organs that contained most of the toxin, and if they were punctured it would contaminate the whole fish. His face was a picture of pure concentration; his hand was steady – far steadier than mine would have been under the circumstances.

He finished gutting the fish and let his breath out slowly, then placed the fish waste in the plastic bag, discarding the gloves with it. I picked up a tea towel and reached over to mop his brow.

‘Well done, doctor,’ I said, and he laughed.

‘Yeah, reckon I could do open-heart surgery now,’ he said. ‘One down…’

The fryer had reached the right temperature, so I turned my attention to the karaage chicken and tofu. The tofu went in first, and it only took a couple of minutes to turn it into something hot, crispy, and hopefully tasty. I left it to drain on kitchen paper and started on the chicken, cooking it in batches. It smelt wonderful; I tried a small piece, and it tasted great too.

I piled the food into bowls, watching as Zack arranged the fugu on a serving dish. I flash-fried the miso-dressed tofu with some spring onions in a wok, and tossed it through the drained soba noodles, along with the roasted cherry tomatoes. Finally, I sprinkled the chopped vegetables with seasoned flour and dipped them in the tempura batter, then fried them up until they were hot, crisp, and golden. Everything went in the lidded serving trays Gino used on the hot buffet; they were very handy as although the rain had eased somewhat it hadn’t stopped.

The door of the food truck rattled again as Aiko stuck her head round it.

‘Kimi says she’s getting hungry,’ she said. I admired her restraint; I’d have been rolling my eyes or telling Kimi to cook her own blasted food if she was that hungry. But I didn’t say anything. Zack just smiled at his beloved (aww!).

‘Your timing is perfect,’ he said (like the rest of you, I thought). ‘We just finished. You can help me carry everything over.’ He suddenly slapped his forehead. ‘What are we going to drink? I hadn’t even thought about it. I didn’t think I should get any beer, not with Jeremy coming.’

Aiko smiled. ‘That’s very considerate of you. But Mike’s bringing some sake anyway.’ Her tone of voice made it clear what she thought about Mike and his sake. Zack and I exchanged looks and laughed.

‘Oh dear. What’s wrong with it?’ I asked.

‘It’s nigori sake,’ she said, distastefully. Which didn’t make it any clearer for me.

Zack nodded. ‘Right… That’s the cloudy white sake, isn’t it? The unfiltered stuff?’

‘Well, it is still filtered, but not in the same way, and the taste is less … subtle. It’s very American,’ she explained.

‘Big and brash?’ I suggested, and she smiled.

‘Exactly. It is Japanese, but it’s far more popular in the States than at home. The flavours are very strong, which the Americans seem to like, but in Japan we prefer something that doesn’t overwhelm the food. I wouldn’t even think of serving it at a dinner party, but Mike was so pleased with himself for finding some that it would be rude not to drink it.’

‘Well, our cooking might not be completely authentic, but hopefully you’ll want to eat it because it tastes good and not just to be polite,’ I said. She sniffed at the bowl of karaage chicken and smiled.

‘It smells delicious. And it looks like the real thing, too!’ she said.

I offered to help carry everything to the trailer, but