The Garlic Dragon - Hubert's Story

Accepted for Publication in THE DRAGON CHRONICLE

Hubert's case was packed, he had ticked off all the items he needed for his week's Cookery Course for Advanced Chefs with the Choux brothers at the Golden Meringue in Edale. His sister, Violette, would be arriving in two hours to take over the kitchen at Gothely Grange.

Lord Gothely had been rather subdued at the thought of his regime being disrupted and voiced his worries to Lady Antoinette when she was applying her make-up that September morning.

"What about my Bread and Butter Pudding, eh? What if Violette can't cook as well as Hubert? What if..."

"Ma Cheri, it will be fine.  Don't worry.  Hubert has told us many times in great detail about Violette.  She sounds fine.  Don't get upset before anything has happened.” 

Lord Gothely was soothed by her soft, melodious voice and kissed the top of her head, coughing slightly as she flicked her sheepskin powder puff from a large, cut-glass and silver bowl of her favourite translucent face powder from France.

The huge Grandfather clock in the long hall of Gothely Grange chimed twelve as two silver dragons above the clock face chased each other across a cerulean sky.  Hubert now dressed in his special outdoor clothes and best black beret bustled down the elongated red carpet to the huge, arched front door, where a tall woman in a severe black suit was pressing her greying hair up into a rather dramatic concoction, which towered above her head.  Gisela had flown over to pick her up from Crossland Moor at eleven o'clock sharp and, as a dragon flies, it did take exactly one hour.  The journey had been straightforward and Gisela was waiting, wings gently undulating, for Hubert to emerge, so she could whisk him to Edale and be back to play with her children Pearl, Zachary and Viola before lunch.

"Oooh, ‘ubert, how fantastique to see you!” shrieked his sister.  "Let me give you a kiss!”  Her accent had changed from the extreme French variety to be tinged with broad Eshire.  She grabbed Hubert round the neck and planted her very red lips on his left, right, then left cheek, leaving him looking like one of Lady Antoinette's tissues when she'd blotted her lipstick.
"Violette, ‘ow was your journey?” Hubert managed to squeak after the pressure on his neck had lessened.

"Well, Gisela was right on time and flew straight as an arrow and about as fast.  How does my hair look, ‘ubert?”  He could hardly take his eyes from the strange mixture of natural hair and hairpieces.

"Trés bon.  Now, let me just introduce you to Lord and Lady Gothely, then show you ze kitchens, then I must fly.”

Hubert popped his head round the thick oak door and whistled.  "Gisela, I weel be ‘alf a tick, OK?”  Madam Gisela Smythe's wings floated slowly to her side and her scales rippled with all the colours of the rainbow, as she waited patiently for Hubert to finish fussing over Violette.

Lord Gothely was discussing the new tapestry for the imposing Baronial Hall of Gothely Grange with Lady Antoinette over proper coffee (not that skinny Latte/Cappuccino/Expresso rubbish he'd been offered while dining with Sir Peregrim Hugh in town last week).  They were seated in the huge drawing room surrounded by paintings of their ancestors and the special Dragon painting of the Gothely Coat of Arms over the Madrigal Mirror above the cavernous, darkened fireplace, which was covered by a firescreen in the centre of the main wall.  Lady Antoinette had designed the tapestry herself and was in the process of contacting Joseph Morrison, a master tapestry maker, to commission the work.

"Herhmmm!”  Hubert coughed nervously, as he approached the walnut table and chairs by the fireplace in the drawing room.  "Lord Gothely, Lady Antoinette, allow me to introduce Violette, my sister, who iz coming to take care of you wiz ze food for the week.”

Violette appeared unflustered & managed to perform a half curtsey, half bow as her hair and hairpieces offered their respects at the same time, wobbling dangerously.

"It is very nice to meet you, Violette, and we do hope you will be happy here for this week while Hubert is off perfecting his culinary skills,” Lord Gothely boomed, trying to put her at ease.  "What do you think is the essential ingredient for a Bread and Butter Pudding?” 

"I would think, speaking for myself, that it iz ze special Vanilla Essence we get from Madagascar.”

"Well done, Violette”, laughed Lady Antoinette.  "Hubert, do show your sister the kitchens and then we will both see you off.”

Lord Gothely had asked Ciprian, Gisela's now distinguished husband and Keeper of the Wine Cellar, to show Violette the spotless stainless steel and white kitchen, the wine cellars and then he would have a few hours off duty to join in with any games with all the little Smythes.  Violette was about to be thrown in at the deep end...

Hubert was glad to be on his way to Edale.  His hand held his beret in place as he clung to Gisela's back.  She was flying exceptionally fast, so she could return to Gothely Grange in time for luncheon with Ciprian and playing with her family.  The yellow glistening roof of The Golden Meringue grew larger and larger until Gisela was able to land in the meadow of wild flowers behind the famous restaurant.  Hubert scrambled from her back, untied his bags from her neck and patted her iridescent scales.

"Merci beaucoup, Gisela.  I'm sure you ‘ave taken your advanced speed-flying lessons.  Zat was like flying wiz ze Concorde!”

"‘ubert, you zay ze nicest zings.  I'll pick you up next Monday about 2 o'clock sharp.  Be zere!!”  Gisela made a strange buzzing sound, as if to emphasise the letter ‘z', wafting that particular garlic haze over Hubert, then she flapped her painted umbrella-like wings and quickly became a bird-speck in the newly washed sky.

The Choux brothers came to the French doors of the Golden Meringue and ushered Hubert inside like a mischievous terrier.  The lunchtime fragrances from the kitchens wafted tantalisingly into the lush reception area.

"Hubert, how are you doing?”  Jamie Choux shook his hand enthusiastically.  "Come on in.  Gary will show you your room, then the chefs on the course are all congregating in the Pavlova Bar for the wine tasting with my brother, Richie.”

Violette had decided Ciprian (as Gisela's husband and only the second dragon she had ever met as she'd lived a very sheltered life) was very acceptable.  He had been so helpful, shown her everything, answered all her questions and been so patient.  His manners were impeccable.   He had even pretended not to notice that one of her many hairpieces had fallen into one of the vast kitchen sinks, when she had tried to work the new-fangled taps.  She had retrieved what looked like a very small, very wet, grey mouse, shook it vigorously and repinned it somewhere on her head.

"Zank you zo much, Ciprian.  Leave it all to me.  Must get zooming on ze menu.”

"You're sure you're all right with everything?”

"Oh, oui – merci.  You get back to your Gisela.”

Violette's first test was Lord Gotheley's special Bread and Butter Pudding for afternoon tea.  She set herself to the task, but decided to do a special variation on a theme, as she was sure Hubert's recipe she found (in his dog-earred recipe book handwritten in his spidery writing hidden behind The Choux Brothers' Cookery Bible) could be improved upon.

Violette had found a pot of Apricot Jam with Peach Brandy in the store cupboard labelled ‘Special' and felt this would be a magical ingredient (along with slivers of cinnamon, perhaps) to spice up the afternoon Bread and Butter Pudding ritual.

Hubert was setting out his cooking implements on his personal cookery island in the huge gleaming kitchen of The Golden Meringue.  His mind did dwell for one second on his sister's plight at Gothely Grange, but then the new ‘Between the Sheets' cocktail he'd had in The Pavlova Bar kicked in and he had great trouble concentrating on exactly what Jamie Choux was rabbiting on about regarding Butterfly of Edale Lamb, which he was supposed to prepare ready for the oven in fifteen minutes, along with Celeriac and Garlic Puree, Sesame Oil Parsnip Strips roasted with Sesame Seeds, Carrot and Pea Mousse and Potatoes Provencal.

Violette was hot.  Her hair (plus hairpieces and silver pins) was acting as a heat conductor and her make-up was beginning to shine, then slowly slide like goose grease melting down her face contributing to the pudding.  She was feverishly recovering from the white-hot oven.  Her eye make-up and lipstick had slipped an inch or two down her face and she looked like Marcel Marceau with wig in a sauna.

The cooked Bread and Butter Pudding was placed on a silver platter with matching silver dome, which had a dragon rampant as a handle.  It was whisked with the magnificent silver tea service along the many corridors to Lord and Lady Gothely's tearoom on a special whitewood trolley, whose wheels had not been oiled recently and the extra exertion was causing Violette to perspire even more.

Lady Antoinette visibly jumped as an apparition hurling a trolley shot into the tearoom now flooded with afternoon sun.  Violette managed to stop by the walnut table inlaid with mother-of pearl dragons used specially for tea.

 "'ere iz ze tea!” announced Violette overcome by the fact she was ten minutes late.  She set the cups and saucers, teapot, hot water jug, milk jug, cream pot, plate of sliced lemon, sugar bowl, sugar tongs, silver spoons and pudding dishes in their correct places with the speed and finesse of a builder slapping mortar on bricks, as Lord Gothely, mouth open, stared at the central dish, which had now had the silver dome dramatically removed.  There, instead of his beloved Bread and Butter Pudding, shivered a wet, soggy, distinctly orangey-brown mess oozing a watery gunge, while the mainstay of the pudding gradually gave up the ghost and sank like a volcano into the encroaching sea.

"What is this?” thundered Lord Gothely unable to keep his irascibility in check a moment longer.

"It iz my very special version of ze Bread and Butter Pudding wiz ze very special Apricot Jam and Cinnamon.”  Violette managed to squeak her words.

"Bread and Butter Pudding!  It is an abomination, a defect of the culinary world, a diseased specimen, not fit for a silver dustbin!”

Lord Gothely rose to his full height and shouted at the top of his voice.  "Take that revolting mess out of my tearoom!”  Violette began to cry adding to the strange effect her melted, smeared make-up gave her, rushed from the room and ran along the corridors leaving various parts of her hairstyle along the way, until she reached her room.  It was here she saw her face in the Cheval mirror by her wardrobes.  She quickly applied powder from her compact over the streaked colours on the canvas of her face, threw all her clothes into her case, swept her dressing table contents into a carpet bag and rushed back along the corridors until she saw, with great relief, the arched doorway through which she had arrived.

Hubert was ecstatic.  He had tasted all the wines at the Golden Meringue's Special British Wine Tasting Festival along with the other chefs and things looked decidedly more golden to him after rather than before.  Unfortunately he was now expected to produce his gourmet meal of Confit of Duck with Garlic Roulade and Scented Roasted Red Onions followed by Blueberry Soufflé with Damson Clotted Cream to be tasted and tested by none other than the great Richie Choux.

But time was giving Hubert a hard lesson and with a resplendent hangover reminiscent of an aggressive ferret trying to get out of a sack, he entered the most important day of his cookery course rather worse for wear.  It was one thing working flat out in his beloved kitchen at Gothely Grange, where he knew where everything was, but here, although beautifully clean and modern, Hubert's brain was dulled by alcohol and refused to work quickly.  Two hours later he had produced, then presented a very discomfited duck, which looked no different than when he had thrown it in the oven.

The Garlic Roulade hadn't fared any better.  Hubert had left the skins of the garlic cloves on and had forgotten to crush them, so they stood out from the soft mixture like pearly-white pebbles.

The Blueberry Soufflé had refused to rise to the occasion and looked a flat grey-purple mess, while the Damson Clotted Cream could have alerted a team of ambulance drivers to call for back-up for a multiple murder investigation.  Richie Choux moved from the table of dishes created by the renowned Scottish Chef, Adrian Rothesay, towards Hubert's offering.

Lady Antoinette was standing silhouetted in the doorway as Violette rushed towards freedom.

"Violette.  Don't go.  Try not to be too upset, but Lord Gothely doesn't like change and he doesn't like his recipes tampered with.”  Violette burst into tears adding to the visual impact of her streaked face, which now gave the impression of an abstract painting of a face viewed through a lens smeared with grease.

"But ‘e iz zo angry!!  I can't think when ‘e shouts zo.”

"Come on.  We'll go to the kitchen and organise the evening meal.”  With her arm round Violette's shoulder, Lady Antoinette led her back towards the kitchen carrying her bag for her.

The evening sun played shadows along the crenellations of the towers of Gothely Grange.  Lord Gothely had recovered from his apoplectic attack of anger placated by a few glasses of pure malt whisky plus Lady Antoinette, who was on tenterhooks waiting for Violette's version of the evening menu.

Richie Choux was a patient man.  He was placid (for a chef with three Golden Medallions).  His blue eyes were dark and penetrating and his golden hair shone as he bent over to pick up the fork to try Hubert's dishes.

"Ah, Hubert de Courcy.”  Hubert, his chef's jacket and beret awry, announced his menu with difficulty, his tongue feeling too large for his mouth.

"Duckit du Comfy, Garoude de Lard with ze scents of Onion Roasts, Soup of ze Blueberries with Clots of Damsons.”  He had resigned himself to the fact that a Golden Medallion would not be his and had taken refuge with the Damson Gin under the work surface of his kitchen station.  With all the dignity he could find, he stood up, hiccoughed, wished his fellow contestants well and staggered out of the kitchen, the competition and the Golden Meringue into the coolness of the wildflower meadow behind the restaurant.  Taking a silver whistle from his waistcoat pocket he blew on it.  His packed bag lay at his feet and Hubert sat on it to wait for Gisela.

Gisela was putting Viola to bed for her afternoon sleep having fed and played with her family.  Pearl and Zackery had gone outside to play Dragons and Chutes.

"Zat iz very strange.”  Gisela turned to Ciprian, who was checking the Gothely Grange Wine List.  "Hubert iz ze day too soon.  I am supposed to pick ‘im up tomorrow.”

"I'll pick him up, Gisela.  You've got your hands full.  Violette is going home today by all accounts - a day early.  Not sure Lord G is too pleased with her cooking.  Apparently last night the Grouse Soup was made with partridge and the Passionfruit Pavlova was so lacking in passion, Lady A asked me if I'd feed it to the birds right at the bottom of the garden, so Violette wouldn't see it.”

"You are zo kind.  I do feel a beet of ze tiredness.”

"See you soon.”  Ciprian bent to kiss the softly fluorescent scales of Gisela's head, then kissed Viola asleep in her cot.  Crunching a Cox's Orange Pippin he'd plucked from the fruit bowl on the sideboard, he disappeared from the room.

Violette was waiting in the porchway of Gothely Grange with a strange black shiny cloak around her, hood as tall and as pointed as a witch's hat to cater for her hair, plus all her hairpieces.  Rain was streaming from the glittering gargoyles spewing spouts of water onto the flagstones.  Lord Gothely & Lady Antoinette had arrived to see Violette off.

"Ciprian, I thought Gisela was taking Violette back home?”  roared Lord G.

"She was, Lord Gothely, but I said I'd go instead.  Hubert needs picking up too.  He's finished his course a day early.”

"Oh well, all's well that ends well.”  Lord G was positively beaming at the thought of his culinary regime being reinstated under Hubert's deft touch.  He had never swallowed so much indigestion mixture as he had in the last week.

Lady Antoinette kissed Violette on both cheeks and watched while the black cloak and hood clambered across Ciprian's back, her bag tied round his neck.  Violette blew kisses, but Lady Antoinette couldn't tell if it was tears falling down Violette's face or if it was the rain causing extra stripes in the rouge on her cheeks.  Ciprian's wings revved like a humming bird, he rose vertically into the purple sky, then listed eastwards.

Hubert's spirits were at rocky rock-bottom.  He had failed; failed to control his drinking, failed to do justice to his menu, failed get his Golden Medallion.  It was raining so hard his black beret had collapsed and was plastered to his head like a flat, black pancake, his jacket clung to his body and his bag was soaked right through.  A loud droning caused him to look up and there was Ciprian gradually increasing in size, now landing amongst the sodden flowers of the meadow behind the Golden Meringue.

"Hubert!  You're a day early.”

"I know, but... "  His voice trailed off as he tied his bag round Ciprian's neck.  He was so glad to be sitting on Ciprian's back ready to fly home to Gothely Grange.

"We must give Hubert a pay rise,” said Lord Gothely brightly to his wife.  "I never realised he was worth his weight in gold and we don't want him getting any ideas of moving now he has a Golden Medallion, do we, m'dear?  Did you see the state Violette left the kitchen in?  It looked like a draft of dragons had each vomited the entire contents of their five stomachs over every surface after Dragons' Dessert Tasting Day!”  (You may know that dragons have a very sweet tooth and celebrate this once a year.)

Lady Antoinette had rung the producers of ‘How Clean is Your Kitchen?' asking if their team could work their magic with Mik and Maggie at the helm.  All was now restored to a new state of order and cleanliness.  The stainless steel was so stainless it was necessary to wear sunglasses if the sun was shining, to deflect the glare.
 

"Zank you, Ciprian.  You have been such an ‘elp.”  Hubert patted Ciprian's shoulder.  "Geev all ze love to Gisela.  Tell her I've thought up a new garlic recipe.  She'll love eet.”

"Hubert!  Welcome home!”  Lord Gothely and Lady Antoinette greeted him so warmly, you'd have thought he'd been away a year rather than just under a week.  After surveying his kitchen and thinking what a marvellous job Violette had done of leaving it so clean and sparkling, Hubert went to unpack.

In his room was a package wrapped up in holographic paper decorated with flying dragons tied with golden ribbon.  Opening it he found a beautifully written, framed parchment, which announced:

"The Gothely Grange Golden Salver Award”
to Hubert de Courcy
for services to Culinary Excellence
for over twenty years.

Hubert also noticed a silver envelope, which he opened to find a pay packet containing a pay rise of ten Crowns a month and a card from his employers.
It read:

Hubert~,
Thank you for all your wonderful meals
and looking forward to many more.......... . .
with the sincerest of best wishes
on your return,
Lord G and Lady A

Hubert smiled and changed into his chef's whites.  He was really anticipating cooking Bread and Butter Pudding for tea and perfecting his next garlic-infused dish for Gisela to test.  He must go on a cookery course more often, he thought, as he gazed at the sun-flooded kitchens through his special RaySun sunglasses.