The Châtelet Apprentice: Nicolas Le Floch Investigation #1. Jean-Francois Parot
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the Collège de France.
‘But here for our victim is the unaccompanied song that fills mortals with dread.’
AESCHYLUS
NICOLAS had returned quite late to Rue des Blancs-Manteaux. The house was silent and he hoped Catherine had left him some food keeping warm in a dish on the stove, as she usually did. Sure enough he found that the table had been laid for him with bread and a bottle of cider. He noticed a stew containing a strange vegetable – a root vegetable that Catherine had first come across when working in the field kitchens in Italy and Germany, and now grew in a corner of the garden at the back of the house. These stewed ‘potatoes’1 filled the kitchen with their aroma. He sat down to eat, poured himself a drink and filled his plate. It made his mouth water to see the vegetables in their glossy sauce with a sprinkling of parsley and chives.
Catherine had given him the recipe for this succulent dish. You had to choose good-sized potatoes, then proceed extremely slowly, giving the various ingredients time to combine together and not getting impatient, which was essential if it were to be a success. First she carefully peeled her large potatoes, preferring to round them off. Then she diced some bacon and cooked the pieces gradually before removing them from the dish after they had given out all their fat but, most important, had not yet changed colour. Then, she specified, the potatoes had to be put into the boiling fat and left to slowly turn golden brown, together with some unpeeled cloves of garlic and a handful of thyme and laurel. This way the vegetables would be covered with a crispy coating. As they continued to cook they would soften right through. Then and only then should you sprinkle a whole tablespoonful of flour over them, stir the dish vigorously and a few minutes later pour half a bottle of burgundy over it. After adding salt and pepper you leave the dish to simmer slowly for a good half-hour. The sauce thickens and becomes soft and smooth, like satin, giving a light and moist coating to the potatoes that stay golden and tender beneath the sweet-smelling crust. The secret of successful cooking, said Catherine, was to love doing it.
Nicolas’s plate was not level and he noticed that it was resting on a piece of paper on which he recognised the cook’s poor and almost childish handwriting. The message was brief: ‘The slut insulted me this evening, tomorrow I will tell the whole story.’ He finished his meal hurriedly. It was out of the question for him to go and find Catherine right then in order to question her; she rented a furnished room in a house a few doors away. He felt a twinge of remorse at the fact that, although he had lived at the Lardins’ for more than a year, he had never been inquisitive enough to find out exactly where his friend lived. As he climbed the stairs Marie suddenly appeared on the landing and dragged him up a few more steps. She huddled up to him, so close that he could smell her fragrance. Her cheek brushed against his and he noticed that she was crying.
‘Nicolas,’ murmured the young woman, ‘I just don’t know what to do. This woman disgusts me. Catherine said horrible things to her that I didn’t understand. They hit each other. She threw Catherine out. Catherine was a second mother to me. And what about my father? Where is he? Do you have any news?’
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