Miss Understood by James Roy

‘Maybe I should leave the bacon out.’
    ‘No, I’m sure it’s fine. Now, if we use mayonnaise instead of caesar dressing and cashews instead of pecans, I think we can do it. Yes, I think we can totally do it.’
    ‘Is it easy enough?’ I asked. ‘For me, I mean.’
    ‘Oh, you can make this so easily, Lizzie. I think it’ll be delicious.’
    ‘Cool!’ I said, because it was. ‘Can I start now? I just need to know how to boil the eggs.’
    ‘Sure – we can make it a learning experience.’
    ‘Oh,’ I said.
    I guess I must have sounded disappointed, because straight away Mum said, ‘Or, if you’d rather, you can just make us a yummy dinner.’
    ‘That,’ I said. ‘I want to do that.’
    ‘Good. Then let’s do it.’
    And it was a yummy dinner. I tried a couple of bits when I was making it, and when I’d made it, and when I was putting it in the fancy serving bowl. Mum even got out three wine glasses and a bottle of wine. (That’s what she poured into the glasses for her and dad – I had lemonade in mine.) Then she called Dad. She called him twice, actually, and eventually he came downstairs. He wasn’t really dressed for dinner, I thought – a polar-fleece top, baggy track-pants and his ugg-boot slippers.
    ‘Why is the dog inside?’ he growled, and put Muppet out. Then he came and sat down at the table.
    ‘We’re introducing a new chef in Henry Court tonight,’ Mum said when we were all settled. ‘Marty, did you hear what I said? Marty?’
    ‘Um . . . yeah. A new chef. Who?’
    Mum made a great big flourishy gesture towards me. ‘Chef Lizzie Adams has created this wonderfully inventive menu,’ she said.
    ‘You made this?’ Dad said, looking at the salad like he was reading a power bill. ‘Wow, that’s great, Betty.’ But he didn’t sound very wow, to be honest.
    ‘So go ahead and serve yourself, Marty,’ Mum said, and Dad scooped some of the salad onto his plate.
    ‘Oh, thish ish great,’ Mum said after she’d taken her first bite. ‘Lizzie! Thish ish fantashdic!’ (That’s what she sounded like because her mouth was full of amazing salad made by me, Lizzie Adams.) ‘What do you think, Marty?’
    ‘Yeah, nice,’ he said.
    ‘In fact . . .’ Mum went on, but before she said anything more, she laid down her knife and fork and patted the corners of her mouth with her serviette. Then she cleared her throat. ‘Tonight I was fortunate enough to score an invitation to the grand opening of the latest in a long line of wonderful Henry Court establishments. This one goes by the name of . . .’ She stopped and raised her eyebrows at me. ‘Name, Chef?’
    ‘Um . . . Henry Court Good Cooking Kitchen Room,’ I said, which I know sounds pretty dumb, but she had asked me for a name, and I had to give her one without having any chance to really think. (If I’d had more time, I probably would have called it something like ‘ Yumbo-Jumbo ’ or ‘ Geschmackvoll Salat ’, which means ‘tasty salad’. But I didn’t have time, which is why I said the dumb one.)
    Mum didn’t care. She just nodded and said, ‘Henry Court Good Cooking Kitchen Room blends homey family atmosphere with top-class culinary innovation. The medley salad I tried melded exotic ingredients such as cos lettuce, crispy Asian noodles and Praise mayonnaise with the more earthy notes of bacon, cashews and shaved parmesan cheese. I look forward to more from this bright new wunderkind of the scene, but for now I give it five stars. How about you, Marty?’
    We both looked straight at Dad. I couldn’t wait to hear what he was going to say about my cooking! I’d heard him review Mum’s food so many times, but I’d never heard him review something I’d made. This is going to be so good, I thought.
    ‘Marty?’ Mum said.
    ‘I’m sorry, what?’
    ‘The salad.’
    ‘What about it?’
    ‘What do you think?’
    ‘I told you, it’s good.’
    ‘Lizzie made it.’
    ‘I know.’
    ‘I just reviewed it.’
    ‘Yeah.