“Charlotte,” he interrupts, “have you ever been to culinary school?”
“Have you worked in a professional restaurant?”
“No,” he repeats with finality. “In other words, you’re an amateur with no real education orexperience. You have to stop being so hard on yourself.”
For some reason, his words don’t really make me feel better.
“But I thought my instincts were better,” I protest. “They should have been better.”
“Your meal was good,” he says firmly. “It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t without its flaws. It lacked finessein certain areas. But all in all, there was raw talent there. And an instinct for flavor that’s rare.”
Now that does make me feel better.
Though I’m still not sure how much I believe it.
“Really,” he confirms. “Cooking is as much an art as painting or singing o
