The perfect porridge

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‘Audrey does a lovely carbonara,” Ken said. Ken was eating a carbonara made by his wife, Caroline. Audrey was Caroline’s best friend, though just this minute, Caroline kind of hated her.

“How’s the carbonara you’re actually eating, Ken?” Caroline asked. “People usually love my carbonara. They say it’s very tasty.” Ken didn’t get the hint. “Yes, love, of course. It is tasty, it really is,” Ken said in a voice like you’d use to a baby. Caroline didn’t comment on this but kept eating, to prove she liked it and to stop herself saying anything she’d regret.

Caroline could feel a lump in her throat, or was that spaghetti?

“Audrey does the classic, though,” Ken ploughed on. “Like a real Italian would. No cream, no garlic, and pig’s cheek. Classic.”

Caroline loved Audrey dearly, but now she found herself making unflattering comparisons between her best friend and the said pig’s cheek.

This wasn’t the first time Ken had betrayed Caroline with Audrey, or Audrey’s cooking, really. When they’d last gone to Audrey’s for dinner, Ken had gone completely over the top about her coq au vin.

“Oh Audrey, what’s your secret ingredient?”

“Oh Audrey, you got the cooking time right so the wine didn’t dry out the chicken.”

“Oh Caroline, do you do Audrey’s trick of roasting the veg separately before adding to the liquor?”

The liquor. Seriously. It was a chicken stew; get over it.

Ken had brought home a big slice of Audrey’s tiramisu that night. Caroline had given Audrey a photocopy of that recipe. It was hers by rights, not bloody Audrey’s.

Still, she wasn’t going to say this to Ken, for fear of what slobbering praise he’d lavish on Audrey’s interpretation. That’s probably what he’d call it, an interpretation.

Caroline knew it was nuts to feel jealous of Audrey, but she did. Caroline knew that Audrey was a good cook, but she wasn’t shabby herself.

And it was true that loads of people loved Caroline’s carbonara. OK, it had cubes of ham and cream and a hint of garlic, oh, and she sometimes added mushrooms, and it wasn’t exactly Italian, but it was really bloody tasty.

Caroline’s dad loved her carbonara. Caroline’s dad always said that food was the way to a man’s heart.

Caroline’s mum made her own carbonara with packet ham and a jar of sauce, but she would look daggers at Caroline’s dad if he complimented their daughter’s.

“Remember where you are sleeping tonight,” she’d say to him, and quite right too, Caroline thought now.