The Will and the Way by Bernard Capes — Read

Mr. Redding was a gastronome, and something of an amateur cook in his way, which, within its limits, was an admirable one. His large white hands were curiously apt at the little persuasive touches which bring grace out of disorder and flavour out of insipidity. They were benedictory, sensitive, capable all in one. To see them toss up some little souffle affair of cream and puffery was to receive a lesson in the artistry which is inborn and instinctive. His mayonnaises had once been famous among picnicers at Long Wyecombe; he had wooed his wife over a lobster salad. That was a very odd reflection, when he came to think of it. Over a lobster salad--of course; so it had been.

Now and then he would call at the flat while the ladies were out at the theatre or elsewhere, and concoct some little supper dish for them as a surprise against their return. Once it was an escallop of oysters, most daintily served in their shells; once a delectable little savoury of mushrooms and soft bloater roes, laid on toast and garnished with fried parsley. On these occasions Rudger, the maid, was his able and admiring lieutenant. She procured the cream, the bread-crumbs, the condiments, and laid everything ready to his hand on the dining-room table near to the fire. He was scrupulously particular about the condition of his enamelled ware; a spot of dirt was anathema to him.