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Pastis Hotel 茴香酒店 (连载7)

(2011-03-17 16:43:55)







分类: 英语阅览室

 Ernest wiped his hands on hes apron and picked up his glass. ‘The trouble is,’ he said, ‘that your entire life is spent with sensitve flowers who have fits. The sainted Executive Committee, the clients, those  Pastis <wbr>Hotel <wbr>茴香酒店 <wbr>(连载7)             阿根廷伊瓜苏大瀑布
pipsqueaks in the City, that frightful old adolescent who’s supposed to run the Creative Department--how he thinks nobody notices when he goes to the Gents every hald-hour and comes back with a runny nose I don't know I’m sure--all of them are more trouble than they’re worth, if you ask me.’ He managed to sip his champagne and look disdainful at the same time. ‘Which of course you didn’t.’

Ernest put down his glass and mixed the salad dressing as though he were punishing it, beating the olive oil and vinegar until it was almost frothing. He dipped his little finger in the bowl and licked it. ‘Delicious.’

‘It’s business, Ern. You can’t expect to like everyone you have to work with.’

Ernest cut the block of foie gras into pink slices and put them in a blackened cast-iron pan that had been warming on the hob.  

‘Well, I’m not going to let them spoil our dinner,’ He poured the dressing over the salad and tossed it with  quick, deft hands, wiped his oily fingers and moved across to peer into the pan. ‘It can all vanish, you know, the foie gras, if it gets too hot. It melts away.’ He put the salad on two plates, and, as the first tinybubbles appeared round the edge of the foie gras, took the pan off the heat and slid the soft slices on to their lettuce beds.

Simon took his first mouthful, the lettuce crisp and cool, the foie gras warm and rich. Across the table, Ernest was conducting an investigation of the wine with long, appreciative sniffs, his eyes half-closed.

  ‘Will it do?’ asked Simon. According to the books, we should be drinking Sauternes with this.’

   Ernest held the wine in his mouth for a moment before answering. ‘Absolute heaven,’ he said. ‘Let’s not send it back.’

They ate in silence until they had finished. Simon wiped his plate with a piece of bread and leaned back in his chair. ‘I haven’t enjoyed anything as much as that for months.’ He drank some wine slowly, rolling it around his mouth before swallowing. ‘What’s the kitchen in the new place like?’

‘Horrid,’ said Ernest as he started carving the lamb. ‘Poky and plastic. Perfect for a dwarf with no taste who hoathes cooking. The letting agent was very proud of it. Purpose-built, she said. Purpose-built for what, I said, TV dinners for one?’

Simon had taken a short lease on a flat in Rutland Gate, mainly because it was round the corner from the office. He’d hardly looked at it; the car had been waiting to take him to the airport. What the hell. It was only somewhere to sleep until he found somewhere to live.

‘It won’t be for long, Ern. We’ll look at flats as soon as I’ve got some time.’

Ernest served the lamb, rosy and running with juice. ‘Well, I won’t hold my breath. I know you. Off to New Youk every fime minutes, or Paris, or Dusseldorf. Rush rush rush, jet-lag and bad temper, and when you’re in London it’s one dreary meeting after another.’ Ernest finished his wine and poured some more. His cheeks were flushed as he leaned forward into the candlelight. ‘They don’t care, you know, at the office.’(to be continued)














  恩尼斯端上鲜嫩多汁的羊排。“好的,我不会紧张的,我了解你。像个空中飞人似的,飞来飞去 ,一下纽约,一下巴黎,一下杜塞朵夫,急急忙忙,怕赶不上飞机,脾气就火爆起来。等你在伦敦时,枯燥的会议一个接一个。”恩尼斯喝光了酒杯里的酒,又斟了一些。他倾身向着烛光,脸颊绊红。“你知道的,他们在办公室里一点也不在意。”(未完待续)



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