Kids Bedtime Stories

Overcooked

Snuggle down and cosy up for tonight you journey to a busy restaurant kitchen. Get ready to immerse yourself in the bright and colourful world of cookery.

You find yourself standing in a room full of people hurrying about their business. In their arms they carry pots brimming with delicious stews, baskets of vegetables and trays of magnificent deserts. The walls are covered in shelves that brim with pots and pans of every size and description. Knives chop, spoons mix, pans boil. Everywhere there is heat and steam and noise.

Suddenly, a chef in a white apron and an impossibly tall hat thrusts a piece of paper in your hand. It looks like a receipt, the kind you get in shops. “Cheddar on rye,” he says and hurries away. You stand and stare at the piece of paper. You wonder what you are meant to do. Then someone takes you by the shoulders and points you towards a gleaming, stainless-steel bench. “It’s a sandwich,” they whisper. You turn to see a chef no older than yourself smiling from ear to ear. You have found a companion.

Your workbench is covered in an assortment of trays, filled with different ingredients, some of which you recognise. There are several types of cheese. You read the labels: Emmental, Halloumi, Gouda and of course, Cheddar. When you see the cheddar, you breathe a sigh of relief. Next to the cheeses are the cherry tomatoes, the cucumbers and lettuce. Behind these stand glass jars. You study them closely. Most contain different kinds of pickle; others are filled with small grape-like fruit suspended in oil. You have no idea what they are. Finally, you see a large woven basket, overflowing with loaves of bread.

To start your sandwich, you reach out and take hold of a white loaf sprinkled with flour. You are about to cut a slice when you hear a sharp metallic tapping over to your left. It’s your companion. They are shaking their head from side to side. You understand. You replace the loaf and hover your hand over the others, one at a time. When you reach a dark loaf covered in seeds they nod in approval. You place it on your cutting board. It is very heavy. Carefully, you cut two equal slices and put them to one side. You then reach for the butter, but your companion shakes their head. You look at the cheeses and select the Cheddar. You know that this is right, but you have never seen a chunk so large. This is like a brick. Placing it on the chopping board you begin to carve slices from the end. You lay them carefully on the bread making sure you cover the entire surface. Your companion encourages you with their smile.

Now you are stuck. You have no idea what you should add next. Looking for guidance, you are surprised to see your companion making strange gestures. Their fingers are pinched near their mouth. They are pretending to nibble. You realise they are pretending to be a rabbit. You smile and reach for the lettuce. As you pick it up you realise that it is fresh. It must have come from the Kitchen Gardens, where all the chef’s ingredients are grown. It’s so fresh, it has dirt around the wiry roots that hang from its base. You make your way over to the large sink beneath the window. You wash the lettuce by running it under the cold water that flows from the tap.

Looking through the window you see the beautiful garden, where the lettuce had come from. Large, raised beds are filled with alternating rows of carrots and broccoli and you can see a mass of herbs nearby. Sweet peas wind their way around tall canes, their tendrils gripping as their delicate flowers face the sun. Netting covered frames contain a variety of fruit bushes and trees. The garden is a smattering of colours: blues, greens, purples and yellows. You watch, entranced, as the brightest of the colours take flight. They are butterflies and their movement brings the garden alive.

Your attention is drawn to a greenhouse. The sunlight is reflecting on the glass panes and looks like a river of water. Through the open door you can see brilliant red dots, you recognise them as tomatoes ripe on the vine and ready to pick.

You are suddenly aware of the splashing of cold water against your skin. Turning off the tap you shake the lettuce dry. The last few drops cascade like diamonds into the sink. You return to your bench and see the connection between the garden and the sandwich. They are the same thing. They are full of life and colour and energy. Instinctively, you select the most vibrant lettuce leaves and lay them like miniature blankets over the cheese. Next you take a tomato from the tray. You squeeze it gently to test its firmness. You slice it finely and place each translucent disc on the bed of lettuce. You reach for the seasoning and, confident now that you know what you’re doing, shake the fine granules over the sandwich. Delighted by the beauty of what you have created you lightly place the closing layer of bread over the top and press down gently. You glance at your companion. They smile as they watch intently.

You know that people enjoy pickles with their sandwiches and so you rest a spoon filled with the delicate cubes on the plate. But you are not finished. In a moment of inspiration, you take a carrot and peel it carefully. Then you score a series of grooves along the sides. As you slice it, perfectly formed orange flowers scatter on the board. You place them on the side of the plate and the sandwich is done.

The chef is in front of you once again. He takes the plate from your hands and nods his approval.

You decide to take a moment and leave the kitchen, making your way to the garden you spotted from the window.

As you step into the garden you are surrounded by warm, fragrant air and the sound of birds singing. It’s a lot calmer than you’d imagined. You admire the butterflies and bees and listen intently to the quiet hum that fills the air.

You are tired now. You walk over to a secluded part of the garden where the sun light dapples through the branches of an ancient apple tree. You sit, reflecting on your surroundings and thinking of your sandwich.

Slowly, you feel your eyes closing. Gently you drift off, awaiting your next adventure.