Hurrying back through to the room she welcomed the second man of the group. She was expecting a man aged 44 years and decided to check his name. “Hi, are you Mark Whittaker?”
“Yep, that’s me,” he said holding out his hand to shake.
This guy, in his jeans and stripy cream shirt looked much younger, Sarah thought, more like mid-thirties. He wasn’t particularly good looking with a large nose, moustache, and short-trimmed, goatee-beard but when she shook his hand she felt a frisson of heat surge through her and caught her breath. How strange was that? She hadn’t had a sexual thought about a man for over six months, not since Paul had walked out.
The huge grin he gave her reached from ear to ear and seemed to light up his whole face and when she held onto his hand he raised a quizzical eyebrow. Realising she was staring at him she shook herself back to reality, dropped her hand, and then hurriedly showed him to his seat.
While Mark took his seat and started to greet the other panellists the door to the room banged shut and a woman’s voice exclaimed loudly, “Blooming traffic! It’s taken forever to get through the rush hour, and parking? Well, don’t start me off on that one!”
Sarah surmised this must be her last panellist. “Hello,” Sarah said. “Sally Jones, I take it? Come and join us at the table and we’ll make our introductions.”
Mumbling apologies Sally took a seat next to Mark and Sarah noticed how she too looked at him appreciatively. Mark turned and treated Sally to one of his lovely smiles and Sarah irrationally felt a stab of envy.
Scolding herself she pushed all thoughts of men from her mind, pulled her shoulders back and began her introductory talk. She welcomed everyone to the first of ten weekly sessions which would run up to Christmas. “So, just to wet your appetites,” she said, “we’ll be tasting jam doughnuts, cocktail sausages, turkey crowns, trifles, prawn cocktails, custard, sausage rolls, Christmas cakes and puddings. In fact, these make up most of our popular selling products at Christmas time and the last panel will be on Thursday 20th December.”
There was a general buzz of excitement with exclamations of oohs and aahs, and a yum, yum comment from Jason.
Sarah gave them a few minutes to settle and then continued, “We are lucky here in North Shields to have one of the bigger supermarkets and our retailer takes what you, their customers, think very seriously. So, all the results and your comments will be noted and sent to head office for consideration. This information helps the buying and marketing teams keep abreast of what their competitors have on their shelves. Therefore, each week we’ll try to have samples from M&S, Tesco, Waitrose, Sainsbury’s, and Asda to taste against our samples, and of course you’ll all be given your £25 voucher at the end of each session to spend as you like. It’s our way of thanking you for taking the time to come and give us your feedback.”
Taking a deep breath she stared straight into Mark’s dark brown eyes. He was sitting directly opposite gazing at her with a smile playing around his lips which for some reason it made her fidget on the hard plastic chair while she handed out welcome packs.
Lowering his gaze he took brown-legged glasses out of his shirt pocket and placed them onto his face. The square, clear lenses seemed to transform his eyes and make them look much bigger and darker. She looked again at the long lengths of thick brown hair on the top of his head but then cut short around his ears, and this, coupled with the brilliant smile made her change her mind - he was indeed very good looking.
Sitting on the other side to Mark was one of the two older ladies called, Olga who asked in a loud high-pitched tone. “And what does one do if there’s something on the session we don’t like? I mean, I don’t think I’ve eaten a doughnut in my life?”
Sarah dragged her eyes from Mark. “Good question, Olga,” she said. “Just let me know. And if there’s something you don’t want to eat you only need to fill in the appearance, and aroma section of the form- which I’ll go through later. Now, as we are going to spend a couple of hours together every night for the next ten weeks I usually find it helpful to spend five minutes introducing ourselves.”
“Oh, dear,” fluttered Margaret, the other elderly lady sitting next to Olga. “I’m not very good at talking in front of people…”
Sarah smiled reassuringly and leaned across the table to cover Margaret’s agitated hands with one of her own. “That’s fine, not to worry. This is Margaret Atkinson, everyone. She is 64, lives on Camp Terrace and has signed up for the taste panel because…” Sarah nodded encouragingly at Margaret until she realised that she was to carry on with the sentence.
“Oh, well,” Margaret said. “I do love eating food and cooking and, although I’m on my own now, if either of my sons come to visit at Christmas I’d like to have plenty of food in the pantry and the vouchers will be handy for the ‘Two For One Deals’.”
Sarah beamed at her. “That’s a great idea, Margaret,” she said squeezing her hand and everyone around the table smiled encouragingly at Margaret.
Everyone except Olga however, who with large arms folded under her heavy bust gave a loud, “Hmph!” through pursed lips. “It must be at least three years since you’ve seen either of them, Margaret.”
Margaret smiled pathetically at Sarah and put her head down in embarrassment and Sarah heard Sally click her tongue in annoyance at Olga’s rudeness. Sarah released Margaret’s hands and in an effort to smooth over the situation she turned to Mark. “So, Mark, how about you? Why did you decide to come along?”
Mark winked at her as though he’d worked out her distraction technique and sat forward with his hands folded on the table. “Well, some of you might know my face as I own the photography and art studio on the high street?”
Margaret raised her head again and exclaimed, “Do you know I thought I recognised your face when you came into the room but wasn’t certain.”
Mark smiled back at her. “Yep, that’s me. And, some of you might have known my late wife, Jessie who died two years ago. And well, it’s hard getting used to cooking for one and I’m determined to try and eat more healthily. So, I’ve bought Jamie Oliver’s fast supper cook book and intend spending my vouchers on spices and herbs, and who knows, maybe I might become the next celebrity chef?”
He gave a throaty laugh which Sarah thought was to cover the embarrassment of his open admission. The reaction around the table was electric. Olga’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and Sarah could tell she was trying to remember if she knew him or Jessie.
“Oh, you poor, lamb,” Margaret muttered softly.
Sally seemed to digest the news that he was a widower with relish leaning towards him and squeezing his shoulder with long red-polished finger nails. Mark turned to Sally and smiled in gratitude at her empathy.
Sarah decided to draw the last two panellists, who had so far been watching and listening, into the hiatus of the conversation.
“Thanks, Mark,” she said and turned fully away from him to look at the other male in the group, Jason Smith. “Now, its Jason, isn’t it? What brings you along?”
Jason’s small pleasing face looked a little startled but he grinned at everyone revealing a large gap between his two front teeth. “Yes, I’m what is fashionably known as a house-husband to my twin daughters who are nine months old. My wife, Stacey, works in the estate agents and when she arrives home and we’ve had dinner she baths and beds the little darlings and I get a couple of hours grace. We’ll be spending the vouchers on nappies, talcum powder and baby food, I’m afraid.” He pulled a comical face and Margaret clapped her hands in glee.
While Sarah had been listening to Jason’s voice she couldn’t quite decide if he sounded effeminate, obviously he wasn’t gay because he was married but he certainly didn’t look or sound like a true alpha male. When he’d first arrived in very tight skinny jeans with a slim satchel slung across his jumper she’d wondered about his sexuality but then reminded herself how wrong it was to make assumptions on first appearances.
“Mark hooted. “Oh my.
Well, if you want to share a secret plan behind Stacey’s back we could split some cases of red wine?” he offered.
Visible male bonding started between the two men and Sarah decided Jason was probably, as they say in all the magazines, just in touch with his feminine side.
Sitting next to Jason was the most beautiful Indian girl Sarah had ever seen. The red tunic she wore with a gold sparkle woven into the pattern seemed to glisten in the sun which shone through the window behind her. Until now Aarshiya had sat with her head bent and eyes lowered throughout the introductions and it was only when she looked up at Sarah from huge, brown, oval shaped eyes that Sarah appreciated how stunningly beautiful she really was.
Sarah smiled. “Aarshiya, would you like to go next. But before you start can I just say your tunic is absolutely fabulous – the colours are so striking…”
Her shoulders lifted in pride. “Thanks, Sarah,” she said, “I made it myself.”
Margaret butted in. “Oh, how clever of you, dear. I can’t even sew a button on.”
A slight titter of laughter escaped Sally’s lips but she added genuinely. “I quite agree - it’s beautiful.”
Sarah asked, “And you wanted to come because?”
Aarshiya flushed with the compliments. “Well, I’m eighteen and I want to save the vouchers to buy myself a kindle to read my favourite books. My home is above our corner shop where I live with my parents and my two brothers who are twelve and fourteen.”
Olga’s imperial voice asked snootily. “And are you made to work in the shop?”
Sarah saw Aarshiya bristle and look at Olga’s name card. “No, Mrs Treadcott,” she said, “I work as a receptionist at the medical centre.”
Good for you, Sarah thought, that’s put Olga back in her place and she’d done it with the respect due to an elder, and with impeccable manners.
Before Sarah could ask Sally to talk next Olga interrupted. “Surely it must be my turn now?” Sarah smiled and nodded her consent.
Olga pulled her broad shoulders back and licked her thin tight lips which were smeared in a scarlet red lipstick. “I’m Mrs Treadcott, and I have a three bedroomed detached property on Cleveland Road. My husband, when he was alive, was a senior civil servant for the ministry of transport, therefore, we were what one would call well-travelled. I sit on the residents association and I wanted to come along to keep abreast of what is happening in our community. And, to make sure ordinary people are not being taken advantage of…”
She looked at Sarah as if to say and I’m keeping my eye on you. But Sarah wasn’t intimated by Olga Treadcott, she’d been doing consumer research for years and had met people from all walks of life. She was confident in her professionalism and her ability to run the group session.
Just as Olga took a breath to start again, Sarah cut her short.
“Lovely, Olga, that’s great,” Sarah said. “And now, last but certainly not least, Sally?”
Sarah turned back towards Mark and Sally. She was pleased that Sally was sitting down because she looked at least five foot nine and with two-inch wedged heels she would have towered above her measly height of five foot three. She was, Sarah had to admit an extremely attractive woman with long, black, sleek hair tied up in a high pony-tail which swished from side to side when she talked and moved her head.
Sally folded her hands calmly and confidently in her lap, gave everyone a sincere smile and said, “Yes, I’m Sally Jones, I’m 44 years old, am divorced, and a lawyer and associate on Northumberland Square, although I do work from home most of the time. And, yes, Olga, I do know where your house is but my five bedroomed detached property is on Preston Road overlooking the park.”
Sally paused to wait for the reaction around the table to which Sarah saw Olga wrinkle her nose in the air and pat the back of her brown, bouffant hairstyle. Sarah was delighted with Sally’s put down because everyone would know that her house was practically double the price of Olga’s.
Sally continued, “So, I’m going on my first holiday to Italy next year and thought I’d use the vouchers to try some new pasta dishes.
“Fab idea, Sally,” Jason said.
Mark smiled. “I’ve been to Venice and Rome,” he said. “You’ll love the place.”
Sarah stood up. “That’s great everyone. Now I’ll give you two quick minutes about me before I rescue the tarts from the oven. My name is Sarah Williams and I’m 36. I was born here in Preston village and went to Northumbria University to do a food science degree then got my first job with this supermarket chain at their head office in London. I worked there for years as a sensory analyst and have returned home now to live and run the food section. I have a department of three juniors to supervise and due to the popularity of our Tuesday night taste panel I decided to start this extra Thursday session because we have a back-log of products to assess before Christmas.”
She began to walk towards the kitchen and heard the group interact together with Jason and Ayesha chatting and Sally pouncing upon Mark with questions about his studio. The oven timer bleeped and she checked the central temperature of the tarts with a probe – they were fully cooked and she put them onto five plates with random numbers marked on the side. There was a small serving hatch in the wall between the two rooms and she opened the two flaps to put the plates through. Suddenly she looked up and saw Mark’s face on the room side of the hatch.
“Can I help?” he asked grinning at her.
He really was rather nice, she thought, nodding and handing the plates through to him. Settled back at the table Sarah asked everyone to open the packs and explained the sensory forms with columns and sections for scores and comments relating to appearance, aroma, texture, and flavour.
Cutting each tart into six pieces she said, “And, if I could just ask that you don’t talk and discuss anything while completing the forms that would be great. We can discuss it all later at the end. I often find that discussions influence separate opinions because everyone has their own taste and it’s what you all think individually that counts.”
The smell of cooked pastry and cheese filled the room. “Now, just a few pointers with these quiche tarts,” she said. “Pay particular attention to the pastry. Is it crisp? Or is it soggy and wet on the bottom of the tart? Oh, and also note the flavours of the fillings. Is there too much ham overpowering the cheese or vice versa, or is the combination just in the right amounts?”
Everyone nodded in understanding and she asked them to start sampling in no particular order and recording their scores.
After she’d helped Margaret with a couple of questions she pretended to read through her paperwork but secretly she was watching Mark. He must have been devastated to lose his wife so young, she thought, and wondered whether he was content now on his own or was he lonely and willing to accept Sally’s obvious flirtations to be easily seduced. They would make a lovely couple being both attractive and professional, and seemed to have their pasts well and truly behind them.
Whereas, she couldn’t claim that her turbulent break-up from Paul was completely behind her. It was only six months since he’d announced, after nine happy years of living together, that he’d fallen in love with an Italian model and was moving to Milan. And, that he’d hoped they could handle the end of their relationship in a mature and sensible manner. It was at this stage she’d snapped and hurled a saucepan at him while he ran from their apartment and she’d never seen him since. Earlier, when Sally had mentioned Italy she’d felt her insides twist with painful association but had managed to distract herself and keep going.
Mark must have realised she was staring at him because he suddenly looked up and grinned reassuringly with a slight nod of his head - it was clear he was enjoying himself.
When everyone had finished Sarah collected the forms and did a quick calculation declaring which sample was the winning tart and read aloud some of the comments and then announced the panel’s worst tart sample and the reasons why. Everyone chattered excitedly agreeing with each other and
Sarah further explained that this panel had good decisive results because all six panellists were in agreement but there may be some products where the variances might be debatable and not so clear cut, therefore, harder to reach a conclusive result.
“So, thanks to you all and I hope you’ve enjoyed the first session?” she asked placing the six vouchers on the table. “Hopefully I’ll see you all next week at the same time?”
Sarah noticed Olga was the first to snap up her voucher from the table and that the others followed at a more leisurely pace.
“Yes, I’ll definitely be here,” Mark said smiling, “I’ve really enjoyed it.”
Choruses of agreement from everyone resounded around the room and chairs were scraped back and jackets and coats put on. They certainly looked a different mix of characters, Sarah thought as they filed out of the room. Her Tuesday session was made up of all middle-aged housewives but these Thursday sessions were certainly going to be different – and very interesting, if nothing else.
A Taste of Love Page 15