Henry bought the rice cooker because his mother said even an idiot could steam vegetables in one.
He liked to know everything about a product before choosing which model to buy. This one was non-stick with two steamer inserts. It had a five-cup capacity and a free rice cookbook. He flicked through it. Not that he planned to cook rice but he thought his mum might like it.
The salesgirl, Felicity, was impressed. ‘This is a good unit, at a great price. You must know your way around a kitchen.
He knew all right. He could get from the fridge to the pantry blindfolded and he was a dab hand with the microwave. ‘Yeah. I guess so. I do a nice…’—what was that thing in the book that looked good?—‘…seafood risotto.’
‘I love risotto.’ Felicity rang up the discount price and swiped Henry’s card. ‘What stock do you use—chicken or vegetable?’
What a no-brainer. That risotto was all vegetables anyway. ‘Chicken.’
She was pretty cute, he thought, noticing for the first time the way she was smiling at him and the pretty figure under her unflattering uniform. ‘Always chicken. It’s got more flavour.’
Felicity nodded in agreement.
‘I like to make my own,’ said Henry—how hard could it be?