Fed Up
A Gourmet Girl Mystery
For Melissa, a friend for life
Praise for the Gourmet Girl Mysteries
“Mystery lovers know a champion when they see one.” —Carolyn G. Hart, author of Death on Demand
Steamed
“All the right ingredients—fresh characters, a dash of humor, and a sizzling romance.” —Elaine Viets
“This delectable collaboration between Jessica Conant-Park and her mother, Susan Conant, author of the Cat Lover’s and the Dog Lover’s mystery series, introduces an appealing heroine.… This scrumptious cozy, the first of a new series, has it all—charming characters, sappy dialogue, and mouth-watering recipes.” —Publishers Weekly
“Famous writer of mysteries involving cats and dogs, Susan Conant teams up with her daughter to write a refreshingly charming chick-lit mystery.… There’s no doubt about it—this is the start of a great new series.” —Midwest Book Review
“Steamed is a gem. It grabs you from the start, as the heroine is witty, down-to-earth, and rolls with the punches. Great competition to anything Diane Mott Davidson has ever offered. Top this winning combination off with some decadent sounding recipes and I can guarantee Steamed will be topping the bestseller list in no time.” —Roundtable Reviews
Simmer Down
“This is a fun Gourmet Girl Mystery.… Readers will enjoy the heroine’s escapades as she risks her life to uncover the identity of a killer. The mother-daughter team provides the audience with a delicious chick-lit cozy filled with lists, recipes, and asides as Chloe takes on Beantown.” —The Best Reviews
“A heaping helping of simmering suspense and just plain fun … Deliciously delightful!” —Alesia Holliday, author of Blondes Have More Felons
“Packed with delicious recipes … the Gourmet Girl Mysteries have quickly become one of my favorite culinary mystery series.” —Roundtable Reviews
“Enjoyable … A pleasant blend of romance, food, and mystery.” —New Mystery Reader
“The writing is breezy yet polished, the plotting adept, the overall tone funny without trying too hard.… The Josh-Chloe pairing is perfect—he loves to cook and she loves to eat.” —Cozy Library
“A delicious new series with engaging characters, a unique pet, a fascinating milieu, the right touch of romance, and lots of fantastic food and recipes—what more could any mystery reader want?!” —The Romance Readers Connection
“The talented authors Jessica Conant-Park and Susan Conant have created a pleasant blend of romance, food, and mystery. Any fan of romance or mystery will find it an enjoyable read with lots of recipes included. Enjoy.” —New Mystery Reader
Turn Up the Heat
“A delectable treat of a mystery.” —Michele Scott, author of the Wine Lover’s Mysteries
“A delicious murder complete with a sprinkle of betrayal, a generous dash of suspicion, and more than a pinch of danger.” —Leann Sweeney, author of the Yellow Rose Mysteries
“Combines a nicely detailed Back Bay setting with plenty of insights into the restaurant business … Recommend this one to fans of foodie crime.” —Booklist
“The authors serve up another delectable dish of detection.” —Publishers Weekly
“Spiced with mystery, romance, and recipes.” —Kirkus Reviews
Fed Up
“Jessica Conant-Park and Susan Conant turn up the heat … and cook up another winner! Take a pinch of poison, a heaping spoonful of intrigue, and a dash of romance. Then toss them all into a pressure cooker of a reality cooking show, and the result is another delicious read. You won’t want to miss a bite of this delectable mystery!” —Karen MacInerney, author of the Agatha Award–nominated Gray Whale Inn Mysteries
“Fed Up is the wonderful fourth entry in the Gourmet Girl series, and this reviewer’s favorite so far—and I’ve loved them all. Highly recommended to the discriminating connoisseur of cozy mysteries!” —The Romance Readers Connection
“A pleasant cozy so packed with food tips and appended recipes that it could cause a food frenzy.” —Kirkus Reviews
“Recipes, some by pro chefs, round out this delectable chick-lit cozy, which ends on an emotional cliff-hanger for Chloe.” —Publisher’s Weekly
“Reading Fed Up is like having a four-course meal at a gourmet restaurant. This scrumptious read offers up a mélange of humor and intrigue, including a culinary-based reality TV show gone horribly wrong and a zany wedding scene that will have readers bubbling over with laughter. Prepare to be treated to a cliffhanger ending and recipes that will leave you hungry for more of Gourmet Girl’s antics.” —J.B. Stanley, author of The Battered Body
Cook the Books
“A truly scrumptious mystery that gives readers a glimpse at the dark side of the restaurant business with its bang-bang cutthroat competition as Chloe finds a horde of suspects with strong motives.” —The Best Reviews
“This mystery will make you stand up and take notice.… If you like books with a twisting plot, an unexpected ending, and some goodies added in, this book is for you.” —The Romance Readers Connection
“Another exciting adventure … An enjoyable, suspense-filled story with a healthy helping of humor for their readers to enjoy.” —Fresh Fiction
“Intriguing. And don’t forget the scrumptious recipes at the end!” —Roundtable Reviews
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For contributing mouthwatering recipes, we thank Angela McKeller, Ann and Michel Devrient, Meg Driscoll, Josh and Jen Ziskin, Nancy R. Landman, Barbara Seagle, Raymond Ost, Bill, Park, and Dwayne Minier.
And for testing some of those recipes, we thank Mary Fairchild, Gina Micale, and Rita Schiavone.
For detailing icky restaurant health code violations, we thank Deborah M. Rosati, R.S., food safety consultant.
Many thanks to Natalee Rosenstein and Michelle Vega from Berkley Prime Crime and to our agent, Deborah Schneider.
And for rescuing the real Inga, Jessica thanks her husband, Bill, who knew that the starving, neglected Persian would be the perfect addition to our home.
ONE
I peeked in the rearview mirror of my car, touched up my lip gloss, and ran my hands through my hair. I was, after all, going to be on television, so I had every excuse in the world to double-check my appearance. Okay, well, it was actually my boyfriend, Josh, who was going to be on television. Still, I was going to be in the vicinity of the taping of a television show, and if the camera just so happened to find its way to me, I had to be prepared. My hair disagreed; far from behaving itself, it was doing everything it could to fight the anti-frizz and straightening products that I had slathered on this morning. I got out of the car, slammed the door, and cursed Boston’s triple-H weather: hazy, hot, humid. I should’ve taken my friend Adrianna’s advice about wearing my hair curly. I had taken her advice, however, about wearing a cute, if uncomfortable, outfit. I tugged at the hem of my lime green and sky blue retro-print dress and tried to smooth out the wrinkles that had developed during the drive. And these darn toeless pumps that matched the green in the dress were going to be hell; I could already feel my big toe whining about being squashed. You have to suffer to be beautiful, you have to suffer to be beautiful, I repeated to myself.
The parking lot of the upscale grocery store, Natural High, was moderately full for four o’clock on a Monday afternoon in late August. I was there—on location, as I liked to think of it—because Josh had been invited to participate in a local cable reality TV show called Chefly Yours. I was tagging along, but Josh was one of three local chefs competing to win the prize of starring in a new eight-part cooking show. The other two contestants were Josh’s friend Digger and a woman named Marlee. Chefly Yours was scheduled to have nine episodes, three for each chef, with the contestants competing in rotation. Josh, Digger, and Marlee had each filmed one episode. Today was Josh’s second turn. When all nine episodes had aired, viewers were going to call in to vote for the winner. Each episode followed the chef contestant into a grocery store, where the chef approached a shopper and persuaded the surprised stranger to participate in the show. The chef then selected and bought food and accompanied the shopper home to cook a gourmet meal. The hope was that the chosen shopper would have a spouse or partner at home, an unsuspecting person who’d provide moments of drama by expressing astonished delight—or filmworthy rage, maybe—when the TV crew burst in. Crew: considering that the cable station, Boston 17, provided one producer-director, Robin, and one cameraman, Nelson, the term struck me as a bit generous. Also, the premise of Chefly Yours hit me as disconcertingly similar to the premise of a big-time national program hosted by a hot Australian chef, but when I’d told Josh that Robin was copycatting, he’d brushed me off.
Still, my boyfriend’s first episode had gone well in spite of an unexpected challenge. Because the “lucky shopper,” as Robin called her, turned out to have numerous food allergies, Josh had been forced to cook an incredibly simple seared fish fillet with practically no seasoning. To his credit, instead of throwing up his hands in frustration, he had used the episode to showcase his technical culinary skills, and he’d taught his shopper and the audience how to break down a whole fish and cook it perfectly. Nonetheless, I was hoping that today he’d find a truly adventurous eater. I hadn’t been present for the taping of Josh’s first show. When Robin had given me permission to watch today’s taping, she’d made me swear that I wouldn’t make Josh nervous. I’d given her my promise.
The location, Natural High, was an elite market in the Boston suburb of Fairfield, which our local papers always described as the wealthiest community in Massachusetts. As the store’s name suggested, its specialty was organic produce, but it also sold fresh meat and seafood. As the automatic doors opened and I stepped in, I felt a surge of irritation at the show for what was obviously a search for wealthy guest shoppers. It seemed to me that the people for whom it would be a big treat to take a chef home were middle-income and low-income shoppers at ordinary supermarkets. The station, however, evidently preferred to have a good chance of shooting in a lavish-looking house with a luxurious, well-equipped kitchen. I consoled myself with the thought that Natural High did have a few advantages. The butcher at the meat counter, a guy named Willie, was the brother of my friend Owen, so at least Willie would get some airtime, and Josh was hoping to stop at a nearby cheese and wine shop run by Owen and Willie’s brother Evan.
I found Josh huddled close to Robin in the produce section of the market, where both were scanning for a desirable shopper.
“Found any victims yet?” I placed my hand on Josh’s lower back.
“Hey, babe.” He grinned and then gave me a quick kiss. Clearly fired up for today’s filming, Josh was wearing his white chef’s coat from the restaurant where he worked, Simmer, and his gorgeous blue eyes twinkled with energy. Josh usually left his dirty blond hair to its own devices—a look I found adorable—but today he had obviously spent a little time in the mirror styling his waves. As delicious as he looked in person, Josh had managed to look even yummier on TV, as if his enthusiasm for the competition had seeped into the camera. Although he wrapped his arm around me and pulled me in tightly, he continued looking at Robin’s clipboard.
“Hi, Robin,” I said to the producer.
Robin whipped her long brown ponytail to the side without dislodging her headset. She gave me a curt smile. “Chloe. I didn’t know you’d be here today. Nice to see you.”
She did so know I was going to be here! “Nice to see you, too.”
Robin looked back down at her clipboard and began frantically writing as she talked. “Okay, Josh, so I’d prefer to find a male shopper this time. We’ve already had three women. And he has to be camera friendly. Since we don’t have hair and makeup people, it’s got to be someone attractive. And find out about his kitchen. We don’t want to end up in some hellhole with cockroaches and no cooking equipment.” Robin’s sharp voice matched her appearance: a small, pinched nose; perpetually squinty eyes; and pursed lips. She had a very thin, dainty frame, and her no-nonsense clothes fell shapelessly on her body.
Josh and Robin started peering around the store again. When I stepped aside to let them work, I bumped into Nelson, the cameraman, and nearly toppled over.
“Um, hi, Nelson.” I stared into the big black lens of his camera, which was pointed directly at me. The light shining from the camera made me squint.
Nelson briefly leaned out from behind the camera to beam at me. “Hi, Chloe.”
Nelson, who was in his early thirties, had a prematurely bald head so shiny that I longed to pat his scalp with blotting paper or dust it with talc. His eyes formed two perfect circles, as though they’d been drawn on his face by a first-grader. He was close to six feet tall, and his bulky build must have made it easy for him to carry the heavy camera.
After tucking himself back behind the safety of the camera, he asked, “How are you today? Has school started back up yet?”
“No, I have a few more weeks.” My second and final year of graduate school was looming, but I was nowhere near ready to give up on summer. “Oh, I see Digger and Marlee are here. I’m going to say hello.”
Josh and his chef friend Digger had enjoyed a friendly rivalry during the past month of taping. The other two chefs were along not just to watch how their competition performed but to serve as sous-chefs if Josh needed them.
“Hey, Chloe!” Digger called out in his husky voice. “What’s up, kid?” His curly brown hair was pulled back in an elastic, and his dark skin was even more deeply tanned than the last time I’d seen him. Digger had strong, angular facial features that I found somewhat intoxicating; although he wasn’t traditionally handsome, he was masculine and striking. “Has Josh got anyone, yet? We’ve been here for twenty minutes, and Robin has already rejected four people Josh picked out.” Digger cupped his hands to his mouth and called across a bin of red peppers, “Seriously, come on Robin!”
Robin ignored Digger, but I saw that Josh was trying not to smile.
“You know Marlee, right?” Digger gestured to the woman next to him.
“Yes, we met at one of the planning meetings.” I held out my hand to the slightly plump woman. “Good to see you.”
Marlee let my hand sit in the air. “You, too,” she said distractedly. “I wonder who Josh’ll end up with this time.”
For reasons I didn’t understand, Marlee seemed oddly nervous. Today was Josh’s show and not hers. Since the last time I’d seen her, Marlee had cut her thin hair into an ear-length bob that did nothing to flatter her round face. Actually, Marlee had a distinct roundness to her entire being; without actually being overweight, she was blah and shapeless, not to mention pasty and bland. She wasn’t particularly feminine, but since she worked in a male-dominated industry, maybe she deliberately downplayed her feminine side? I stared at her and prayed that she’d put on makeup before the taping began. She seriously needed color in her cheeks, and I had to peer rather rudely at her to see whether she had any eyelashes at all. Oh, yes! There they were. Would she mind, or even notice, if I pulled out a mascara wand and started coating her lashes?
“Oh, look. He’s pointing at someone now.” She and Digger craned their heads to get a look, and then Marlee sighed. “Nope. Robin nixed that guy, too. They really better get moving.”
Even though it was only a little after four in the afternoon, Marlee was right. Shooting an entire episode would take until at least seven tonight. According to Josh, Robin was particular about nearly everything and liked to reshoot some scenes three or four times, maybe for good reason. After all, she had only one cameraman, and the lighting available in markets and home kitchens had to be less than ideal.
Marlee, I suspected, was hoping that Josh would get another dud shopper, thus improving her own chances of winning the show. Even though Chefly Yours was relatively small and underfunded, not to mention imitative, it was still television, and I knew that all three chefs were dying to win the chance to star in the solo series. Marlee was the chef at a small South End restaurant called Alloy, but aside from that, I knew little about her. Josh and Digger had both been reviewed a few times in newspapers, in local magazines, and online, but I’d never read anything about Marlee’s restaurant, and I had no reason to think she needed or wanted to win more than the male chefs did.
“Maybe we could help them find a candidate,” I suggested to Digger and Marlee.
We headed toward Robin, Josh, and Nelson just as Josh was approaching a well-groomed man in his early sixties. “Excuse me, sir. I’m chef Josh Driscoll, and I was wondering if you—”
Robin practically body-slammed the poor man out of the way. Out of his hearing, I hoped, she hissed, “God, not him, Josh! He’s totally wrong! Did you or did you not see his plaid shirt?” She rolled her eyes. “Plaid shirt equals hippie equals crappy TV, okay? And for God’s sake, Nelson, why are you filming this?”
“It’s reality TV, Robin.” He smiled. “This is good stuff here. This is how you capture moments that create a damn fine film.”
Robin’s only response was to write yet more notes on her clipboard. Was she grading Nelson as we went along?
“What about him?” I pointed unobtrusively at a college-age guy who was examining a bunch of beet greens. “He looks interested in his food.”
Robin shook her head at what she all too obviously regarded as a stupid suggestion.
“Oh, well,” I said, “you’re the dictator.” Oops. “Director! You’re the director!”
Robin eyed me suspiciously and crinkled her already crinkled nose.
Just then, a young mother with an infant strapped to her body approached us. “Hey, I recognize you! Are you all from that show—”
Instead of responding to the eager fan, Robin stepped away. Sulking, she said to us, “No, she won’t do at all! A man! We need a man. And she certainly doesn’t look like a man to me.”
The enthusiastic mother was atypical; most people scampered away from us and especially, I thought, from Nelson’s bulky camera. I was starting to think that we’d be lucky to find anyone even willing to talk to us; Robin was in no position to drive away interested shoppers. The mother would’ve been fine, I thought. She and her baby were both attractive, and she had a look of prosperity that suggested the possibility of a snazzy, photogenic kitchen. I gave the mother an apologetic look as she walked away. It was already four thirty, and I thought that by this point Robin would’ve found any shopper acceptable.
After Robin had rejected four more perfectly normal—and male, I might add—shoppers, her eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, look, that’s the one!” She pointed eagerly at a man entering the store. I couldn’t see what made him so special. To me, he looked ordinary: short hair, average height, lean build, brown suede jacket, and delicate round glasses. But Robin, I reminded myself, was the expert; she must know who’d look good on camera and who wouldn’t, and she was probably better than I was at guessing the value of the suede jacket and the glasses, which, for all I knew, had cost thousands.
Robin marched confidently over to her selected shopper and pulled down her headset. The rest of us followed. By then, I was convinced that this headset was connected to nothing more than an empty box that she wore attached to her belt. I mean, whom could she possibly be communicating with? Nelson, who was right next to her? The headset, I decided, was a prop intended to make her look official.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said Robin, extending her hand to the mystery man, who cautiously took her hand and shook it. “My name is Robin, and I am the producer of a televison show called Chefly Yours. We’re here today to film an episode of the show, and we’d like to offer you the talents of our chef, Josh Driscoll.” Robin shoved Josh in front of her as proof of her statement. “If you’ll allow us, we’d like to film you and Josh as he helps prepare a meal for you. Perhaps you have a loved one at home who could use a special dinner tonight? We’ll come to your house and give our viewers a lesson in how to prepare high-quality meals in their very own homes.” Robin beamed.
“Oh! Uh, I guess that would be okay.” He adjusted his small glasses and looked at all of us as we stood expectantly before him.
“Wonderful!” Robin whipped her head around and inadvertently, I assumed, smacked Josh in the face with her long hair. “Nelson? Are you getting this?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The cameraman sounded annoyed. “I do know how to use this thing. I am a professional, you know.” Nelson turned the camera away from me. I’d been too focused on Josh’s potential shopper to realize that I was being filmed. Clearly irritated, Robin reached out and shoved the camera so that it was aimed at Josh. Nelson protested, “This is all part of the reality of the show, Robin. The process, you know? And Chloe’s part of this.”
I glanced sideways at Nelson, who increasingly felt like a weirdo. “Um, you really don’t need to film me, Nelson.” I couldn’t help feeling flattered that Nelson thought I was camera-ready, but I still found him a bit creepy. I do have to admit, though, that I checked my reflection in one of the store mirrors. Hmm, my red hair could use a hint of styling serum …
“And your name is?” Robin prompted the man.
“Um, I’m Leo.” Evidently unnerved by the presence of the camera, Leo tucked his head down to glance into his empty cart.
“Wonderful!” Robin practically shouted. “This is Nelson, our cameraman.”
“Field operator,” he corrected her. “And filmmaker. We’ve got great color temperature in here, so it’s going to be a good shoot today.”
Robin sighed at Nelson, introduced the rest of us, and then gave Leo a brief rundown on how the show worked. She explained that for the three chefs, the show was a competition. “Okay, then, Leo. We’ll have Josh walk you through the market, and the two of you will select ingredients for your dinner. Then we’ll all drive to your house and capture every tiny little detail of the culinary process. Isn’t this exciting? Who will we be cooking for this evening?”
“My wife, Francie. She’ll be home pretty soon.” Leo glanced nervously in Nelson’s direction.
Uh-oh. If Leo’s wife, Francie, was on her way home, she was presumably dressed and groomed in a presentable fashion. I had the impression that the station preferred to film an episode in which the shopper’s stunned spouse or partner looked entirely unprepared to be on television. Ideally, the wife, Francie, would’ve had a mud mask on her face and rollers in her hair when she discovered that she was appearing in a reality show. I looked at Robin to see whether she was going to nix this shopper, too.
“Well, whether your wife is home yet or not when we get there, won’t she be surprised!” For once, Robin was doing her best to be charming. I was relieved that she hadn’t tossed Leo into his cart and sent him careening down the aisle before resuming the tedious search for the perfect victim.
Josh stepped in to take over for Robin, who was, I thought, on the verge of frightening Leo into refusing to participate. “Just ignore the camera, okay?” Josh put a hand on Leo’s shoulder and guided him over to a display of fresh corn. “So tell me about you and Francie. What do you two like to eat?”
Leo seemed to relax a bit. “Well, you may have a challenge on your hands, Josh. My wife eats meat, but I’m a pesco-ovo-lacto-vegetarian. I eat fish and dairy but not meat. Are you sure you still want me to be on your show? I’m not sure if I’m going to help you win,” he said apologetically.
“This is actually going to be great, Leo. I’ll get to show the audience how to work around dietary needs,” Josh assured him as he examined a perfectly ripe mango.
“I’d like you to make some meat, though, for Francie. Since I don’t usually cook outside my diet, it’d be a treat to have someone cook with her in mind, huh?”
“Excellent. We’ll make something for both of you then.” I could see Josh’s eyes light up as he shifted into his chef mode.
TWO
“We could do a beautiful pesto that we toss with fresh gnocchi. And serve that with seared scallops for you and some kind of roasted meat with vegetables for Francie. We’re almost getting into fall now, so maybe some root vegetables? And how about a gorgeous mixed tomato salad and cheese course? This is a great time of year for fresh tomatoes, so I’d love to use some of those. Check out these yellow pear tomatoes here.” Josh reached into a wooden wagon that served as a display for a variety of tomatoes. He proceeded to give Leo and the television audience a short discourse on the joys of tomato season.
“Lucky bastard,” Digger said under his breath.
Marlee clicked her tongue. “Yeah, seriously.”
“Why is Josh lucky?” I asked the two chefs.
“Josh gets to show off even more now. He’s going to make something awesome even with that pesco-veggie-whatever guy. This is going to make him look good. I’m going to have to find an even better one on my next turn. Maybe someone who only eats flatbread. I can do wonders with flat-bread,” Digger teased with a smile.
“This blows.” Marlee sighed, blew her bangs out of her eyes, and examined her fingernails. For a chef, Marlee certainly had dirty fingernails. I didn’t like to think about her handling food in a restaurant kitchen!
“For dessert, what about a peach and raspberry cobbler?” Josh suggested. Leo nodded enthusiastically and helped Josh gather the fruits and vegetables for the meal.
We kept out of the way as we followed Josh, Leo, Robin, and Nelson. From what I could tell, Josh was doing a beautiful job. He chose a variety of ingredients, held foods up to the camera, kept his body from blocking shots, and dealt with Robin’s intrusive style better than I would have.
“What about some beet greens, Josh?” asked Robin, reaching for a large bunch. “These look gorgeous.”
“Um, maybe—”
“Or arugula? They’ve got a beautiful selection today.” Robin invaded the camera space and handed Josh a plastic bag.
“Actually, we could make a delicious arugula pesto for the gnocchi. Maybe with some Calamata olives in it? And we’ll find a good cut of meat for Francie and some seafood for you both. We’ll get some nice wine and cheese next door, too.”
Leo nodded in recognition. “Sure. I know the place. Um, the only thing is … I sort of hate arugula. But Francie will love it, so I think we should make it anyway. I can just have butter on my gnocchi, right?”
“Sure, of course. If that’s okay with you, that’s what we’ll do.”
As Leo and Josh worked their way through the produce department, they filled Leo’s basket with potatoes, Vidalia onions, heads of garlic, fresh oregano, basil, and parsley, and other items that met Josh’s high standards. Nelson followed the pair and managed to keep the camera on his subjects.
So far as I could tell, Robin did nothing except interject unhelpful commands. “Get some radishes!” she ordered. “Those will look great on camera. Remember to look up at the camera, both of you!”
Josh cleared his throat. Then, trying to look simultaneously at Leo and the camera, he said, “Let’s head over to the meat counter. When deciding on your pick and cut of meat—”
“Josh,” Robin said, “turn your body a bit to the left so Nelson can get the shot. There! Good!” Although Josh must’ve been ticked off at the interruption, his face showed nothing, but Leo looked like a deer caught in headlights. When Robin had positioned the pair to her satisfaction, she said, “Now, say that again, Josh. About the meat.”
Josh uttered three words before Nelson stopped him. “Wait. Sorry. My mike isn’t working right.” The microphone that protruded from Nelson’s camera was covered in a fuzzy sheath. After jiggling the mike with what struck me as unnecessary vigor, he said, “All set. One more time.”
Instead of launching into his third attempt to explain how to select meat, Josh said, “Okay, let’s talk to Willie, the meat guy here.” Josh faced the counter and waved to Owen’s brother. “Willie! How are you, my friend?”
Willie looked up from the counter, where he was cutting and breaking down an enormous piece of beef. “My man, Josh! How’s it going? And, hey, Leo. How are you? And how’s Francie?”
Leo turned to Josh. “My wife and I come here a lot. We’ve gotten to know Willie. Well, Francie more than I, since she’s the meat eater in the family. But Willie always takes care of her.”
“So what’s with the entourage today, fellas?” Willie winked at me, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and leaned against the counter.
Josh explained the show and asked Willie for suggestions.
“Well,” Willie said, “I know Francie’s been eyeing these lamb chops, but I think she didn’t know what to do with them. How to cook them exactly. And they’re pretty pricey. Worth it, though.”
I’d promised myself that I’d keep quiet, but keeping the promise took a lot of effort. How could anyone have absolutely no idea how to cook lamb chops? In terms of culinary challenge, they weren’t exactly shad roe or calf brains.
“Dude, those look nice,” Digger commented from behind Josh. “Really fresh.”
“You’re right,” Josh agreed. With what I felt sure was no intention of insulting Francie, he said to Leo, “It’s hard to ruin a good lamb chop. The worst thing you can do is overcook it, but I’ll show you how to avoid that. Okay, Willie, give us a couple of chops for Francie.”
Willie selected two from the depths of the refrigerated counter and placed them on plastic wrap on the scale. “So, I’m going to be famous from this show, I assume. If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve spent a few extra minutes at the mirror this morning.” Willie scratched his chin. “Might have even shaved for you.”
“You’re as pretty as always, dude,” Josh said with a laugh. “But we’re going to see Evan in a bit to pick up some cheese and a bottle or two of wine. We’ll see who’s prettier then.”
“Tell my brother I’ll always win that contest. Hey, Chloe,” Willie called over the counter to me. “How’s my soon-to-be sister-in-law doing? She ready to pop yet?”
Willie meant my best friend, Adrianna, who was going to marry his brother Owen in a couple of weeks. Adrianna was eight months pregnant and looked as if she were carrying triplets. As far as anyone knew, there was only one baby inside her, but I was beginning to worry that the one baby weighed forty pounds.
“Well, she’s okay. Aside from comparing herself daily to a variety of large mammals and insisting that Owen take over for her and incubate the kid himself. So, you know, she’s doing great,” I said sarcastically.
“Aw, poor thing. I’ll have to give her a call and check in.” Willie wrapped the lamb chops in white butcher’s paper and passed them to Josh. “Good luck. And tell Francie I send my love, okay?”
“Will do,” Josh said with a nod. “Now let’s get your fish.”
Josh got enough halibut to make a first course for Leo. Then we cruised down an aisle lined with shelves of fancy oils, vinegars, and prepared sauces in imaginatively shaped bottles and jars.
“I’ve used some of these sauces before.” Leo pointed to a series of bottles that bore the pretty green label of an imported brand. “That tends to be how I cook, I guess. With jarred sauces.”
As Josh nodded in understanding, Robin nudged Nelson. The signal was unnecessary. Nelson already had the camera on Josh’s face, which expressed his passion for helping people to make wonderful food in their own kitchens. “That’s true for a lot of people,” Josh said. “And it’s great that there are high-quality products for when people want to get a meal out quickly. But the downside is that the at-home cook can really miss out on simple, delicious sauces, salsas, chutneys, and marinades, all kinds of things that can be put together with minimal work. As good as some of these products can be, nothing beats the taste and aroma of freshly chopped herbs blended with a fantastic Spanish olive oil. Or a sauce that you’ve slowly simmered on your stove so you’ve brought out all the flavors of your ingredients.”
Josh and Leo continued making their way through the market, adding products to the shopping cart until Josh was sure he’d have everything he’d need. “I assume you’ll have some basic seasonings at your house, Leo?”
Leo nodded. “I think I’ve got everything you need.” He grinned shyly at Robin. Was Leo trying to flirt with Robin? If so, Robin completely ignored him and returned to checking her notes.
All of us finally ended up at a register, where Robin paid. A benefit of being selected for the show was that the station covered the cost of all the food in the cart, including whatever had been in there before Robin and the chef had even approached the shopper. Today, of course, Robin had picked out Leo as he’d been entering the store, so the policy didn’t matter, and in any case, most of Natural High’s clientele needed no help with food bills. Still, the generous practice spoke well for the station.
“The cheese shop is next,” Robin instructed us while simultaneously scribbling on her clipboard. I was beginning to suspect that she followed the David Letterman approach to note taking, which was to say that her notes were nothing more than random scribbles with no bearing on what was happening. “Since it’s basically next door, we can just walk over there. Digger and Marlee, you can put the bags in the van for us.”
While Robin’s back was turned, Digger saluted her and started pushing the shopping cart. Marlee stayed with him as Robin marched impatiently through the exit door, with Josh, Leo, Nelson, and me hurrying to keep up with her. Everything about her manner and her posture suggested that all of us had been hanging around and wasting time, whereas, in fact, Robin herself had been the sole cause of the delay. Looking back over her shoulder, she had the nerve to call out, “Let’s go, people! We’re on a timetable here!”
The cheese and wine shop where Evan worked was unimaginatively called the Cheese and Wine Shop. Its setting was no more intriguing than its name. It occupied one of the storefronts in a little strip mall across the parking lot from Natural High. Flanked by a knitting store on one side and a handmade crafts boutique on the other, the Cheese and Wine Shop distinguished itself by displaying a cheerful striped awning that welcomed visitors.
“Welcome! Welcome!” Evan’s greeting sounded more affected than genuinely affable. Posed next to a display table that showcased the wine of the month, he had one hand on the table and the other at his waist. I could practically smell calculation in the air. As if to confirm my hunch that Willie had called to give Evan a heads-up, Evan exclaimed, “What a surprise!” After pausing to bestow a toothy smile on everyone, he continued. “And what are you all doing here? Could this be a Chefly Yours episode?”
Still trying to keep my vow of silence, I waved to Evan, who, like everyone else in Owen’s family, was extraordinarily good-looking—reason to feel confident about the genes that Owen was passing on to his baby. Evan and Willie were a year apart but could almost have been mistaken for identical twins. Evan, however, was a bit bulkier than Willie, probably because Evan was fond of overindulging in the delicious triple-crème cheeses available here.
“And is my friend Leo here the target of all your shenanigans?” Evan’s theatrical effort to project made him speak so loudly that Josh and Leo stepped back.
“I am, I am,” Leo answered. “I had no idea when I walked into the store today that I would wind up with the services of a talented chef. It’s wild.” Leo turned to Josh. “I’m a bit of a regular here, as you might have figured out.”
Evan shook Josh’s and Leo’s hands, and then Josh introduced Robin and Nelson.
“Okay, start shooting, Nelson,” Robin ordered.
Nelson flicked on the camera’s light and moved his eye behind the camera while muttering, “I think I know what I’m doin’ here …”
Josh nodded and moved to Evan’s side. “So, Evan, we’re looking for some cheeses to serve after dinner and some nice wines to go with everything. What can you recommend?”
The bright light seemed to have panicked Evan, who began to sweat profusely. “Well, Josh,” said Evan, while beaming maniacally into the camera lens, “there are several wonderful choices that I happen to have here.” He moved to the counter by the register and pulled out a tray on which eight or nine cheeses, each with a label, were attractively and all-too-conveniently arranged. “Ahem, this is a lovely Tomme de Savoie. And here we have a Serena, which comes from the mountainous Extremadura region of Spain. Oh, and a rich Gorgonzola, which I think should be on every cheese tray—very smooth and creamy. Would you like a sample?” Evan seemed to be loosening up as he eased into his cheese comfort zone, but when he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, I saw Robin wince.
Evan’s anxiety made me long to alert Leo’s wife, Francie, to the imminent arrival of her husband and his newfound group of television friends. It was five thirty, and I guessed that Leo’s wife might be home any minute. I couldn’t believe that most people would welcome strangers with a camera into their homes with absolutely no notice. It was easy for me to imagine times when even I, who would drop almost anything for a gourmet meal, wouldn’t want Chefly Yours descending on my condo. Of course, I didn’t have Francie’s number and had no way to find it. I didn’t even know her last name. The poor woman! And what if she freaked out when we all showed up at her house? What if she ruined Josh’s chances of winning? For all I knew, the unknown Francie might toss us out like yesterday’s fondue!
Evan cut samples of the powerfully flavored cheese for us all and moved on to a mouthwatering Explorateur. “Decadent and luxurious is how this cheese is best described.” Evan cut through the rind to reveal a creamy center. “This is a triple-crème at its finest.” He really was nervous! He knew as well as I did that cheeses should be eaten in order from mild to strong. He spread the cheese onto four crackers, and in spite of the competition from the lingering taste of the Gorgonzola, all of us, even Robin, groaned and murmured approval.
Decadent and luxurious indeed! I closed my eyes to savor the rich flavor. The thin, crispy, free-form crackers were perfect. Others might not appreciate the need for a good cracker, but I hated ruining an extraordinary cheese by smearing it on the equivalent of cardboard and then having the whole mess break apart in my hands. Just as bad were the kinds of crackers loaded with seeds, nuts, or spices, textures and tastes that bonked you over the head, obliterating the taste of the cheese. Ick!
Evan gestured around the store at the walls filled with bottles. “Tell me about your meal, and we’ll match you up with the right wines. I have a few open bottles that have been breathing for a while, so we can start by trying those.”
Josh described the menu, and Evan helped with the choice of wines. My mind wandered. I was more interested in the food than I was in what we’d drink with it. In particular, the little samples of cheese had whetted my appetite for more, and I had no idea how I’d resist absconding with Josh’s cheese tray and leaving none for anyone else.
When we’d left the shop, Robin again started giving orders. “I’ll ride with Leo so I can fill him in on the release papers he’ll have to sign. And you’ll follow us. Don’t lose me! And we’ll meet you outside Leo’s house, okay? This is it, people! Are we ready to roll?”
“You bet.” Josh clapped his hands together. “This is going to be a fantastic meal, Leo. You’re going to be in great hands tonight.”
THREE
Following Robin turned out to be easy. Leo’s house was only a few blocks away. Its appearance surprised me. Fairfield was so uniformly upscale that I’d expected to find Leo and Francie living in a large, beautifully maintained place. As it turned out, their house was a brown-shingled Victorian in decent condition, but the yard, which must once have been attractive, was a neglected mess. My parents run a landscaping business, Carter Landscapes, and I had the strong urge to sic both of them on Leo and Francie. On the upside, the house, much older than the others in the neighborhood, had the charm notably missing from the new construction that dominated the street. I’d waited in the parking lot to make sure that mine was the last car to leave; I hadn’t wanted to get there until the rest of the group had arrived. Lingering, I again primped in my rearview mirror, and then locked my purse in my Saturn, took my keys with me, and made my way past overgrown shrubs and weeds to the back door, which stood open. Through the screen door, I saw Josh standing at the kitchen sink.
“There you are,” he called to me.
“Sorry.” Smoothing my hair and reapplying makeup must have taken longer than I’d calculated.
My first thought on entering Leo’s kitchen was that Robin must be having a fit. So much for the theory that Leo’s appearance meant that he’d have a fancy, photogenic kitchen. At a guess, it had been updated thirty or forty years earlier, and renovations done since then had been partial. The cabinets were made of a pale synthetic material intended to simulate birch, and the floor was covered in brick-patterned linoleum. The walls were white, as was the refrigerator, but the dishwasher was black, the sink was stainless steel, and the stove a hideous avocado green. Although the room itself was large, there was little free counter space, and the layout had evidently been planned by someone who didn’t cook. The refrigerator was far from the sink and stove, and I wasn’t sure that it would be possible to open the refrigerator door without smacking the new-looking but awkwardly placed granite island in front of it. I sighed softly. Well, if anyone could work in this space, it was Josh. And at least the range was gas, and at least Josh had a cooperative subject, Leo.
In contrast, Francie, as I assumed her to be, looked less than cooperative. She was a slim, almost scrawny, woman with frizzy waves of dark hair. She stood with her arms crossed while addressing Robin in a high-pitched voice. “It’s just that we don’t seem to have the best setup here, and … well, I just don’t know about all this.” She uncrossed her arms and waved her hands around almost in the manner of a startled infant. “I’m not, uh, someone who belongs on TV.” Then, as if having hit on an effective argument that stood a chance of driving her unwanted guests from her house, she said with confidence, “I really think you could do better.” She ruined the effect, however, by throwing a pleading glance at Leo.
“Hey, it’ll be fun, Francie! Lighten up. I was a little nervous at first, too, but wait until you see what this chef here, Josh, is going to make for us. Actually, what he’s going to teach us to make. There’s lamb for you. Lamb chops. You love lamb chops. Come on!” Leo whispered something into wife’s ear.
She shrugged and forced a smile. “Well, I guess so. Why not? I am starving.” Francie took off a navy linen blazer and tossed it on the back of a chair by a small breakfast table. When she turned to face us, she had a hint of a smile. Although she was not even close to beautiful, she was striking, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw. With the right makeup—she wore none that I could see—she’d have looked distinguished. Now that she’d taken off her blazer, her white linen shell revealed a surprisingly curvaceous build. “So, what do I do?” she asked.
Josh already had the cheese selections unwrapped and coming to room temperature on a plate, and the rest of the ingredients were spread out across every available space. Within minutes, Josh, who was used to running a restaurant kitchen, had finished assigning all of us to separate work areas. Digger, Marlee, and I were given the humble task of peeling potatoes for the gnocchi. Josh was showing Leo and Francie how to make the arugula pesto. We potato peelers were stationed at a small table, and although we kept bumping elbows, our spirits were good. Josh had had the foresight to bring a lot of his own kitchen equipment, including some pots and pans, but Leo and Francie did have an adequate supply of the basics, including a Cuisinart food processor.
At the counter near the sink, Josh was teaching Leo to make pesto in the Cuisinart. Standing next to Leo, he was supervising as Leo put the ingredients in the bowl of the machine. “So, we have arugula, pine nuts, garlic, Parmesan cheese, Calamata olives, lemon juice, a little salt, and olive oil. We’ll blend this all up and have a fantastic, spicy pesto for the homemade gnocchi.”
The loud noise from the food processor almost drowned out Nelson’s voice. “Sorry. Sorry. Hey, Josh? Excuse me. Can we do that again, Josh? Something is going on with the camera.”
I gritted my teeth. What was Josh supposed to do? Cast some magic spell that would make the pesto ingredients fly apart and reconstitute themselves? Josh was a great chef, but he was a chef. He wasn’t Harry Potter.
“Seriously?” Josh glared at Nelson but kept his cool. “Okay, we have enough here to make another batch.” Josh emptied the Cuisinart bowl, had Leo repeat the process of making the pesto, removed the container from the food processor, dipped a spoon in, took a taste, and nodded to himself. “A touch more salt, and that’s good to go.” He handed spoons to Francie and Leo and let them try. Both responded with smiles.
Robin squeezed between Josh and Leo, grabbed the Cuisinart bowl, and angled the pesto toward Nelson. “You have to hold it like this so we get a good view. Here, let’s put it in something more attractive.” Reaching across the counter, she wrangled a spatula out of a ceramic vase that held cooking utensils and knocked over the vase and its contents. Ignoring the mess she’d made, she grabbed a little hand-painted bowl that sat on a windowsill. “There, here’s a nice bowl for the pesto.” Nelson lowered his camera and waited until Robin had finished meddling in Josh’s business.
When Josh had dutifully transferred the pesto into the pretty bowl, I reluctantly realized that Robin had been right: the reds and oranges of the hand-painted bowl made the pesto look especially green and appetizing. In this instance, anyway, Robin’s bossiness was justified.
When the potatoes were peeled and cooked, Josh had Francie and Leo put them through a ricer and spread them out on a tray to cool. The next step, I knew, was to work in eggs and flour. “Make sure your potatoes are nicely cooled,” Josh warned, “or you’ll cook the egg when you blend it in.” With Josh keeping a close eye on the dough, Leo and Francie rolled it into long snakes, cut off small pieces, used forks to make ridges in each piece, and then curved the gnocchi into C shapes.