Bake at 350° for 40 to 45 minutes. (If desired, one coffee cake can be baked in a 13 × 9 × 2-inch pan.)
Makes 16 pieces.
Note: Sarah uses wild huckleberries, but frozen raspberries or blueberries also work great.
DANISH PUFF
PASTRY BASE
1 cup sifted flour
½ cup margarine
2 tablespoons water
TOP
½ cup margarine
1 cup water
1 teaspoon vanilla
1 cup flour
3 eggs
ICING
1 cup powdered sugar
½ teaspoon almond extract
2 tablespoons milk
1 cup slivered almonds
For pastry base, measure flour into a medium-sized mixing bowl and cut in margarine as for pie crust. Sprinkle with water and mix with a fork. Divide into 2 balls. Put on a large, ungreased cookie sheet and pat into two long strips 12 inches by 3 inches.
To prepare top, put margarine and water into a small pan and bring to a rolling boil. Add vanilla and remove from heat. Stir in flour quickly. When smooth, thick, and slightly cooled, add eggs one at a time, beating till smooth. Divide in half and spread evenly over each strip of pastry. Bake at 350° for 1 hour (or until brown and puffy—Sarah always checks it at 40 minutes). Let cool.
For icing, mix powdered sugar with extract until smooth. Spread over both pastries and top with slivered almonds.
Serves 8 to 10.
From Jamie
CALIENTE FUDGE
(Courtesy of Maria Parra-Boxley, Dulce Passion Bakery)
1 can sweetened condensed milk (14 oz.) (La Lechera)
3 cups semisweet chocolate chips
1 tablet Nestlé Abuelita authentic Mexican chocolate drink mix
2 tablespoons cinnamon spice blend
CINNAMON SPICE BLEND (POUR INTO A SMALL PLASTIC ZIP SANDWICH BAG AND COMBINE):
1 tablespoon Saigon cinnamon
1 tablespoon ground ancho chile pepper
1 tablespoon ground red cayenne pepper
1 tablespoon cinnamon plus spice blend (The Pampered Chef)
Line an 8- or 9-inch square pan with waxed paper. In a heavy saucepan over low heat melt tablet of Nestlé Abuelita authentic Mexican chocolate drink mix on one side. When you see it begin to melt on one side turn it over to melt the other side (tablet will not fully melt until combined with sweetened condensed milk). Add 3 cups semisweet chocolate chips and stir in 2 tablespoons cinnamon spice blend (cinnamon spice blend can be decreased or increased according to your heat taste buds). Continue to stir slowly so your chocolate doesn’t stick and burn. The chocolate and spice mix will start to get heavy and clumpy. At this point add the sweetened condensed milk and keep stirring until well combined. Turn off heat and pour the fudge into prepared pan. Let cool and chill for 2 hours or until firm. Turn fudge onto cutting board; peel off paper and cut into squares. Store loosely covered or at room temperature.
Makes about 2 pounds of fudge.
PRUNE TRUFFLES WITH ARMAGNAC
(Courtesy of Kathy Nordlie)
¾ cup (4 ounces) pitted prunes, each prune cut into eighths
¼ cup Armagnac
cup heavy cream
6 ounces bittersweet chocolate, such as Lindt or Tobler, broken into small pieces
1 tablespoon unsalted butter at room temperature
½ cup toasted pecans, finely chopped
½ cup cocoa powder for coating
In a small bowl, combine the prunes and the Armagnac. Cover tightly and let sit at room temperature for at least an hour to soften.
In a small saucepan, bring the cream to a boil over moderately high heat. Add the chocolate and remove from the heat. Whisk until the chocolate is melted and the mixture is smooth. Beat in the butter.
Drain the prunes, reserving 1 tablespoon of the Armagnac. Add the prunes, the reserved Armagnac, and the pecans to the chocolate mixture, mixing until well combined. Transfer the mixture to a shallow bowl and refrigerate, uncovered, until firm, at least 3 hours.
Coat your palms with the cocoa. For each truffle, form about 1 teaspoon of the cold truffle mixture into a ball, rolling it between your palms. Place the truffles on waxed paper. After the truffles are shaped, dredge them lightly in the cocoa, then toss gently from palm to palm to remove any excess. Place each truffle in a paper petit four cup and refrigerate for at least 1 day to let the flavors mellow.
Makes about 30 truffles.
WHITE CHOCOLATE LEMON FUDGE
1 cup cream
3 teaspoons butter
2 teaspoons shortening
4 teaspoons lemon extract
24 ounces (3 boxes) Baker’s white baking chocolate
1 cup shredded coconut
1 cup powdered sugar
Break the chocolate into small pieces and put in a large bowl, along with the shortening. In a small saucepan, bring cream slowly to a light boil. Pour the boiling cream over the chocolate and keep stirring until the chocolate is melted. Beat well, as if for ganache. Add powdered sugar, lemon extract, and coconut, and pour into a 9-by-9-inch glass baking pan. Let sit for 2 hours or until firm.
Makes 9 to 12 pieces, depending on how you cut it.
Note: This is truly the best fudge on the planet. Jamie stumbled onto it quite by accident, early in her truffle-making career. When the ganache didn’t set up (it probably would have if she’d been a little more patient!) she tried to roll it into balls and dip it in melted white chocolate anyway, hoping against hope the truffle fairies would fix the mess. All she got was a tray full of blobs that looked like they had candy leprosy. Disgusted, she scooped up the mess, combined it with the leftover white chocolate for coating, then mixed in some powdered sugar and dumped the whole thing in a 9-by-9-inch glass pan. And shockingly, she wound up with incredible fudge. It just goes to show, nothing is ever wasted in the kitchen if a girl is clever!
PRETZEL TURTLES (QUICK AND EASY)
(Courtesy of Carol Isaacson)
One bag Rollo candies
One small (16-ounce) bag small, knotted pretzels
One medium-sized bag (6 ounces) of pecans
Lay out pretzels on an ungreased cookie sheet. Put a Rollo candy on each pretzel. Put in oven at 250° for 4 minutes. Take out and top each with a pecan. (Press pecan in lightly.) Put in refrigerator to harden for 3 minutes. (Don’t leave in the fridge. Jamie’s not sure why you shouldn’t leave them in the fridge, but Carol told her not to, so she doesn’t!)
You can make up to 57 of these if you use a whole bag of Rollos. You’ll probably have extra pretzels left. Eat the evidence.
CHOCOLATE MINT PIE
Single baked pie crust (you can use a prepared crust or make from scratch) or prepared chocolate crumb crust
1 cup butter
2 cups powdered sugar
4 ounces (squares) unsweetened chocolate, melted
4 eggs
¾ teaspoon peppermint extract
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
Using mixer, cream butter and sugar together. Add melted chocolate and blend well. Mix in eggs, one at a time, then flavorings. Pour mixture into shell and freeze until solid. Can be served with whipped cream, chocolate shavings, peppermint candy, or coconut.
Serves 8.
Note: You can actually serve more since this pie is so rich that a very small serving goes a very long way.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I have made some great new friends in the process of writing this book, and I’m indebted to the following people for giving me a glimpse into their lives as shop owners and busy women. Thanks to Mona Newbauer, the owner of 1 Angel Place Chocolate Bar in Langley, Washington, for sharing with me a day in the life of a chocolatier. Mona, your truffles are to die for, and if I had to get up at the crack of dawn like you do, I would die. Huge thanks also to Valerie Wood at Material Girls Quilt Shop in Silverdale, Washington, for showing me how much is involved in running a quilt shop. What a labor of lov
e! And speaking of labors of love, huge thanks to Helen Ross, überquilter, for her patient explanations of the complexities of quilting. Thanks, too, to Kathy Nordlie and Maria Parra-Boxley for the wonderful candy recipes you contributed. Thanks to the Bainbridge Island Brain Trust (Susan Wiggs, Suzanne Selfors, Elsa Watson, Carol Cassella, and Anjali Banerjee) for their invaluable input. And, finally, thanks to Paige Wheeler, my agent, and Rose Hilliard, my editor, and all the wonderful people at St. Martin’s Press who continue to make writing such an enjoyable adventure.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
ANGEL LANE. Copyright © 2009 by Sheila Rabe. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Roberts, Sheila.
Angel lane / Sheila Roberts. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-312-38482-1
1. Self-realization in women—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3618.O31625A85 2009
813'.6—dc22
2009012524
First Edition: October 2009
ON STRIKE FOR CHRISTMAS
Sheila Roberts
St. Martin’s Press
New York
To Susan, Debbie, and Jill,
my three good fairies
One
We Wish You a Merry Christmas…
Glen Fredericks slapped the back of his last departing Thanksgiving dinner guest. “Good to see ya. Thanks for coming.”
“Hey man, great time,” said the mooch. “Thanks for having me.”
“No problem. We’ll do it all again at Christmas,” Glen promised.
Behind him, Glen’s wife, Laura, suddenly envisioned herself going after her husband with the electric carving knife he’d used earlier on the turkey. “In your dreams,” she growled. She stepped around Glen and shoved the front door shut. Having made contact with a hefty male hind end, it didn’t shut easily, especially for a woman who was five feet two and a hundred and nineteen pounds, but she managed.
“Hey,” Glen protested. “What was that all about?”
“You need to ask?” Laura gave her overchewed gum an angry snap. He did this to her every year, and every year he promised that next year things would be different. But they never were.
“Mama, Tyler’s in the frigerator,” called five-year-old Amy.
Laura marched toward the kitchen, Glen trotting after her. “Today might have been your idea of fun, but it sure wasn’t mine.”
No woman in her right mind would volunteer to have her house turned into the city dump by the invasion of family, friends, and Thanksgiving freeloaders her husband had invited into their home. Before the invasion, this room had looked great, decorated with little gourds, cute ceramic pumpkins, and her two prettiest vases filled with mums. Now everywhere she looked she saw a mess. CDs lay scattered on the floor in front of the entertainment center. Her new leather couch was littered with a plastic football, Glen’s socks, magazines, and an open can of nuts (half-spilled). Glasses and bottles were strewn every which way across her coffee table. The little hand-painted, wooden Pilgrim couple that she’d set out on the sofa table now lay on their sides as if taking a nap, not that you could really see them anyway in the litter of napkins and appetizer plates and other party leftovers. And it was hard to ignore the towel on the carpet, evidence of an earlier wine spill mop-up.
People said you shouldn’t have cream-colored carpet when you had little kids. Well, people were wrong. She managed to keep the carpet clean just fine with two kids. It was Glen’s moocher co-worker who was the problem. And, of course, Glen had been too busy yucking it up to tell her about the spill. She discovered it only when she stepped on it in her stockinged feet.
“Come on, babe,” he protested. “It’s the holidays, and it only comes once a year.”
“It’s a good thing because it takes me a whole year to recover. In case you didn’t notice, Glen, we’ve got two children, a big house that I clean, and I work thirty hours a week.” Before Glen could reply they heard the distinctive crash of a dish breaking followed by a startled cry. “Oh, great. Now what?” Laura muttered, and picked up speed.
She found Amy hovering near the doorway, a golden-haired cherub. “I told him not to,” Amy said, already the bossy older sister.
Behind her, by the fridge, stood two-and-a-half-year-old Tyler—nickname, Tyler the Terrible—whimpering.
At his feet lay a fluffy pile of whipped cream fruit salad, broken shards of ceramic bowl sticking up through it like mountain peaks through the clouds.
Laura walked over to where her son stood and surveyed the damage. “Mess, Mama,” Tyler told her.
She had been going nonstop since six in the morning and it was now eight at night. She sat down on the floor behind her son and began to cry. That set Tyler off, and he started wailing. She pulled him to her and they both went at it.
“It’s okay, baby,” Glen said and knelt beside her. He was a big, kindhearted, teddy bear of a man. Most days. Today, he was just a big pain in the butt.
He reached out to put a beefy arm around her and she gave him a shove. “Bite me. Do you have any idea what this day has been like for me, Glen? Do you even have a clue?”
“You made a great dinner,” he tried.
“Yes, I made the dinner. No one brought anything except your mother, and all she brought was soggy pumpkin pies. I stuffed and baked the turkey, I made the fruit salad, the candied yams, the smelly rutabagas your lazy cousin loves, the green bean casserole, the mashed potatoes and gravy, and the dinner rolls from your mother’s recipe. Why can’t she make her own damn rolls?”
From the other side of the kitchen, Amy gasped. “Mama said damn.”
“Mamas can do that on Thanksgiving,” Glen said, thinking quickly.
Yeah, he had a comeback for a five-year-old, but he couldn’t think of anything to say to his wife. What could he say, the big turkey? “I cleaned and decorated the house, set the table, and made the whole effing dinner. And, while you and your family and those freeloaders that you call friends all sat around afterward like beached whales and watched the football game, your mother and I got to clean up the big, effing mess you left. I don’t care how much football you played in high school and college. You could miss fifteen minutes of one game to help.”
He frowned. “Hey, I was watching the kids.”
“Yeah, right. When, during the beer commercials? Tyler ate almost an entire candy bowl of M&M’s. It’s a wonder he hasn’t thrown up yet. And if he does, guess who’s dealing with it.”
Glen held up a hand to cut her off. “I will, don’t worry. But you know it’s not entirely fair to say I did nothing. I helped.”
She glared at him. “Oh, yeah, you put the extra leaf in the table and brought up the folding chairs. Real big of you.” She got up and steamed out of the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I’m taking a bath. After that, I’m going to bed with my mystery novel. I don’t want to see you or anyone for the rest of the evening.”
Glen’s voice followed her. “That’s a good idea, babe. Take a break. You deserve it.”
That was an understatement, Laura decided, looking at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. The makeup that hadn’t worn off was now smudged and runny from her crying jag, and her hair was a mess. She looked like blond roadkill. She felt like it, too. The labors of Thanksgiving had almost crushed her.
And in just four weeks her husband expected her to do this all again. Four weeks? Who was she kidding? It would all start this weekend with cleaning up the mess Hurricane Glen had left in his wake. (Naturally, he’d help…for about two minutes until he got distracted horsing around with the kids or finding a football game to watch.) Then they’d start hauling out the Ch
ristmas decorations and begin the Christmas shopping. The day after Thanksgiving, the biggest shopping day of the year—she couldn’t face it. Maybe she’d just stay in the tub until she turned into the world’s largest prune. Or until Glen got a clue.
Except Glen was terminally clueless, so she’d never leave the tub again. If only his brain size matched the size of his heart. Maybe he needed glasses. He obviously couldn’t see how much extra work he dumped on her this time of year.
She dropped her gum in the garbage and turned on the bath-water, running it as hot as she could and pouring in an extra packet of bubbles. Sighing, she slipped into the steaming bath.
Okay, that was better. The scented water began to soothe away her anger. She really shouldn’t have lost it with Glen. After all, it wasn’t entirely his fault. She’d agreed to this insanity. But only after he’d promised to help her.
Her mind drifted back to the days when she enjoyed parties as much as Glen. Boy, that felt like ancient history. In those days she didn’t have kids and a large house to keep up and a job, and a lot of the partying happened at restaurants and clubs and other people’s places. Those days had sure vanished. Somewhere along the way her house had become Party Central, and she had become everyone’s maid. Someone had tipped the scales, leaving her to do all the work while Glen did all the playing.
A Small Town Christmas Page 26
