Cookin' the Books

by Amy Patricia Meade

  ‘Ow!’ Tish pulled her hand back.

  ‘Langhorne is also better educated than most folks round here. He can say “hello” in ten languages. Can you do that?’ Enid challenged Celestine.

  Meanwhile, Langhorne began reciting, on cue, ‘Bonjour … Ciao … Kon’nichiwa …’

  ‘Will you get to the point, Enid.’ Celestine sighed.

  ‘Hola … Marhaba …’

  Enid pulled a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of her cardigan and thrust it at Celestine. ‘The point is this. After not allowing Langhorne entry yesterday, this morning I went back to find this taped to the door.’

  ‘Guten Tag … Salaam … Namaste … Ni hao … Zdravstvuyte.’

  As Langhorne completed his demonstration, Tish leaned over Celestine’s shoulder and watched as she smoothed the paper to reveal a photo of a bird identical to Langhorne and the words Companion Birds/Parrots Not Permitted.

  ‘Can you believe it? First, there’s that atrocious photo. If they think the wretched creature in that picture looks anything like my Langhorne, they are either utterly blind or completely ignorant. And then there’s the use of the words “bird” and “parrot.” Langhorne is a green conure; to compare him to a parrot or your garden-variety sparrow is the height of insolence.’

  ‘Perhaps they weren’t aware that Langhorne is a conure,’ Tish suggested. ‘Not everyone is up on their ornithology.’

  ‘Is the library not an educational facility?’

  ‘Well, um, yes—’

  ‘Then they should know better.’

  ‘Maybe you should go to the town hall and apply for a companion animal license for Langhorne?’ Celestine offered. ‘I don’t know if they give them to parrots but—’

  ‘Conures!’ Enid corrected. ‘You had better be sure I’ll go to the town hall and talk to anyone who will listen. Binnie Broderick has gone too far this time. Too far! And she will pay.’

  The eccentric old woman marched off toward the main road, mumbling to herself as Langhorne flapped his wings and struggled to remain perched upon her shoulder in the blustery weather.

  ‘She didn’t even take the time to introduce herself, did she?’ Celestine asked when the woman was out of view.

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Enid Kemper. Comes from a brilliant family, but they’ve always been one pimento cheese sandwich short of a picnic.’

  ‘What did Enid’s family do?’

  ‘Lip balm. You know that stuff you buy at the drugstore for two bucks a tube? Enid’s father bought the rights up in Lynchburg and then produced it in Richmond back in the eighteen hundreds.’

  ‘Wow. So her grandfather—’

  ‘Was the father of soft lips.’ Celestine paused. ‘And, after that, laxatives.’

  ‘So, the father of soft lips and soft …’

  ‘Yup. And, on that note, let’s empty out the van, shall we?’

  Tish followed Celestine to the silver Honda Odyssey and opened the back hatch. The rear seats had been flattened to the down position and tray upon tray of white-iced cupcakes filled the storage area. The smell that filled the vehicle was heavenly.

  ‘Are these what I think they are?’ Tish asked.

  ‘Finnegan’s Cake. Three hundred and twenty of them in miniature. Soon to be three hundred and nineteen.’ Celestine grabbed a cupcake from the nearest tray and passed it to Tish.

  Tish peeled back the paper liner and eagerly sunk her teeth into the gold-glittered confection. The cake was moist, light, and filled with spicy chocolate flavor. The icing was rich and creamy with a slightly boozy finish that balanced the sweetness of the cake perfectly. ‘Oh. My. Goodness. What’s in these?’

  ‘The cake is cocoa powder, Irish stout, sour cream and the usual cake suspects. The frosting is your classic buttercream mixed with a couple of shots of Irish cream liqueur. And the gold on top represents what the leprechaun might be hiding. I made a vegan version of the recipe too.’

  ‘Good Lord, woman. These are so good they should be illegal.’

  ‘Thanks. I figure between the whiskey, the stout, and the cocktails Jules’s whipping up, the party should be plenty happy. Maybe we should throw some extras Binnie’s way – might improve her personality.’

  The two women giggled for several seconds.

  ‘Binnie’s the least of my worries. If this storm knocks the power out, I don’t know what I’ll do. The meat, your cupcakes … it would mean a whole lot of spoiled food.’

  ‘Now don’t you worry about that. Good ol’ Celestine’s got you covered.’ She gestured Tish to the front passenger side door, which she swung open wide to reveal what appeared, at first glance, to be a red-and-black gas can, replete with handle.

  ‘It’s a generator,’ Celestine stated upon seeing the confusion on Tish’s face. ‘Mr Rufus bought it years ago. He’s since upgraded to a bigger, better one, so this one was sitting idle. Figured we might as well commandeer it for the business.’

  ‘Celestine, you are a lifesaver.’

  ‘Nah, this just ain’t my first rodeo. When you’re raising four kids, you dread the prospect of losing television, hair dryers, stereos and anything else electronic that might prevent them from killing each other.’

  Tish chuckled. ‘Well, whatever the reason for having the generator, I’m glad you had the presence of mind to bring it along with you today.’

  ‘Ain’t nothing. By the way, my granddaughter, Melissa, and her friends from her mixed martial arts class will be by around noon to help set up the tables and get their instructions for tonight. They’re all over the age of eighteen, so they’re legal to serve drinks. I got their paperwork in my pocketbook.’

  ‘Wonderful. Mary Jo will be in charge of the servers. She’s bringing her kids, Kayla and Gregory, to help out as well.’

  ‘That’s not all she’s bringing,’ Celestine grinned as a black SUV parked alongside them.

  Mary Jo, her two teenaged children and Jules emerged from the car’s dark interior.

  ‘Jules?’ Tish cried in surprise. ‘I thought you had to work this morning.’

  ‘What? And let you handle this without me? This is your first real gig. I’m going to be here every step of the way.’

  Tish hugged him. ‘Are you sure you won’t be in trouble? I don’t want you to lose your job over me.’

  ‘We’re totally fine. Actually, my station manager has been very understanding since I got buried by that snowplow on-air outside the Poe Museum in January.’

  Mary Jo giggled.

  ‘I could have died, MJ,’ Jules chastised.

  ‘Yes, I know. I was in panic while watching it, but still …’ Mary Jo’s voice broke into stifled laughter.

  ‘That’s who you are!’ Celestine exclaimed. ‘I thought I knew you from somewhere.’

  ‘Yes, I’m the Channel Ten weatherman,’ Jules stated drily.

  ‘I love you because you’re so—’

  ‘Hilarious? Yes, I know,’ Jules interjected. ‘That’s how half of America describes me too. The video of the snowplow incident went viral. Our station’s ratings surged. Unfortunately, I’m now the default man in the field.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Celestine challenged. ‘Whether we’re in for one-hundred-degree heat, heavy winds, or a monsoon, you’re the guy out on the street corner telling folks to stay safe. I admire that.’

  ‘You do? Well, thank you. I admit, it does give me a unique bargaining tool for raises and paid time off. Still, I didn’t go to journalism school to be some Weather Channel wannabe.’

  ‘You’ll get there, Jules,’ Tish said supportively.

  ‘Give it time,’ Mary Jo urged.

  ‘You’re very talented,’ Celestine chimed in.

  ‘Thanks, guys. That means a lot to me.’

  ‘Sure thing,’ Celestine smiled sweetly. ‘Now, let’s get you in the kitchen. There’s fish that needs skinning.’

  ‘Wait a minute. I’m going to be skinning fish?’ Jules asked.

  ‘You don’t have to, i
f you don’t want to. We also have over two hundred potatoes that need scrubbing, oiling, and wrapping,’ Tish offered.

  ‘Oh, hell! And to think I complained about that snowplow.’

  THREE

  Despite heavy thunderstorms, the electricity continued to flow in the lodge kitchen and the Hobson Glen Library fundraiser got off to a successful start. In a last-minute stroke of brilliance, Tish requisitioned Mary Jo’s camping tarps and, with Celestine’s assistance, erected a series of tent shelters to protect partygoers from the elements as they walked along the cement path that led from the parking lot to the Masonic Lodge. Once inside the lodge, revelers were welcomed by a plush red carpet (a ruby-colored rug that once served as a hall runner in Tish’s Richmond bungalow) which effectively dried damp and muddy feet while adding a touch of Hollywood glamour.

  If anyone was still in an ill-mood upon arriving in the reception hall, Mary Jo, Melissa, and the mixed martial arts wait staff were on hand to take drink orders and submit them to Jules who, dressed in his best red tuxedo jacket, stood at the bar like a gunman awaiting a duel. He had skewered candied ginger and maraschino cherries on to hundreds of decorative toothpicks and mixed a veritable vat of ginger beer and hard English cider, in equal parts, to create his Ginger Tristram Shandy. He’d also prepared several cocktail shakers with tequila, watermelon-basil puree, and agave syrup in anticipation of serving up multitudes of Tequila Mockingbird cocktails.

  Back in the kitchen, Kayla and Gregory – at ages fifteen and seventeen, respectively, too young to be serving – had been recruited to work the plating station. Kayla had been assigned to dish out ramekin after ramekin of cheesy polenta topped with slices of syrup-glazed country ham before placing them under the warming lamp until serving time. Gregory was in charge of smearing a seemingly endless supply of crostini with a scoopful of white bean hummus, placing the bread on a bed of micro-greens, and then drizzling the dish with an herb-infused oil vinaigrette.

  As the starter plates were assembled, Celestine extracted the standing rib roasts from the oven and covered them with aluminum foil to rest. She then raised the oven temperature and set about roasting the tomato, eggplant, onion, and summer squash for the evening’s ratatouille-inspired side dish. Tish, meanwhile, got to searing the sea bream or, in this case Virginia rockfish, on a wide cast-iron griddle. Within minutes, she found herself slapping the fillets on the grill, flipping them over, and removing them in time with the ragtime music the Dixieland band was playing in the reception room.

  The selection of music gave Tish pause. Outside of New Orleans, the only place she had ever seen a Dixieland band perform was on Main Street in Walt Disney World. The genre was, she thought, a curious soundtrack to what Binnie described as Hobson Glen’s upscale event of the year.

  Still, it was difficult for Tish to deny that the syncopated rhythms lent a positive, happy air to what was, otherwise, a repetitive culinary task. Placing the fish on to the oiled griddle, listening to the sputter and hiss of the oil and juices, turning the fish to the other side, letting it brown, and then removing it to a waiting platter had developed its own rhythmic pattern. Slap … sizzle … flip … sizzle … flop.

  Tish repeated the words as she cooked the remaining fillets. Slap … sizzle … flip … sizzle … flop. Slap … sizzle … flip … sizzle … flop.

  ‘Looking good. Can I be of any help?’ A familiar man’s voice rang through the kitchen door, snapping Tish from her reverie. She turned to see a dashingly tuxedoed Schuyler Thompson standing near the plating station, admiring the children’s handiwork.

  She felt the color rise in her cheeks. ‘Oh, hello, Schuyler. What brings you back here?’

  ‘Just wanted to check in and see how things are going.’

  ‘They’re … well, they’re going.’ She removed the last rockfish fillet from the griddle and placed on the tray. Flop.

  ‘I can see. By the way, erecting tents over the walkway was a great idea. Everyone’s talking about it. In a good way, of course,’ he quickly added.

  ‘I’m glad it’s working. I can’t imagine having to wade through this monsoon in a gown and stilettos.’ Tish eyed Schuyler as she covered the platter of fish. ‘Or in a tuxedo and freshly polished shoes.’

  Schuyler bowed humbly. ‘This old thing?’ he teased. ‘So what can I do to help out? I’m not a cook, but I can plate with the best of them.’

  ‘Thanks, but I couldn’t possibly accept your help,’ Tish declined. ‘You’re a guest. You paid for your ticket.’

  ‘There will be plenty of time for me to mingle later this evening. Right now, let me help you. Please?’

  Before Tish could open her mouth to decline the offer once again, Celestine stepped forth with an apron and a spoon. ‘She’ll tell you no. I say we need all the hands we can get.’

  Tish laughed. ‘OK … Celestine might be right. Another set of hands would really help ensure we get the first course out on time. Thanks for asking.’

  ‘Not a problem,’ Schuyler replied. ‘So what will I be doing?’

  ‘You’ll be helping Kayla dish out the Who’s Afraid of Virginia Baked Ham and Cheesy Edgar Allen Poe-lenta. Not because Kayla isn’t doing an excellent job,’ Tish reassured her friend’s daughter, ‘but because the ham orders outnumber the veggie orders nearly two-to-one.’

  ‘Yep, the prime rib orders too,’ Celestine concurred. ‘I swear every steer and pig in the county must shudder in fear the second Binnie starts hanging flyers.’

  ‘Well, Binnie warned us there had better be meat on the menu. Now we know why.’

  ‘Guilty carnivore here.’ Schuyler raised his hand sheepishly. ‘Although I admit to being tempted by The Old Man and the Sea Bream. Local rockfish is a favorite of mine, especially when cooked properly.’

  At Schuyler’s remark, Tish placed the mushrooms, artichoke hearts, and asparagus spears on the same griddle she used to cook the fish. ‘You mean with fresh veg, lemon, wine, butter, dill, and capers?’

  ‘Is that what’s in the fish dish?’ Schuyler asked as he hung the apron on the back of a nearby chair and started spooning polenta and ham into ramekins.

  ‘Uh-huh,’ she smirked.

  ‘Is it too late to change my order?’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘Will you still let me buy you a drink later?’

  ‘How about I buy you a drink to thank you for your help? Besides, I’m friends with the barman,’ Tish countered with a wink.

  Tish and crew had been working in focused silence for nearly twenty minutes when the sounds of the Dixieland band suddenly ceased, replaced by the high-frequency hum of a microphone being adjusted. As the shrill voice of Binnie Broderick filled the lodge, Mary Jo and her staff of servers flooded the kitchen doorway.

  ‘When Binnie finishes her speech, it’s go time. We need to get the first course on the table,’ Mary Jo announced.

  ‘Good thing we finished,’ Schuyler replied, giving his fellow plating-station mates a high five. ‘Is there anything else I can do, Tish?’

  ‘No, you’ve done plenty, thanks,’ Tish answered. ‘You’d better get out there before Binnie notices you’re missing.’

  ‘Sure. See you later?’

  Tish nodded.

  Mary Jo addressed Schuyler on his way out. ‘I hope those weren’t billable hours, counselor.’

  ‘Strictly pro bono,’ he smiled and stepped into the reception area.

  Mary Jo slid a sly glance in Tish’s direction – to which Tish smiled and shrugged before jumping into action. Following detailed order sheets, she loaded trays with the appropriate items, stopping to clean any messes on the edges of the plates, and dispatched her wait staff to their designated tables, starting with the Binnie Broderick’s table. ‘Melissa, you take this to table number one,’ she ordered, passing Celestine’s granddaughter her tray. She then loaded up another tray and dispatched it to table number two, then another to table three, and so forth.

  As Mary Jo emptied the plating station, Tish stac
ked it with plates featuring a beautifully sculpted pile of vegetables and rockfish, and Celestine, busy at the carving board, loaded it up with medium-rare slices of prime rib. To these dishes, Kayla and Gregory added perfectly baked potatoes slathered with butter. The bell pepper entrées and the remainder of the sauces, sides, and various garnishes would be added just prior to serving.

  Mary Jo loaded a tray for table number seven with the intention of passing it to Melissa, who had returned from serving the Brodericks’ table. However, the girl looked somewhat dismayed. ‘Mrs Broderick won’t eat her ham and polenta without hot sauce,’ she reported.

  ‘What?’ Celestine cried in disbelief.

  ‘Did she even taste it?’ Mary Jo asked.

  ‘No, she flat out refused,’ Melissa answered. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘No need to be sorry,’ Tish spoke up and made her way to the refrigerator. ‘There’s always one in every crowd and we all knew she might be it.’

  ‘I say she’s putting it on,’ Celestine opined. ‘Probably a test just to see if we have it.’

  ‘Whether she is or isn’t putting it on, we still need to give her what she’s asked for.’ Tish extracted a bottle of sriracha from the door of the fridge and handed it to Melissa.

  ‘I’ll take it to her, if you don’t mind.’ Celestine snatched the bottle from Tish’s hand. ‘Melissa, go bring the first course to the next table.’

  ‘I don’t mind bringing in the hot sauce, Gran,’ Melissa insisted.

  ‘Nope. I don’t want Binnie to think she can give my girl a hard time. I’d also like to know what she’s playing at. If that’s OK with you, Tish.’

  ‘Totally fine with me. Just remember she still owes us a check,’ Tish reminded with a friendly yet cautious smile.

  ‘Oh, honey, believe me, I remember about getting paid. I ain’t about to jeopardize that. I just need to let Binnie know she’s on notice. Woman to woman.’

  Tish, trusting outwardly that Celestine would do her best not to aggravate the maker of the feast, yet questioning inwardly the potential course of their dialogue, turned her attention back to the plating yet to be done. After dishing up the rest of the rockfish and vegetables, she checked in on her port-and-Stilton gravy – made with the pan juices from the roasts – and picked up the long twin-tined fork and butcher’s knife Celestine had been using to continue to slice the standing ribs into individual servings.