Angelina's Bachelors

by Brian O'Reilly

  “What did you bring?” she asked, smiling broadly.

  “Butter Brickle,” he said proudly, as he yanked the surprise out of the bag. “It’s my favorite kind of ice cream.”

  “Oh, I love it. I haven’t had it in ages—good call.”

  “I love the name. Butter, of course, which you can’t go wrong with, and brickle … whatever that is. What is brickle, anyway?”

  “Nobody knows,” said Angelina. “I’ll get the bowls.”

  She furnished two big spoons, a scoop, and dishes, and they hunkered down over the carton as Basil introduced his topic of the day.

  “I’ve just finished reading Cyrano de Bergerac. Ho, boy, what a story. And what an ending. Do you know it?”

  “The guy with the big nose? Sure.”

  “The guy with the big nose, right. And, though he’s in love with a beautiful woman, Roxanne, the love of his life, he can never bring himself to approach her or get together with her, because he feels the weight of his nose. I mean, he feels that she will reject him because of the way he looks. Or worse, for him, not take him seriously.”

  “So he doesn’t have confidence, because he’s self-conscious about his looks?”

  “No. Not at all. Just the opposite. As it turns out, he’s the most confident man on the face of the earth. He fights with a sword, he knows about food …”

  “Really?” she said.

  “Yep. His best friend is a baker.”

  “Never go wrong that way,” said Angelina.

  “And Cyrano is a great writer; I’m telling you, the poetry just flies out of him. So, because he doesn’t want Roxanne to be alone, he writes all the best lines for this handsome young guy, Christian, to woo her. And, boy, does he woo.”

  “She marries Christian?” asked Angelina.

  “No,” said Basil. “Christian gets killed in the war. And Roxanne chooses to mourn him for twenty years, until, in the end, she finds out that it was Cyrano who loved her all along, and that she loved him. But of course, it’s too late, because he dies.”

  “Oh, no. Sad.”

  “Sad is right. The girl had this great love right in front of her, she could have reached out and had it anytime. But she chose not to see it. So, by not choosing, she made her choice. Very powerful stuff.”

  They scooped in silence.

  “So, how are you doing with the pregnancy?” Basil asked.

  “Great,” she said, but he could see that her mind was still on Cyrano.

  “This is a very different situation you find yourself in, isn’t it?”

  “You have no idea,” she said.

  “Hard to be alone.”

  “I’m not alone,” said Angelina, and touched the back of Basil’s hand.

  “You know what I mean. I never knew your husband, but I’ve been told by everybody that he was a wonderful man.”

  “He was.”

  “I’m just saying, when this beautiful baby is born, and you’re settled in, maybe you could afford to start thinking about that part of your life again.”

  “What part?” she asked warily.

  “It just crossed my mind if you’re leaving yourself open to the idea of suitors.”

  Angelina sat back in her chair and crossed her arms; she did not want to talk about this, she was still just barely used to the idea of being pregnant. But when she saw how heartfelt Basil was being, she realized that he would only have suggested it because he cared. He was talking to her the way her father might have, if he were still around, and she was smart enough to appreciate that. She picked up her spoon again.

  “You could have suitors. You might already have suitors,” Basil pressed on.

  “I don’t think so.” She chuckled and patted her tummy.

  “I’m just saying that every man in your life is not old like me and Eddie, or a kid like Johnny.”

  Her mind flashed on Guy, whom she figured Basil most likely meant, and then, funnily, on Guy running around, bending over trying to pick up all his clothes off the street, which was a pretty cute picture. Then she purposely swept the image out of her head with a giant mound of Butter Brickle and a shot of brain freeze.

  “Mr. Cupertino, I appreciate the sentiment, but, believe me, that’s the furthest thing from my mind right now.”

  “Right now, sure. Look, all I’m saying is, sometimes the best things in life are right under your nose if you just open yourself up to the possibility.”

  “Maybe,” she said, “someday.”

  “Someday never comes. Roxanne and Cyrano. I’m just saying.”

  “Maybe those things have a way of taking care of themselves.”

  Now Basil smiled and sagely shook his head. “Angelina, do you expect that the perfect man will just show up and knock on your door someday?”

  She bit into a big chunk of brickle and laughed. “You did.”

  The next day, Angelina was tending a fresh pot of red gravy on the stove. She was going to make Veal Parmigiana for dinner, to be accompanied by pasta, fresh bread, and salad. She left the sauce on low and went to put the finishing touches on the pie she had planned. Earlier, she had made a vol-au-vent—the word means “windblown” in French—a pastry that was as light and feathery as a summer breeze, that Angelina had adapted to serve as a fluffy, delicately crispy pie crust.

  The crust had cooled and formed a burnished auburn crown around the rim of the pie plate. She took a bowl of custardy crème anglaise out of the refrigerator and began loading it into a pie-filling gadget that looked like a big plastic syringe. With it, she then injected copious amounts of the glossy crème into the interior of the pie without disturbing the perfect, golden-crusty dome. That done, she heated chocolate and cream on the stove top to create a chocolate ganache, which she would use as icing on the pie, just to take it completely over the top.

  Boston Custard Puff-Pastry Pie

  * * *

  Serves 6 to 8

  INGREDIENTS FOR PASTRY CREAM FILLING

  1½ cups whole milk

  9 tablespoons sifted cornstarch

  ¾ cup sugar

  6 eggs

  1½ cups heavy cream

  2 vanilla beans or 3 tablespoons vanilla extract

  6 tablespoons cold butter, cubed

  INGREDIENTS FOR VOL-AU-VENT (PASTRY SHELL)

  2 sheets of puff pastry dough, completely defrosted to prevent cracking (these are often sold in 17- or 18-ounce packages containing two 9- or 10-inch-square sheets of puff pastry)

  1 egg, beaten (for egg wash)

  INGREDIENTS FOR WHIPPED-CREAM FILLING

  2 cups heavy cream

  2 tablespoons sugar

  2 teaspoons vanilla extract

  INGREDIENTS FOR GANACHE (CHOCOLATE ICING)

  ½ cup (about 4 ounces) semisweet dark-chocolate pieces or finely chopped chocolate squares

  ⅓ cup heavy cream

  SPECIAL EQUIPMENT

  A pastry brush

  A pastry bag or syringe fitted with a medium star tip (such as the Wilton Dessert Decorator Pro with star tip #1M)

  METHOD FOR THE PASTRY CREAM FILLING

  Pour ⅜ cup of the milk into a large mixing bowl and gradually sift in the cornstarch, whisking as you go to make a slurry, and ensuring that all the lumps are whisked out. Add half the sugar (⅜ cup) and the eggs to the slurry, and further whisk to completely combine.

  In a medium-heavy-bottomed saucepan, over medium-low heat, combine the rest of the milk with the remaining ⅜ cup of the sugar and stir constantly to dissolve the sugar, about 2 to 3 minutes. Add the heavy cream and scrape the seeds from the vanilla bean into the pot (or add vanilla extract). (If using vanilla beans, put the vanilla pods in the pot as well.) Stirring frequently, bring to a temperature between 160°F and 165°F as measured with a candy thermometer. Create a liaison to temper the eggs by adding 1 tablespoon at a time of the heated milk mixture to the bowl while whisking constantly, until half of the milk mixture (about 24 tablespoons) is incorporated. (This will equalize the temperatures
of the liquids in the mixture to avoid making them into scrambled eggs!) Pour the liaison into the milk already in the pot, and bring the temperature up again to 160°F over medium-low heat (use care in maintaining the temperature because at 170°F the eggs will begin to curdle), stirring frequently with a wooden spoon until you feel a drag on the spoon as the mixture begins to thicken. Then, cook for one minute. Remove the custard from the stove and gradually whisk in the cold butter, incorporating each addition before adding the next. Allow the custard to cool to room temperature, about 15 minutes, then refrigerate until it is well chilled, for at least 4 hours, but preferably 8 hours or overnight.

  Remove the vanilla pod, if any, and discard it.

  METHOD FOR THE VOL-AU-VENT

  Make the vol-au-vent (tart pastry) early in the same day you will be serving it, leaving enough time for it to cool completely. Before beginning, completely defrost the puff pastry so it won’t crack, about 45 minutes. Arrange the oven rack in the middle of the oven and preheat the temperature to 400°F. Grease the bottom only of a 9-inch Pyrex or CorningWare pie plate.

  Unfold the sheets of puff pastry dough on a lightly floured pastry cloth or floured board and stretch them out so you will be able to cut two circles, using the inverted pie plate as a template.

  With a pizza cutter, make a dough circle about 11½ inches in diameter (cut it 1 inch larger than the template dish all the way around).

  From the other sheet of pastry, cut a second dough circle exactly along the edge of the pie plate so that the diameter will measure 9 inches plus whatever the width of the lip is, usually ½ inch to ¾ inch. Then, create a circular band of dough from this piece that is exactly the width of the lip of the pie plate (usually ½ to ¾ inch in width). Do this by cutting a concentric circle within this smaller dough round and removing the 9-inch diameter piece from the center. (Reserve the center circle as well as all the dough scraps in the refrigerator or freezer for another recipe.)

  Ease the larger (11½-inch) circle into the greased pie plate so that the edge lies flat on the rim. Brush the entire surface with egg wash. Carefully place the half-inch-wide band of dough on top of the large dough circle, matching up the edges at the perimeter. Brush egg wash over the surface of this ½-inch-wide band as well. Then press the edges of the two dough pieces together and use a fork to prick through the dough band and into the accompanying round beneath it. Place in the oven and bake until golden brown, about 20 to 25 minutes. The bottom round will rise to form a dome.

  Remove the pastry from the oven and place it on a cooling rack to let cool completely.

  METHOD FOR THE WHIPPED-CREAM FILLING

  In a large mixing bowl, combine the heavy cream, sugar, and vanilla. Use an electric beater to beat until stiff peaks form, then chill well.

  METHOD FOR FILLING THE PIE

  Use a thin bamboo skewer to poke small holes in 8 evenly spaced places around the dome of the cooled pastry shell and 1 hole in the center top. Fill the pastry syringe with the chilled pastry cream and pipe the custard into the shell.

  Wash and dry the pastry syringe, and use it to pipe the whipped cream into the pie in the same way.

  METHOD FOR APPLYING THE GANACHE

  Place the chocolate in a small heatproof bowl. Bring the cream to just under a boil in a small saucepan. Pour the cream over the chocolate and let sit for a few seconds. Stir gently with a rubber spatula until the chocolate is melted and smooth. If the chocolate is not melting readily, nest the bowl in another bowl of hot tap water.

  Spoon the icing as a glaze over the surface of the filled pastry (pie).

  Let the icing cool on the surface of the pastry for about 10 minutes, then chill the completed pie well before serving, at least 4 hours.

  PRESENTATION

  Use a sharp, finely serrated knife to cut wedges of the pie so as not to crush the layers of puff pastry. Serve with coffee or espresso.

  * * *

  As she was dipping her fingers and licking the chocolate out of the bottom of the bowl, she heard a tapping on the back door. It was Guy, who came bearing a small, wrapped gift. Angelina waved him inside.

  “Hey,” he said, “I was just passing by.”

  He was immediately stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of the finished pie. “What are you making?” he asked, with a detectable undertone of awe.

  “Oh, that?” said Angelina, obviously pleased by his reaction. “It’s a pie. I call it Boston Custard Puff-Pastry Pie.”

  “Oh … my. That looks incredible.”

  Guy stood transfixed for a moment longer, then remembered why he had stopped by in the first place. He took his coat off and handed her the package. “I got something for you.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.” She wiped her hands on her apron and took the package. She sat down and peeled back the paper. It was a book, What to Expect the First Year, by Heidi Murkoff. “Aw, you’re so nice.” She held it up and showed off the cover, as if they were both seeing it for the first time.

  “It’s supposed to be the best one,” said Guy. “The gift for the woman who has everything.”

  She hugged the book to her chest for a second, the way she would whenever Frank gave her a new cookbook. She loved the smell and feel of a brand-new book before she cracked the spine. Sitting felt good, and Angelina reached her hands way back over her head and stretched like a cat, until her neck gave a tiny pop. She smiled and let her hands settle on her widening belly.

  “Let’s face it,” she said, “I don’t have everything. I have a baby coming, but I have no husband.”

  Guy pulled out the chair closest to her and reversed it, then sat with his forearms resting on its back. “That’s not your fault, or the baby’s.”

  “Who do I see about it, then? Your old boss?”

  Guy shrugged. “God? He’s a funny guy. ‘He works in mysterious ways.’ ”

  “That’s not very helpful. Whatever made you decide to become a priest anyway?”

  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Angelina was afraid they’d come out wrong. She didn’t want to make Guy feel as if she were jumping on him or prying. But she suddenly realized, she wanted an answer to her question.

  “I mean,” she continued quickly, “After being in the service and everything you’ve done, why think about the priesthood?”

  Guy paused inscrutably for a moment. After he concluded one of his private conversations with himself, he started his story.

  “I was an RP when I was in the service. A ‘religious programs’ specialist. I worked under a chaplain named Commander Stanton. He was a Catholic priest and a really impressive guy. I traveled with him overseas a few times, and you could see right away what it meant to guys who were far away from home, who were going through things that nothing can really prepare you for, how something as simple as saying mass could mean so much. ‘When a chaplain shows up, it’s Sunday,’ he used to say.

  “I was with him at a service for a marine lieutenant who was killed in action; his men had set up a field memorial with the man’s rifle, his boots, his helmet, and his dog tags. Commander Stanton talked to every man in that unit afterwards, and believe me, they had some pretty serious questions for him. Somehow, he almost always came up with the right thing to say, and if he couldn’t, he prayed with them and that seemed to be enough. He made a difference, I could see it. So, when I left the Marines and was trying to figure out what the heck I was going to do next, I kept thinking back to Commander Stanton. The Church has a lot of problems, but it’s one of the few organizations you can join where the actual stated mission is to do some good. So, I thought, maybe I should give that a try. Maybe I can do some good.”

  “But you have doubts,” said Angelina.

  “I have doubts. I’m sure it will all work out in the end, though.”

  “God will take care of it?”

  “He knows what he’s doing,” said Guy. “I like to think He does anyway.”

  Angelina crossed her ankles and took a deep breath. “
If that’s true, why would He take Frank in the middle of the night like that when the baby he wanted so much is on the way? Doesn’t seem right, if you ask me.”

  Guy was quiet for a moment as he thought about his answer. “Maybe it was Frank’s time. And now you’ll have a part of him with you forever. Not just in your heart, but here, in this kitchen, or at the table, eating spaghetti with the rest of us.”

  She smiled at the thought of the room full of uncles her baby would be inheriting.

  “So, maybe that’s His gift to you,” said Guy. “Outside of that, maybe the best thing we have going for us is just believing, having faith that somebody really is looking out for us, out there somewhere.”

  “Well, I’m glad he sent me you guys. I don’t know what I’d be doing if he didn’t.”

  Guy smiled. “Maybe God likes your cooking.”

  “Maybe.” She got up and put the pie in the refrigerator to chill.

  Guy checked his watch. “It’s early. Why don’t you go up and lie down for an hour? I’ll watch the sauce and clean up a little. I promise not to burn the place down.”

  “Okay, thanks. I think I will.” Angelina untied the apron that was doing a poor job of hiding her bump and handed it to him.

  She was about to leave, then stopped. “Guy?”

  “Yes?”

  “You’re a nice man to talk to. Thanks again for the book.”

  Angelina headed out toward the parlor, thinking that that might have been as close as she was going to get to a baby shower. If that had been it, it had been lovely.

  Guy had just started water running in the sink when Angelina let out a little scream and ran back into the kitchen. Guy rushed over to her.

  “What is it?”

  “Oh, my God,” she said.

  “What? What?”

  “I … he looks like … I think he’s dead,” she hissed in a loud whisper.

  “Who?”

  She grabbed Guy by the arm, dragged him into the dining room and pointed to the living room, darkening in the gathering late afternoon dusk.