The Recipe Box

by Sandra Lee

  “I want to help Tim figure out a way to keep the shop solvent, and of course I’ll check on Emma when I drop off Halo. Not that I’ve performed my surrogate parent duties so flawlessly in the past.” He grimaced.

  “You’ve done everything you could. What would I have done without you? Sometimes I think that Emma wouldn’t have the problems she’s had if she’d found even one friend like you and Leeza.”

  “I lucked out when I found you and Leeza,” Ken agreed. “You can’t imagine what it was like back then, growing up gay. Even my parents thought I was a freak show.” He poked at the mint in his drink. “Now that they’re retired in Florida, they’re a little more—‘accepting’—but in those days… I remember, when I came out to them, Dad wouldn’t even talk to me.”

  “Then there was me: my mother and I weren’t talking, either. With Dad gone, I was so lonely.”

  “Well, my sweet girl, we made our own little family, didn’t we? But now maybe we need to open it up a bit, you think?”

  Yes, now we’re like a table missing a leg, Grace wanted to say. Carrying her secrets around for so many years had been nothing but a burden. And what did it matter now, really? Times had indeed changed, but with Leeza’s death, she realized she hadn’t changed along with them. Ken had moved on from New London and built his life, and now he’d found someone special, but she hadn’t. Ken, of all people, would understand, would have understood all along. Like dipping into a pool, you have to start at the shallow end, Grace thought.

  “Ken, I have to tell you something,” she said. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It’s only Ken, she told herself. It’s OK. And as she began to remember, Grace was seventeen years old again and back in her mother’s kitchen.

  Grace was looking for something different in the recipe box; she wanted to bake something that would impress Von. And it had to be better than good, because his family was, after all, in the chocolate business!

  Wait! Here it was, at the very back. A card for Swedish chocolate coconut balls. A classic! Grace had been making these since she was a child.

  Then it happened. Directly behind the card for Swedish chocolate coconut balls, Grace found a folded paper. Most of the recipes were on cards, but maybe, she thought, this one was too long to fit on a card, so it piqued her curiosity.

  It wasn’t, as it turned out, a recipe at all. It was a birth certificate—her birth certificate. Grace had never seen it before. What a strange place to keep a birth certificate, she thought. Then she noticed something odd. The name in the space for “Father” wasn’t her dad’s name, “Derek.” It was her uncle Carl. Maybe she was reading this wrong, Grace thought—hoped—maybe there was a mistake. But no, there it was. FATHER: CARL ALMQUIST. Carl Almquist was the husband of her aunt Astrid, the older sister her mother never talked or wrote to. All she knew about her Uncle Carl, aside from his name, was that he had died two years ago, and she only knew that because she’d overheard her mother talking about it on the phone with her grandmother. Since Astrid and her mother never talked, Grace had never met either Aunt Astrid or Uncle Carl.

  How could this be? It was impossible, it had to be some kind of mistake. A stranger—an uncle—couldn’t be her father! But what if he was? Grace didn’t know what to do. She felt sick. She sat in a daze until the kitchen had gotten dark and, finally, her mother came home from work.

  The confrontation was brief. Lorraine was tight-lipped, Grace accusatory. But there was no denying the truth. The story her mother told her only made her feel worse. Lorraine had been very young, living with her sister and her brother-in-law while she finished college at Stockholm University. It was a college town, and Carl ran a bakery, where Lorraine worked after school. She was young and Carl had seduced her. He convinced Lorraine that he wanted to leave Astrid for her, have a life together. It had been a horrible scandal, Lorraine said, emotionless, when she realized she was pregnant and that Carl had misled her. To save the family’s reputation, she’d been sent to America, where she’d met the man Grace thought of as “Dad” at work in Milwaukee. By this point, Lorraine’s pregnancy was showing, so he had always known the truth and welcomed Grace as his own. He was a kind man, Lorraine said, and she knew he would be a good husband and father. But Lorraine’s family was not so forgiving. Her sister had never spoken to her again, and Lorraine didn’t blame her. She’d never seen, or spoken to, Astrid or Carl again.

  SWEDISH CHOCOLATE BALLS

  Makes about 30 pieces

  ½ cup heavy cream

  3 tablespoons dark spiced rum, such as Captain Morgan’s Black

  12 ounces semi-sweet or bittersweet chocolate

  1 tablespoon butter

  Cocoa powder, to coat

  Put the cream and rum into a pan over medium heat. Do not let it boil.

  Chop the chocolate into small pieces and put it into a shallow bowl with the butter. Pour the hot cream over the chocolate and let it sit for a minute or two. Then stir the chocolate until it is all melted and smooth. Let cool and refrigerate for 1 to 2 hours to harden.

  Using a small scoop or teaspoon, scoop out some of the chocolate and quickly roll into a small ball. Put onto a wax paper–lined cookie sheet. When all the chocolate pieces are rolled, roll them into the cocoa powder or leave them plain. Store in the refrigerator but bring them out about a half hour before serving.

  NOTE:

  • Other items that can be used for coating chocolates: finely chopped nuts, such as almonds, walnuts, or pistachios; coconut, regular or toasted; sanding sugar; cookie or cake crumbs, finely chopped; a few grains of flaky sea salt.

  • Use a combination of semi-sweet and bittersweet chocolates or milk and bittersweet chocolates for the ganache.

  • Flavor the chocolate with other flavors: whiskey, brandy, or aquavit.

  From the minute she realized that it was true, that her real father was her uncle, that the man she thought was her father wasn’t even related to her, she had felt like some kind of alien, dropped into a false family. She didn’t know who she was, who to trust, what to believe. Her life had been a lie. She’d never even had a chance to know her real father, and now he was dead. He may have been a jerk to his family, but he was still her father. It was like she’d lost her father twice. And now, Grace felt like she’d also lost her mother. Who was this woman who could not tell her own daughter the truth? She felt abandoned on all sides. The rest of senior year, she’d felt disconnected from everyone. Her grades dropped. She’d wanted to quit show choir, but Leeza had talked her out of it. Hating the bad memories of the kitchen, she’d stopped cooking. She’d retracted into a shell. It had been Leeza who had rescued her. Leeza with whom she shared this secret. When Leeza was alive, at least there was someone else who knew, whom Grace knew she could turn to, and that was something of a comfort. Now, she realized, she felt so alone. But Ken would understand. Of course he would.

  Ken’s reaction was not what Grace expected. Not at all.

  “Well, that was a nice ancient history lesson, Gracie,” he said.

  “Meaning what?”

  “Meaning, that is a lot of heavy stuff for a teenager, no question about it. But you’re still you. That’s never gonna change. And that’s a good thing. What’s not so good is that you’re still raking yourself over the coals about this. Here’s the headline: This issue has passed its sell-by date. It is what it is. Now it’s up to you. “

  “But you don’t understand, I never knew my father.”

  Ken picked up her hand and held it, giving her his most level gaze. “Yes, you did. And he loved you. He chose you. He could have walked away, but he didn’t. My dad didn’t have a choice, he got me, he was stuck with me, and he was never so disappointed in anything in his life. Now that’s sad. What happened to Leeza and Sara is a tragedy. What happened to you… that’s ancient history. So suck it up, beautiful girl. Suck it up and get over yourself. You have my goddaughter to think about. And give that poor woman who raised you a break. If I had a mother who was there for
me, no matter what, I wouldn’t be sitting here now, I’d be walking over hot coals to get to her. The thing you can’t stand, and I love you so I can tell you this, is that you are more like your mother than you’ll ever admit.”

  “I’m not like her.”

  “You’re not?” Ken arched an eyebrow.

  Suddenly Grace wondered—maybe I’m like my father. Her real father. Carl Almquist. The man she had never known. What she did know was that he was a cheat and a liar. Good lord, what if she took after him?

  The cell phone rang in Grace’s purse across the room. The perfect excuse to end an uncomfortable conversation. Grace ran to it.

  “Grace! Grace!” Lorraine was breathless. Grace felt a prickly feeling on the back of her neck. Something was seriously wrong. “Emma’s missing. She’s gone.”

  “What? How did you let her leave?”

  Ken sat bolt upright.

  “I didn’t ‘let’ her leave, Grace. She left on her own. I think she may be trying to get back to LA. She misses Halo.”

  “She can’t afford a plane ticket.”

  “She’s been saving her money from the Book Nook and working overtime. She probably has enough.”

  Grace tried frantically to calculate. This pit in her stomach was becoming way too familiar.

  “Maybe that boyfriend in LA dropped her.”

  “What boyfriend in LA?” Grace widened her eyes in Ken’s direction. “She didn’t have a boyfriend.”

  Lorraine sighed. “That you knew of.”

  “Do you know his name?”

  “No, no I don’t.”

  Grace signaled Ken to get up. “We’re leaving. We’ll find her.”

  Driving back down the PCH to Venice, with Halo hastily stuffed in the backseat, Ken said, “I don’t know about you, but I could swear I just did this. Maybe because I did.”

  Grace spent the hour it took them to get back to Venice calling and texting Emma’s friends, or at least those she knew. Nobody had heard from Emma. She got a name and number for the so-called-boyfriend and called it. A girl answered the phone, and Grace hung up. “There was the reason,” Grace thought. Maybe the same thing had happened to Emma.

  Ken called Tim to see if he had seen her or knew anything. “How was she after school? Did she seem especially unhappy?” He listened for a minute. “I’m driving, I’m putting you on speaker. Grace is with me.”

  “Hi, Grace,” said Tim. “Mike is here. He says Emma made it to study group tonight. Then she left. She had a large backpack. I’m calling the police.”

  “Wait… I’m sure she’s headed to LA. My call-waiting is buzzing.” She peered at the phone number. “It’s Brian!”

  “Grace? Emma’s with me.”

  “How…?”

  “She took a bus.”

  Grace gasped. “Oh my God!”

  “I know, I know… she just showed up at my door. She just misses Chicago so much, Grace. And it’s Kimmy’s birthday.”

  Kimmy was Emma’s best friend from Chicago. Thinking of Leeza, and how much she missed her, Grace knew how Emma must feel lonely. “She never mentioned it.”

  “She said she figured you’d refuse to let her come. She’s in a negative frame of mind, but she’s OK. Our daughter can live by her wits, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “She doesn’t need to live by her wits. She’s a minor with a family. Put her on. This minute.” Grace thought she’d explode with fury. Live by her wits! Brian had to have lost his mind. Or maybe he was just being Brian. Where was Emma’s grandmother? How had Lorraine let this happen?

  There was a pause. Then Brian got back on the line. “She’s fine here. She’s being taken care of.”

  “By who?”

  “By me and my mother.”

  His mother. Or, as Ken always called her, the Great Enabler. Grace loved Brian’s mother, but it was true she always had a ready excuse for everything her son ever did, whether it was never being home (“investing in the future”) or gambling (“letting off steam”). Even his affair (“It takes two to tango”). “I’m coming to Chicago,” Grace said. “If you let Emma out of your sight, I’ll never forgive you.”

  Grace clicked back to Tim. “Thanks, Tim, but we found her. She’s with Brian in Chicago.” Grace hung up, and Ken wrapped an arm around her. “I’m going with you.”

  Grace tightened her lips. What she wouldn’t give to have Ken there with her, but she knew she had to handle this one by herself.

  Grace trudged up the third flight of stairs to Brian’s loft in Chicago’s Little Italy, dragging her trusty wheelie. A framed canvas backpack with a mesh front was strapped to her back. “Halo,” she muttered, “next time we’re trading places.” As she reached the top step, Grace could smell the rich, garlicky aroma of Sunday gravy–Brian’s mother’s specialty. Even after all these years, the smell of Marie’s meatballs and gravy reminded Grace of Sunday dinners with Brian’s family. These were good memories. For a young girl who felt adrift from her own family, it was not just the food that was so intoxicating. Marie D’Angelo had been a second mother to Grace. She never judged her, never criticized, and had always been there as a sounding board.

  After their divorce, Brian moved out of their apartment in Wrigleyville into his office, a loft on Taylor Street. Chicago’s once-thriving Little Italy section had morphed into more of a memory, but in the past few years, the area had sprouted new condominiums and town houses. Brian’s loft was two floors above a pasta café named Michaelangelo’s. She missed Marie and those family dinners. Whatever was on the menu at Michaelangelo’s, Grace bet that Marie D’Angelo’s meatballs and Sunday gravy would be better. In New London, Marie was legendary for her twenty-bushel summer canning marathons, and every bite of Marie’s “gravy” had the taste of summer. Nobody did it better.

  MARIE’S MEMORY-MAKER MEATBALLS AND SUNDAY GRAVY

  Serves 8 to 10

  FOR THE MEMORY-MAKER MEATBALLS:

  ½ cup milk

  6 slices Italian bread

  ½ pound ground beef

  ½ pound ground pork

  ½ pound ground veal

  1 medium onion, finely chopped

  4 cloves garlic, finely chopped

  ½ cup chopped parsley

  ½ cup grated parmesan cheese

  2 large eggs

  Salt and pepper

  Olive oil for frying

  FOR THE SUNDAY GRAVY:

  10 pounds Roma tomatoes

  Olive oil for frying

  1 large onion, chopped

  6 garlic cloves, chopped

  1 6-ounce can tomato paste

  Salt and pepper

  16 fresh basil leaves, chopped

  4 sprigs fresh oregano, chopped

  START THE GRAVY: Quarter the tomatoes. Put some olive oil into a large pot over medium-high heat. Add the tomatoes and cook until they collapse. Process them through a food mill to remove the skin and seeds. Set aside.

  In the same pot, add some more olive oil and cook the onion until soft. Add the garlic and cook for a minute. Add the tomato paste and cook for another minute. Add the reserved tomato puree to the pot. Season with salt and pepper and add half the oregano and basil. Cook on low until it thickens up, at least 1 hour.

  MAKE THE MEATBALLS: Pour the milk over the bread and let it sit until all the milk is absorbed. Combine the beef, pork, veal, onion, garlic, parsley, cheese, and eggs and season with salt and pepper. Add the soaked bread, squeezing out any excess milk. Mix together lightly but thoroughly. Form into 2-inch balls. Heat some more olive oil in the skillet and brown the meatballs on all sides. They will not be cooked through.

  Finish cooking the meatballs in the hot gravy for 20 to 30 minutes. Just before serving, stir in the remaining basil and oregano.

  Serve the gravy and meatballs over your favorite pasta shape.

  NOTE:

  • Spice it up: Add ½ pound hot Italian sausage meat in place of the pork for the meatballs.

  • Use 2 28-ounce cans whole tomatoes in
juice in place of fresh tomatoes.

  Sure enough, when Grace got to the third-floor landing, the door swung open and there stood Marie in her apron, her hair a bit more gray, her face a bit more lined, but the same Marie. Years—and a divorce—evaporated as she held out her arms to her former daughter-in-law. “Hello, my Gracie,” she said. “Brian! Take this suitcase from the landing.” She pulled Grace into the loft, which, Grace noticed with a start, seemed to have actually been decorated. Bleached wood floors, sleek black and beige furniture contrasted with rough wood shelves framing the largest flat-screen TV she had ever seen. Black-and-white blowups of Emma hung on the walls. A large tree, leafless but sculptural, stood near the front windows. Brian appeared to have, at long last, organized his life, or at least his apartment. Her own memories of life with him were not quite so orderly.

  At the back of the loft, a glass brick wall sectioned off a small open kitchen. Emma and Brian stood side by side, he tossing a salad, and Emma stirring the tomato gravy in a large stainless-steel pot. Marie’s sausages were famous, but there was of course no meat in this meal; ever since she’d gotten Halo, Emma had refused to eat meat. Brian wiped his hands and strode over to Grace’s side, where they exchanged a polite kiss.

  Grace unstrapped the travel cage, set it on the floor, and unzipped the mesh. Two black button eyes peered out. “Seriously?!?” Halo squawked as he tilted his head, checking out his new surroundings.

  Emma dropped her spoon into the gravy and whirled around, all pretense of being cool vanished. “Halo!” she shrieked, racing over and scooping him up to her chest, where he snuggled like a newborn. Halo looked so sweet, but Grace was well aware, from experience, that if anybody else tried to cuddle him like this, they could lose a finger. “Did you keep the mesh covered on the plane?” Emma demanded. “Birds are very susceptible to drafts.”