Gator Bowl (Biscuit Bowl Food Truck)

by J. J. Cook

  The walls and cabinets were clean and shining. The floor was sparkling. I’d just gotten started on the deep fryer, but the small sink beside it was clean. There was one long cabinet on the side by the open window. On the opposite side were shelves to hold food.

  I was so pleased with my progress so far that I brought Crème Brûlée out to see it. “We’ll cook over here, and supplies will be over on this wall. We’ll need a small microwave for sure. Maybe an oven, too. We’ll have to see.”

  I knew it was becoming more important to decide what food I was going to serve. The name was only a small part affected by that decision. How could I order supplies or know what cooking utensils I’d need if I didn’t know what I was going to cook?

  The thought made me a little less happy. I had to make a decision.

  Crème Brûlée wanted to be outside with me so I put his cat seat into the front of the Airstream. He sat back, purring in the warm sun filtering through the old oaks and pines that surrounded the cabin.

  “I think that will work just fine on those days when you might need to come with me,” I told him as I started scrubbing out the deep fryer. “Mostly, I’m sure you’ll be at home in the apartment, just like when I worked at the bank.”

  Crème Brûlée was snoring. I hummed a few songs to myself as I scrubbed.

  When the fryer was finished, I started on the inside of the cabinets. One of the first things I saw was an old picture that had been left there. Everything else had been cleaned out. Because the doors to the cabinets had been closed, the insides hadn’t gotten too dirty, thank goodness.

  I took off my gloves and picked up the old photo. The man in it was definitely Uncle Saul. No one else had wild, crazy hair like that. He was much younger in the photo, maybe a teenager in high school. He was thin and happy, and there was a girl with him.

  She was pretty and blond. It was hard to tell what color her eyes were—the color was badly faded and cracked But she looked happy, too, and oddly familiar. One of her arms was around his neck. It was obvious that the two were a couple.

  Was this the mystery woman who’d made Uncle Saul give up his restaurant and his life in Mobile? I wanted to ask him—or at least show him the photo and see what his reaction would be. But that seemed mean, if this was the woman and she brought back bad memories.

  “Where did you find that old thing?” Uncle Saul asked over my shoulder.

  It seemed I didn’t have a choice about whether or not I was going to show it to him.

  “I found it in one of the cabinets.” I handed it to him. “That’s you, right?”

  He stared at the photo for a long time. Emotions chased across his face. “Yeah. That’s me.”

  “Is that your girlfriend?”

  “Sort of.” He smiled sadly. “I was hoping she’d be important in my life.”

  “Who is she?” I gazed at the image again, holding my breath. Was that—?

  “She hasn’t changed that much, Zoe. Don’t you recognize your mother?”

  I’d seen a few younger shots of her but she was stingy with older pictures when she said she ‘wasn’t at her best’.

  My eyes almost bulged out of my face. “You dated my mother?”

  “That was before she made it clear to me that I would never amount to anything if I didn’t run the family banking business. She didn’t think much of someone who wanted to own a restaurant and serve food. That was beneath her.”

  I took it all in—it was almost too much. No wonder she was so against me running a restaurant. “And then she married Daddy because he kept the bank going?”

  He put the photo in his pocket. “It was a long time ago. I don’t blame her for wanting something better. It was hard between me and your father for a while. I felt like he’d taken her away from me. But they brought you into the world. I’m not complaining.”

  “So you gave up your awesome restaurant because of Mom?” I could hardly believe it.

  He glanced away. “You’ve done a heck of a job getting this place cleaned up. It almost looks brand-new. Did it help you think what your signature food should be?”

  I knew the conversation about him and my mom was over. I still felt shocked that Uncle Saul might’ve been my father, if things had gone differently. Thinking that my mother was the mystery woman gave me a different insight into her. Maybe all that tough exterior and play-by-the-rules attitude was just a façade for her broken heart.

  On the other hand, maybe she was always that way and that’s why she didn’t marry Uncle Saul. My father was much more ambitious. Of course, they had never been happy together, not as long as I could remember. Which was what had made their divorce such a relief.

  It was really odd thinking about my mother and Uncle Saul kissing and thinking about being together. She barely tolerated him now. Maybe they would have been happy together if she hadn’t been so worried about how much money they’d have. I purposely made my tone light as I pointed out how I’d like to arrange the inside of the food truck once it was ready for me to take home. We talked about the contest and I pelted him with ideas until that sad look on his face went away.

  “What food are you planning to make to win Alabaster back?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “I was thinking about some spicy pulled-pork sandwiches.”

  “Seriously? Everyone makes pulled-pork sandwiches for this kind of event. There must be something better we could try.”

  “Like what?” He leaned against the counter with his arms folded across his chest.

  “You love shrimp and grits. We could make that.”

  “Difficult to make in here and hard to serve. Any other ideas?”

  I sorted through thousands of recipes tucked away in my brain. “Maybe I should make biscuits. We could serve something with those.”

  “I like that idea.” He smiled. “We could win just on your biscuits.”

  “No. We need something with them. Maybe Ollie has some ideas.”

  I started to walk out of the motorhome, but Uncle Saul stopped me. “You don’t have a crush on him or anything, do you?”

  “No. Of course not. And I don’t think he sees me that way, either. Don’t worry. We’re not running off together. Ollie likes to eat. I was just thinking he might have some different ideas.”

  “Okay.” He shrugged. “But I think you’re wrong about how he feels toward you. You’re both adults. I won’t say anything else.”

  I thought about it again as we went into the cabin. Uncle Saul was just wrong. Ollie and I weren’t destined to be a couple, or anything. It was just the circumstances.

  Chapter Seven

  Ollie was getting a beer out of the fridge. I sat at the table and asked him what he thought would go well with my biscuits.

  He considered the question as he came to the table with pretzels. “What about some country ham and redeye gravy? That’s some good eating.”

  Uncle Saul sat at the table and shook his head. “I can’t imagine eating that on a paper plate.”

  “I’d eat it with my fingers out of the pot.” Ollie grinned and munched his pretzels.

  “I think it might need to be more solid,” I said. “And something we can make in the food truck.”

  “You’ve got a little deep fryer,” he said. “How about the old standard of fried chicken with biscuits? You can’t beat that. You could spice it up. Everyone will love it.”

  Uncle Saul and I exchanged glances. “It sounds like a good idea to me,” I said.

  “You should consider what Norman will make,” Ollie added. “You want to crush him if you want your gator back.”

  “I’ve known Norman awhile,” Uncle Saul said. “His cooking skills are confined to a grill. I’m sure that’s what he’ll bring to the church. He has a big one that he made from a two-hundred-and-sixty-five-gallon tank. It’s a monster. I think he could put a whole cow on it.” />
  “It’s settled, then.” Ollie chugged some of his beer. “A cow on a grill could never beat spicy chicken and Zoe’s biscuits.”

  “I like it.” Uncle Saul nodded. “We’ll have to outfit the fryer and whatever Zoe needs for the biscuits.”

  “I’ll have to bake them here and keep them fresh in the truck,” I said. “I don’t see any way to bake them in the truck.”

  “Hey!” Ollie’s eyes flew open wide. “There’s your signature food, young’un. You could have a chicken painted on the side of your food truck. She could be wearing a biscuit.”

  “Good idea!” Uncle Saul agreed. “You could call it Chicken in a Biscuit.”

  I smiled, understanding that they were unaware of what was going on in the food truck business. There were already several trucks serving fried chicken. It might work for the contest on Saturday in this rural area, but Mobile palates expected something sexier.

  “Looks like we need to do some food shopping now.” I got up from my seat. “Let me check on Crème Brûlée and we’ll go.”

  “If it’s all the same to you,” Ollie said, “I’d rather stay here and work on that window brace for the motorhome. I’m not much of a shopper.”

  “That’s fine with me,” I answered. “If you don’t mind doing it. Or you could just stay here and take it easy. I didn’t mean you had to work all the time you’re here.”

  “I’m kind of thinking people might be impressed with your food truck,” Uncle Saul said. “If they come and eat more food at our place, we’ll win hands down. I’d like to see the look on Norman’s face when that happens.”

  I found Crème Brûlée sitting at the side of the room near his food bowl. He looked a little pathetic. I knew he was missing his familiar environment.

  “Look! I brought your little squeaky mouse for when you got bored,” I told him, producing the purple toy he loved so much. “You could play with squeaky mouse.”

  I squeaked the mouse a few times. Crème Brûlée looked the other way.

  “We won’t be here forever. You have food and water. I’m sure you’ll be fine. I’ll leave squeaky mouse over here in case you change your mind.”

  I picked him up and cuddled him a bit. He slapped at me and bit my thumb before he licked it. I knew he’d be all right, and told Uncle Saul I was ready to go.

  The only store that could handle what we were looking for was outside Farmville on the highway. It was a super big-box discount place where Uncle Saul had to show his membership card to get in.

  Everything was available in monstrous quantities—one-hundred-pound bulk packs of chicken and twenty-five-pound bags of flour. My recipe for biscuits could be made larger or smaller without any problem. I’d never made more than a tray of twelve biscuits, but I supposed this would be good practice for serving hundreds of people.

  Uncle Saul picked up a twenty-gallon drum of cooking oil for the deep fryer. I was sure it was too much for the tiny fryer, but he was worried about running out during the contest.

  We also bought a jumbo can of vegetable shortening for the biscuits, and plenty of spices for the chicken.

  “Are we serving drinks with this?” I asked.

  “No. Minister Windom said there was a drink vendor coming to the event. All we need is the food.”

  “What about dessert?”

  He considered that. “I’ve got some fresh-picked peaches.”

  “That could work.”

  “Should we try something better?” He picked up a can of cherry pie filling. “We could make something like this.”

  “I think peaches are perfect. We’ll think of something awesome to do with them.”

  There was a good deal on a bushel of Georgia peaches. We had to switch from a cart to a flatbed before carrying everything up to the cashier. It looked like we had more than enough to feed everyone. I had no idea how many people would attend the cook-off. We’d have to do the best we could to estimate what we’d need.

  Again, it would be good practice for running my food truck. I would never know from day to day how many people I’d be feeding. I’d have to buy enough supplies to satisfy my customers without putting myself out of business because of too many leftovers.

  As Uncle Saul was paying for the food, I noticed Evelyn Windom at the jewelry counter. She was dressed much differently than she had been when I’d met her at the cabin. It appeared that she’d even had her hair tinted and styled.

  I pointed her out to Uncle Saul.

  “Are you sure that’s Evelyn?” he asked. “She looks like a whole other person.”

  I smiled. “I guess she decided to spruce up some. Maybe she needs some attention from her husband.”

  Uncle Saul shook his head. “Or she’s looking for attention her husband won’t give her.”

  I glanced at Evelyn again. She was trying on necklaces. I liked my version of her motives better. But I wasn’t as cynical as Uncle Saul.

  We talked nonstop on the way home about how we’d make the coating for the fried chicken and what kind of peach filling we could serve on the biscuits.

  Ollie had been working on the braces for the food window the whole time we were gone. When we’d taken all the food into the cabin, he showed us how the cover could be raised and lowered over the opening.

  I tried it. It was a little stiff, but I knew adjusting it would get easier with time. I wouldn’t always have Ollie or Uncle Saul around to help me. It would mostly be me, out on the streets of Mobile, alone. I had to be able to do everything in the food truck by myself.

  There was a glitch in the electricity. The lights came on but we couldn’t get the fryer to start up. Uncle Saul worked on that while I put away the ingredients we’d need that didn’t have to be refrigerated.

  It was lucky that Uncle Saul had a minifridge we could use in the motorhome. He’d put it into the cabin to use as a backup when he needed it. Ollie brought it out and connected it up.

  By the time Uncle Saul had repaired the wiring—which he thought had probably been nibbled by mice—we were ready to try out the minifridge and the fryer.

  I crossed my fingers as the power was restored. Both electrical appliances worked, and so did the lights.

  “All right!” Ollie grinned as he opened and closed the refrigerator door several times.

  “We’re going to have to make room for a microwave in here, too,” I told him, inspecting the tight interior. It was amazing how quickly the kitchen had filled up with supplies and appliances.

  Uncle Saul created a shelf for his microwave in the kitchen. He plugged it in, hopefully, and tried it out. It ran with the other appliances. “I wasn’t sure the power circuit could take it. But you’ll have to get your own when you leave here, Zoe. I can’t live without my microwave.”

  “Thanks so much, both of you, for all your hard work.” I hugged them. “I guess we’ll be ready for the big day. It’s great that I get to try it out before I go back home to work with it.”

  “I’m going to take a shower.” Ollie smelled himself. “Nothing like hot, humid weather to bring out the stink in a man.”

  I laughed, and Uncle Saul told him where to find towels and the outside shower.

  “Just watch out for Uncle Saul’s pet raccoon,” I warned. “He wanted to shower with me yesterday.”

  After Ollie was gone, Uncle Saul and I stood around for a few minutes admiring our handiwork. “This is just the way it was the last time I took her out for a concert on Dauphin Island. That was a long time ago. I’m glad you’re going to get some use out of her. Nothing should be left in a shed to fall apart.”

  “I’ll make you proud,” I promised.

  He hugged me. “You always do.”

  Ollie came back into the motorhome wearing only a towel around his narrow hips. I couldn’t help but stare. He looked even bigger half-naked.

  “You two need
to come back here and take a look,” he said. “You’re not gonna believe this.”

  We followed him back to the cement block shower. When I looked inside, I saw Crème Brûlée playing with the raccoon.

  Uncle Saul and Ollie laughed. I was a little concerned when Crème Brûlée rolled on his back and started batting at the raccoon playfully.

  “I’m not sure that’s safe,” I said. “I don’t think Crème Brûlée understands that this is a wild creature that could have rabies.”

  “Don’t worry. I know how to get them out of there.” Uncle Saul pulled on the chain a little, enough that a bucket of water dropped on the animals.

  The raccoon scooted out of the shower. Crème Brûlée gave a loud yowl and jumped straight up and out toward the cabin.

  That made all of us laugh. “Who knew that big fella could run so fast?” Ollie asked.

  Chapter Eight

  The three of us spent the night before the big cook-off trying out new recipes, most of which were terrible and would never see the inside of a cookbook.

  Ollie tried a flour and cornmeal batter for the chicken after rolling it in tarragon. I didn’t like the flavors together. He also tried using olive oil on the chicken before rolling it in hot sauce. I didn’t like that, either.

  “I thought you said you couldn’t cook?”

  “I didn’t say I couldn’t cook—I thought I’d be more useful working on the Airstream with both Chases cooking.”

  Uncle Saul had fallen asleep around midnight and was snoring on the sofa that matched his chairs. I wasn’t sure how he could sleep on the furniture. They were the most uncomfortable things I’d ever sat in.

  Ollie was still going strong, slicing the peaches as he told me funny stories from his time in the Marines. There were a lot of peaches, even with both of us cutting them. We put them into a massive steel pot to soften and simmer. I added sugar and cinnamon to the mixture.

  Ollie added brandy and a few chili peppers. “Don’t worry. It’s gonna be great.”

  “I hope so. I expect the sweet biscuits to go over well.”