by Jessica Beck
I laughed. “Are you kidding? She thinks I’m unworthy to be demonstrating on the tour, so she keeps checking with me to see if I’m ready to drop out. I wouldn’t give that nosy old biddy the satisfaction.”
“Good for you,” Grace said.
As she pulled into Napoli’s parking lot in Union Square, she said, “Stand your ground with her, Suzanne. If Peg is at Marge’s place first thing, don’t take any guff from her.”
“Easier said than done, don’t you think? Maybe I’ll bring her a plate of lemon-filled donuts to keep her off my back. She can’t resist those.” I took a deep breath, then added, “Let’s talk about something more pleasant. Are you ready to have dinner?”
“You bet,” Grace said as we got out and walked to the restaurant.
I’d expected the place to be nearly empty, as was almost always the case when I ate there, but I was surprised to find the vestibule jammed with diners waiting for a table.
“Should we go somewhere else?” Grace asked as she looked at the crowd. “I know how tight your schedule is.”
“Maybe we should,” I said as I started to back out of the door.
Angelica DeAngelis—the proprietress and matriarch of her four-daughter staff—saw me before I could get away.
“Excuse me, people, I need to get through,” she said as she made her way through the crowd toward us. “Suzanne, your table is ready.”
That was a neat trick, since I hadn’t called for a reservation, and she had no idea we were coming.
An older man with bushy gray eyebrows that threatened to take over his face, said, “Hey, we were here first.”
“But you failed to call ahead for a reservation, didn’t you?” she said, clicking her tongue at him.
“We didn’t think we’d need to this time of day,” he grumbled.
“Then apparently, you were wrong,” Angelica said as she led us through the mass of people.
Once we were past the cashier’s station, I was surprised to see that the tables in the dining room were mostly empty.
I frowned at her as I said, “Angelica, you know you didn’t have to show us preferential treatment.”
She beamed at me as she said, “I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to, do I? It’s my place, after all, isn’t it?”
Grace said, “Suzanne, don’t argue with the nice lady who’s going to feed us.”
Angelica smiled at her. “There’s the voice of reason I’ve been hoping for.”
I touched the owner’s shoulder lightly. “I don’t want you to lose any of your customers on my account.”
She laughed bitterly. “Are you kidding me? One of my brilliant daughters who shall remain nameless decided we needed a promotional gimmick for our early hours. She offered a twenty-five-percent discount before six PM in our April Springs Sentinel ad, and this is what we get for it.”
“I must have missed it,” I said.
“I wish they had,” she said as she gestured to the waiting area. “We’re not making a dime on it, and I doubt many of these folks are going to be long-term customers.”
“How long are you going to keep them waiting?” I asked.
“I’m tempted to wait until six,” she said. “But I won’t.” As she walked back to the front, she said, “I’ll send Maria to your table, but don’t tarry over the menu. Things are going to be crazy pretty soon.”
“We won’t,” I promised.
Maria came by thirty seconds later, with a rueful smile. “Hello, ladies. What can I get for you tonight?”
“Oh, dear,” I said. “Let me guess. The ad was your idea.”
She nodded briefly. “I thought it was a good plan at the time.”
I patted her hand. “Don’t worry, you’ll be able to handle all of them.”
“The crowd isn’t what I’m worried about,” she said. “It’s my mother I’m concerned about. She’s got a way of hanging onto things like this.”
“It’s in the rulebook they get when they have us,” I said.
“I’d like to get my hands on a copy,” she said. “But no time soon,” Maria added when she realized what that implied.
After we ordered, Angelica led the crowd in, depositing diners as she moved through the room. She’d tried to leave us with as much space as she could, but it still felt claustrophobic having so many other people around us.
“So, is this what eating out is usually like?” I asked after Maria brought us our water and a carafe of house red wine.
“It’s not that bad,” Grace said. “In fact, some folks actually like being around other people.”
“To each his own, I suppose,” I said.
Grace took a sip of wine, then said, “So, tell me about the tour. Can you believe Peg and Marge are actually working together on something? I thought their feud would last forever.”
“I’m not even certain they remember why they’re fighting anymore,” I said.
“Well, they’ve buried the hatchet, at least for the duration of the tour.” Grace ate a small bite of bread, then added, “Should we talk about your love life?”
“Jake and I are fine, though I don’t get to see him nearly enough. Why don’t we talk about yours, instead?”
“I’m afraid it would be a pretty dull story. What is wrong with the men around here, and why can’t they see how much I have to offer?”
I said softly, “I think they’re all just a little bit crazy, Jake included.”
Grace laughed so hard she garnered the attention of some of the other diners, but we didn’t care. It was good being out with my friend.
Grace said, “Enough about my love life, or lack of one. Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. Why don’t we talk about him?” I asked as I pointed behind her with the breadstick in my hand to a man who’d just walked in. It was the mysterious customer who’d come into the donut shop earlier that day.
She turned to see who I was talking about, and he must have noticed the attention.
Our eyes met for just an instant, and he smiled broadly at me before placing a to-go order with Angelica.
When I looked back at Grace, she was frowning at me. “Suzanne Hart, what have you been up to?”
“What?” I asked, as innocently as I could muster.
“You’ve been holding out on me,” she said as our food arrived. “I saw the way you two just looked at each other.”
I smiled at Maria as she approached with plates of food for us. “Look, Grace, it’s time to eat.”
I reached for my fork, and Grace grabbed my arm. “Not one bite until you tell me who he is.”
I laughed first, then I admitted, “He came by the donut shop for coffee this morning. That’s all I know. I swear. He looks familiar, but I can’t for the life of me figure out where I’ve seen him before.”
She looked into my eyes and could see I was telling the truth. “He seemed pretty interested in you.”
“Not enough to come over to our table and say hello,” I said, dismissing the idea. “Now can I have that hand back? I’m hungry, and my lasagna’s getting cold.”
She released me, and as I took that first heavenly bite, I couldn’t help wondering how the mystery man had managed to show up in my life twice in the same day, and why I couldn’t remember when I’d met him before. I had a nagging feeling that our paths had crossed in the past, but I was no closer to knowing when that might have been than earlier that day.
For now, it was just going to have to remain a mystery.
I didn’t have time for mysteries at the moment, though.
Tomorrow would arrive soon enough, and I had a feeling I was going to have my hands full with my stop on the kitchen tour.
I just didn’t realize how true that feeling was about to be.
SUZANNE’S BASIC BEIGNETS
WITH A TWIST
A flaky, delicious, and classy take on the normal everyday donut. These take a little longer to prepare, but they are well worth the time and effort! Some folks think they�
��re reminiscent of funnel cakes, but it’s a completely different taste and texture. While they might not technically be the classic New Orleans style of beignet, Suzanne likes them, and so does my family!
INGREDIENTS
• 2 packets active dry yeast (½ oz. total)
• 1½ cups warm water
• ½ cup white sugar
• ½ teaspoon salt
• 2 eggs
• 1 cup evaporated milk
• 6–7 cups all-purpose flour
• ¼ cup shortening
• ¼ cup confectioners’ sugar
• Frying oil, 360 degrees F.
DIRECTIONS
Dissolve the yeast in warm water, then add the sugar, salt, eggs, and evaporated milk, and stir it all together thoroughly.
Mix in about half of the flour and beat the mixture again until smooth.
Add the shortening, and then the remaining 3 cups of flour. I like to break with tradition here and add enough flour to work lightly on a board, adding a little oil if the dough gets too dry.
Cover the dough and chill it for at least an hour, but you can wait until the next day if you’d like, though be warned, it will keep raising and might take on a life of its own.
Roll out the dough ¼- to -inch thick. Cut it into squares 2½ to 3 inches. Though it’s not the traditional shape, I like to use my ravioli cutter to make rounds.
Fry them in hot oil for two minutes on each side, or until they’re done, then dust with confectioner’s sugar and eat. I like these best served warm. You can also add fillings like jam or pudding to these, but my family likes them plain.
Yield: 3–4 dozen
CHAPTER 2
“Suzanne, you’re early,” Marge said as she let me into her house through the back door the next morning.
It was true that I wasn’t due to show up for another half hour, but I hadn’t been able to wait a minute longer. I’d had the perfect opportunity to sleep in before the kickoff of the kitchen tour, but I’d lain in bed tossing for hours, waiting until a decent hour when most folks got up. By six AM I couldn’t take it anymore, so I put on some sweats and a T-shirt and took a walk in the park that bordered our house. After a long shower when I got back home and more time spent picking out what I was going to wear than I’d ever taken in my life, I still had too much time to kill. Even dawdling over breakfast with my mother just killed an hour, and though I hadn’t planned to be at Marge’s until nine, I was knocking on her door at twenty-seven minutes past eight. I had to smile when I saw the fresh, oversized corsage pinned to her elegant dress. If her attire was from Gabby’s shop, it had been very lightly worn.
“I’m sorry,” I said as I glanced at my watch. “If you’d like, I can come back later. I’m sure I can find something to do in town.” It had taken every bit of my self-restraint to keep from popping in on Emma at the donut shop, but I’d promised myself that I wouldn’t do it, and I was going to keep my word.
Marge frowned at me for a second, but then her creased lips were wiped clean with a smile. “Now don’t be silly. Of course you can come in. I’ve got a surprise for you,” she added as she led me inside.
“I’m not certain I’m up for any surprises today,” I said as I followed her into the house. Though the tour featured kitchens only, it was clear that Marge had realized she had to spruce up the rest of her house as well. There were fresh flowers throughout the place, and a shine on every surface.
I asked, “Did you buy all new furniture, too?” There were some pieces that I didn’t recognize from my last visit, and an Oriental rug I knew was new. She must have spent a fortune.
“No,” she said simply.
“Marge, I was just here a few days ago, remember?”
She shook her head slightly, then said, “Fine. If you must know, I contacted a staging company in Charlotte. They’re responsible for all of this.”
I looked around at the elegant antiques. “Are you trying to tell me that this furniture was all in a play?”
She laughed. “Not that kind of stage, Suzanne. The company helps sell million-dollar houses, and they stage each room with their own furniture to help their clients get top dollar. It was much more reasonable than actually replacing my things, and I didn’t have to lift a finger to have it done.” Marge bit her lip, then added, “Well, that’s not entirely true. I wrote them a rather substantial check, but I think it was worth it, don’t you?”
As I followed her into the kitchen, I added, “The entire place looks really great. I think it was money well spent.”
“Thank you,” she said shyly. “I wanted everyone to remember this stop on the tour. I hope you’ll like what I got for you.”
“You didn’t get me a corsage, too, did you?” I asked, envisioning wearing a floral arrangement like hers on my blouse as I tried to cook. It was a step up from what I usually wore when I worked, but I wasn’t ready for flowers.
“Of course not,” she said. “Flowers wouldn’t do at all, would they? I did get you something, though.”
She reached into the pantry and pulled out a very nice chef’s smock and hat—pristine white—starched and ironed without a wrinkle in sight. I shuddered when I thought about what would happen to it if I wore it working in her kitchen.
“I appreciate the thought, honestly, I do,” I said, backpedaling for something to say. “I’m just not sure I could ever live up to it.”
“Nonsense,” Marge said. “I think you’ll look delightful in it. I won’t take no for an answer, Suzanne,” she added as she shoved the garb in my face.
I couldn’t stand there refusing to accept her offering, so I reached a hand out and took the smock and hat from her. I peeked inside the top and saw that unfortunately, she’d bought the right size.
“How’d you know my size?” I asked as I slipped it on over my blouse.
“I can’t take all the credit. Your mother was most helpful.”
“I just bet she was,” I said. Funny, we’d just had breakfast together, but she hadn’t mentioned this at all.
Marge must have seen my expression cloud over. “Now, Suzanne, don’t blame her. I asked Dorothy for her help, and she was quite sweet about it.” She frowned at the smock, then said, “It wasn’t my idea in the first place. As a matter of fact, it was suggested rather strongly to me that I do this for you.” She let out a deep breath, then said, “You don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to. It’s fine with me.”
As I slid the towering white hat into place on my head, I said, “Don’t be silly. It’s perfect for the tour.”
“I’m so glad you like it,” she said. “I do think it’s rather smart.”
I took the smock and hat off again, happy to be rid of it, at least for the moment. Before Marge could protest, I said, “It’s much too nice to do the prep work in. Don’t worry, I’ll put it on when the tour starts.”
“I thought you were supposed to demonstrate making the beignets during the tour,” she said.
“I am, but since I’ll be making them all day, I thought I’d get a jump on things by measuring out batches of some of the ingredients I’ll be using to save time. Surely that’s acceptable.”
“I suppose,” Marge said, as her doorbell rang. “Excuse me, I’ll be right back. No one’s supposed to be here yet. Who could it be?”
I left her to it, since I had problems of my own. Butterflies were starting to dance in my stomach, and I was beginning to regret the heavy breakfast my mother had forced on me. I didn’t usually get nervous before I cooked, but then again, I normally didn’t do it with an audience, either. There was just one solution; I needed to get to work so I could forget about the audience that would be coming soon enough. I was scooping out quantities of flour when Marge came back into the kitchen, trailing Peg Masterson, the entirely unpleasant head of the tour.
“Suzanne, why aren’t you wearing your smock and hat? Marge, you did as I asked and bought them, didn’t you?”
“Of course I did,” she said defensively.
>
“I wanted to keep them pristine as long as I could,” I said. “So, I have you to thank for my new outfit.” It figured that Peg had butted into our demonstration, even down to the clothes I’d be wearing.
Peg looked at me as if I’d lost my mind, which I was starting to realize I probably had by ever agreeing to this in the first place.
She snapped, “Nonsense, those belong to your sponsor. I arranged to have all of the chefs wear them. It gives the tour a sense of continuity.” I swear, she had to choke out the word chef when she looked at me, but somehow she managed to do it without flinching.
I shrugged. “I’ll put it on once the tour starts.”
“I suppose that will be all right,” Peg said as she surveyed the granite countertop where I’d been working. “What’s this?”
I held up each ingredient as I identified it. “This is flour, and this is sugar. Now this is . . .”
“I know what they are, Suzanne. What I don’t know is why you are starting before we’ve opened the tour.”
I couldn’t believe this woman. Was she going to be hovering around me all day? “Peg, I’m just measuring out some of the things I’ll need ahead of time. It will make the demonstration go smoother, trust me.”
She shook her head. “I absolutely forbid it. The entire purpose of this tour is for our patrons to see the kitchens in real working conditions. You mustn’t start anything until we open the doors.”
“What if no one’s here when I start?” I asked. “Do I have to sit around waiting for an audience before I start preparing my food?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Peg said. “You may begin precisely at ten A.M., and not a moment before.”
“Fine,” I said as I dumped some of the flour I’d already measured back into the container. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”
“I’d suggest you find a quiet place to relax and take full of advantage of it while you can. You’re going to be on your feet constantly for six hours once the tour begins.”
“I do more than that every day in my shop,” I said. “Six hours is going to feel like a vacation.”
