by Liz Marvin
“Addie has a recipe for berry topped cornbread.”
“It’s corn bread and jelly!” Thelma nearly exploded.
Achmed leaned back in his chair. “You made that exquisite pie?”
Addie was practically hiding behind Clarise. She peeked out and nodded.
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to bite although I make no promises for these two.”
That brought smiles from Clarise, Addie and the other two contestants at the table. Betty’s cheeks were turning red again and she quickly sat down.
“Why don’t you make another pie?”
“I don’t have enough berries.”
“I’ll buy more.”
“Oh no sir. You can’t buy these berries. No one can. You have to pick them and you can’t just grab any berry neither. You got to go careful and slow and, well, I just can’t have the time.”
“Will it taste as good as your pie smelled?”
Addie looked down and shyly proclaimed “Awww it won’t be as good as grandma’s and she said hers didn’t hold a candle to my – to my - “
And she burst into tears, burying her face into Clarise’s willing shoulder. Clarise fished a note from her pocket and thrust it in front of Betty’s nose. The note was a request for the latest cook time possible and a kettle for boiling water which she would need all day along with basic ingredients for cornbread. Betty nodded once and the two women waited.
“I say we vote on… “Thelma let her demand trail off under the combined glare of everyone else at the table.
“Addie if you absolutely cannot remake your magnificent pie then we must make do with your berry topped cornbread and I for one am looking forward to it. It’s settled so let’s finish up. We all have a lot to do to get ready and Thelma.” Achmed leaned over and whispered into Thelma’s ear. He never stopped smiling but when he stopped talking she was as white as a ghost.
“I really wish I knew how he does that” Betty whispered to Clarise who choked back a laugh.
“The very thought of you having that much power sends chills down my spine.”
“You can tell me over a glass of red wine tonight.”
“Wine? You? All right who are you and what have you done with my friend?”
“I fed her four whole apple pies and my new best medical friend says now she has to drink a glass of red wine before bed.”
“I heard it was six but I do love your new doctor.”
“Nurse but who cares?
Clarise took Addie’s arm “Come on. We’ll get some kettle corn and eat it all up ourselves.”
Betty watched them go, only a little envious.
8. Chapter 7
Clarise kept Addie close as they wove their way through the crowd. She was looking for Wes and was having the devil’s own time finding him but eventually she tracked him down to the front gate. He was checking everyone through and they had to wait twenty minutes until he had a break.
“Whew!” He removed his sergeant’s cap and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “What a day but you make it brighter.”
Clarise was nervous. She had never asked Wes for a favor – a professional favor anyway. “Wes this is Addie and she’s been robbed.”
A glance at Addie’s puffy red eyes and Clarise’ solemn face was enough to set Wes on the right path. He knelt before Addie and took out his notepad and pen. “What did they take, Addie?”
“Oh it’s just an old picture of my great great grandmother Adeline Beurey.”
“I bet you’re named after her. Say didn’t your great grandma win the cooking competition seven years in a row?”
“Now how did you know that?” Clarise demanded. Wes grinned.
“Yes she did. I entered her prize winning pie recipe but the pies all gone now. And they took her picture and it’s the only one in the whole world.”
Addie was likely to start crying again. Clarise slipped her arm around her shoulder. Wes straightened up, Clarise looked at him: do something! Wes shrugged helplessly. Clarise spun the girl around and looked her in the eye.
“What’s your last name?” Clarise demanded.
“Beurey!”
That information perplexed Clarise but she couldn’t stop to consider it. “Now you listen, Adeline Beurey. I saw that picture of you great grandma and if you’re not her spitting image it’s age and bad photography to blame. You’ve got her looks, you have her hands and her cooking skill and now it’s time you prove you’ve got her grit too. I feel awful you lost that photograph but there’s more of her in you than in any old picture and that’s gotta be enough. You have a cooking contest to win and you won’t do it feeling sorry for yourself.”
Addie calmed down, dried her eyes and straightened up. “I’ve been a baby about this but I’m through now. I have to go get ready for tomorrow. Thank you both for your kindness and thank you, Clarise, for the kettle corn and – and for setting me straight.”
She shook both their hands and headed for the gate, walking steady, head up and with a purpose. Once outside the gate she broke into an easy run.
Wes turned to Clarise, his mouth hanging open in wonder.
“Close that. You’ll draw flies.”
“Where in the heck did you come up with that?”
Clarise laughed “I coach a girls’ basketball team and I direct plays. That was nothing. How did you know her great grandma -?”
“Great great grandmother”
“Great. Great. Grand. Mother. Won the cooking competition?”
Wes grinned and kissed her nose. “I’m a detective that happened to grow up in Lofton and I happen to know where I might find another copy of her great grandmother’s picture.”
Clarise pushed him away playfully “You’re a sergeant but you’re the prettiest sergeant in any police department in all North Carolina. She pulled him close and kissed him full on the lips her arms clamped around his neck, knocking his hat to the ground. Wes was surprised but pleasantly so. He’d have gladly stayed for the rest of the day but over her shoulder he saw a crowd was heading for the gate and he had to go back to work. Reluctantly they parted and he headed back to the gate.
Clarise watched him go but had no time alone. A booming voice from the past was calling her; “Clarise! Clarise Birdsong as I live and breathe!” An aging television sitcom actor by the name of Walter Payone was coming through the fairgrounds gate followed closely by Henry Whitt who appeared to be carrying Walter’s suitcase along with a notepad and pen.
Walter was a former television sitcom actor turned local community theater star and his shadow, Henry, had been his understudy in a stage play at the Lofton Theater last year. The production had proved a huge success after the worst per-production ever. The theater had been robbed of thousands of dollars in antiques and the stage hand and an actress had been murdered and Clarise had been accused of the crimes but miraculously the show had gone on.
In the end, even though her adopted hometown had been rocked by two murders it had come together to form an even stronger community. Not to mention the budding romances between Wes and Clarise and Bill and Betty but the biggest surprise of all had been Henry. Henry was a clerk in his father’s office supply store in town. He had worked there all through high school and no one had ever heard him once complain. Now, as a young adult he had been instrumental in getting his father to offer new goods and services so they wouldn’t compete directly with the new Staples office supply store.
His efforts had worked, too. He saved his family business and young women who wouldn’t have looked twice at him in high school were suddenly seeing him in a new light. The gossiping grannies had a field day keeping up with stories of single young women who suddenly had business at Witt’s Office Service & Supply. Henry didn’t seem to notice. His sole passions were his job and now, acting. In a matter of months he had become a valued addition to the community theater. He was a natural actor and shy and deferential as he was offstage he blossomed once he was in the spotlight.
His only blind spot was that he seeme
d to idolize Walter Payone who in turn treated his biggest fan like little more than a servant.
Clarise stopped, fixed a smile to her face and turned to greet him with open arms. A feather light hug and even lighter cheek kisses passed for a warm greeting. After that, suffice to say that Walter treated every conversation like a performance.
“Clarise I am so delighted I got to see you before the big announcement!”
“What big announcement?”
“I can’t tell you but I can promise you will be thrilled and we will get to work together! Henry did you notify the press?”
“Yes sir but they want us to make the announcement at cooking tent.”
“Wouldn’t a stadium be better? Did they say why?”
“I can explain that” Clarise interjected “local television stations are already committed to covering the cooking competition final day.”
Walter slipped his arm through Clarise’s and strolled into the fair with the air of someone who expected to be recognized. Beyond the glances any older man strutting about with a young woman on his arm might garner nobody paid much attention.
“Whatever. I just wish I could tell you know but we’re sworn to secrecy isn’t that right Henry but I can, however, give you a hint. Are there any – what do you call them? War Between the States civilian actors? Henry! Keep up.”
“Yessir” Henry replied, out of breath and scribbling furiously. “The re-enactors. Do you want me to work in something about cooking into your speech?”
“Do you mean Civil War re-enactors?” Clarise asked.
“Precisely! Good idea. Henry do it.” He turned to Clarise “I have heard you have both blue and gray brands.”
“Oh lord.”
“Those are the only to flavors, right? Are they here?
Clarise could only shake her head as she tugged him toward the re-enactor’s campgrounds. “This way. Henry can I take something for you?”
Henry shook his head no without looking up from his pad and pen.
“Any talent?” Walter went on.
Clarise thought for a moment, considering her earlier encounter before she spoke. “Their costumes are not wholly authentic and their acting skills are not to your level.”
“Well that’s to be expected” Walter patted Clarise’s hand “and really all they’ll have to do is fall down.”
They arrived at the camps which, while side by side were separated by picket line, a long rope with knots tied in it and guards dressed in blue and gray on either side. Both guards carried replica rifles and looked serious about standing watch even though there was scarcely ten feet between them.
The Confederate camp consisted of a half dozen large canvas tents with guns stacked like teepees in front of each. It was neatly laid out with a stone ringed fire pit and an authentic replica cook pot suspended over it. The Union camp consisted of one large tent and a half dozen pup tents. There were several stone ringed campfires and a flagpole with a brand new period American flag hanging limply from it.
The Confederates were practicing marching drills while the Union members sat around a makeshift table playing cards or stood nearby watching the rebs preform. The Union members had a banjo, jaw harp and harmonica band with a crack tenor singing “The Nameless Grave”.
All around tourists snapped pictures and shot video. Henry fished out his phone and began taking pictures too.
Walter was impressed. “This is perfect! Of course the camps are too close together but that’s due to the fair I’m sure.” Puzzled, he turned to Clarise. “They seem very authentic to me. The Yanks playing music while the Rebs are drilling is a very nice touch. I wonder if we could work that into the script?”
“The banjo was a southern instrument until after the war which is fine because that song wasn’t written until eighteen sixty five.”
“Your point?” Walter was still puzzled. Clarise just shook her head. Again.
~
The sun was setting by the time Achmed and Betty finished setting up the cooking competition tent. Her stomach was grumbling and she had a pounding headache. She had eaten too much but lost most of it and now she was famished but she also knew that her blood sugar was most likely through the roof. She dare not eat anything unhealthy today but every so often the mouthwatering aromas of the barbecue tent next door would waft in.
“Are you all right?” Achmed sat down beside her.
“Oh I’m fine. Just a headache.”
“Getting off your usual schedule can do that and you’ve had a pretty tough day.”
“What about you? How do you manage to stay so cool and composed?”
Achmed looked down. “I don’t. I learned a long time ago to hide my true feelings and I hide them very well. Mostly.”
Betty massaged her forehead. “I don’t hide mine at all. Mostly. What did you say to Thelma? Whatever it was she deserved it and more but I’d give anything to learn the trick for shutting her up.”
“You’ll have to find your own way I’m afraid. How about everything else?”
She summoned her phoniest smile and answered “I’m constantly hungry, my muscles are always sore and I feel guilty whenever I eat something I shouldn’t and tomorrow I will spend all day tasting foods I shouldn’t eat.”
Achmed put his arm around her. “I have been judging cooking competitions all over the world and they are all the same. Tell you what; I will teach you how to be a good – no, a great food judge, make friends and influence good eating habits and not get fat!”
“That sounds like a terrible book title.”
“More like a late night television infomercial. But it isn’t that hard. First, and you will find this easy but counterintuitive, come to the contest with a full stomach. That way you won’t be tasting while you are hungry. Everything will taste the way it tastes and you will be judging the food for what it is and not trying to satisfy yourself.
Second and this is just as important, before the tasting we will meet the cooks. Remember above all else to smile at the contestants and look them in the eye. When we tour the tables you must ask who they are and where they are from. Ask what they cooked and more important ask how and why they chose the recipe. If the other judges ask these questions then listen to the answers and observe something that connects you to them. Then find something nice to say. Maybe tell them how you connect to their dish or compliment the look or smell of the food. Or both. If you’re alone take notes but tomorrow we’ll have reporters following us around and I’ve arranged to get copies of their notes so we all can review them and discuss the foods before the tasting.”
Betty leaned back, smiling “So all I really have to do is pay attention, smile and not fall over.”
“That is only the first part.” Achmed laughed, “We’ll have table tastings for each category and those will be silent. Each dish will be ranked from one to ten in five categories: use of ingredients, fealty to its category, originality, presentation and taste but here’s the reality of scoring foods; you only score between eight point five and nine point nine because everybody will get their score so nobody loses by more than one or two tenths of a point.”
“Happy contestants who will try again next year.”
Achmed nodded. “We’ll be watched, videotaped and photographed so there’s no cheating and most of the time we’ll know who is going to win before the tasting starts - however if either of us is pleasantly surprised by the taste of a dish put your pencil down in front of your card and I’ll do the same if I agree and vice versa.”
“What if I hate a dish?”
“Identifying the bad dishes isn’t the problem. Now on to tasting. You need to use your eyes, your nose, and your fingers – yes fingers, you lips, teeth and only then use your tongue.
“Involve all your senses in tasting and eating. Did you know they did a study that proved people eat with their eyes? If you only eat one meal a day it will be a big meal but suddenly if you eat two meals a day your eyes will demand that both be big meals even if y
our body, particularly your stomach, doesn’t need it.”
Achmed kept talking but Betty was lost in thought. She was a big eyes/big portion girl. She would skip meals and eat big, feel guilty and be unable to stop and it was all because she’d unknowingly trained her damned eyes to tell her stomach how hungry she was!
“How do you un-train your eyes?” Achmed stopped talking and stared at her uncomprehendingly and then he laughed, understanding.
“You eat five small meals a day and you spend five minutes looking at your food before you taste it. Just look at it. If it isn’t appealing then find a way to make it the most desirable food in the world. Then taste it, savor it. Chew it. Let it dissolve on your tongue. Feel it with your whole mouth, even while you’re swallowing”
Betty wanted to take notes but all thoughts of eating were driven out of her head when she saw Bill standing in the entrance of the tent. He looked devastated. She ran to him.
“There’s been a murder” was all he said.
9. Chapter 8
The Lofton Fairgrounds have always been contained on all four sides by a fence and not simply to encourage visitors to pay the entrance fee. The tradition dates back more than one hundred years when several pigs were freed by some young hooligans. The ensuing chase and recapture is the stuff of legends and has been the subject of many a Lofton Elementary School play. The original wooden split rail fence was ineffective for pigs and was replaced by an oversized white picket fence that stood almost four feet tall. Only one or two sections of the old fence, now falling down and gray with age, remain.
A similar event happened again in the late nineteen sixties when just about all the show animals were freed. The police had blamed a group of out-of-town hippies who traveled with the midway selling macramé bracelets and necklaces. They were arrested and spent the night in jail with half the town outside calling for their heads.
It turned out that the high school basketball team turned out to be the real culprits. The hippies were released and after selling out their inventory to a very apologetic community they chose not to file a lawsuit. Once the dust settled, the town erected a six foot chain link fence around the fairgrounds and added security guards and now video cameras to the animal barns.
