“It is a lot to ask, I know. That is why I want you to think about it. Would you give us a chance?”
I started to speak, but he held a finger up to my lips. “Not now, mi querida. You do not answer yet. You must sit with this idea and let it simmer, no?”
“Okay.” I nodded.
He squeezed my hand. Then he pulled me to standing and planted a kiss on my forehead. “Come, we must join the others. I have promised them an ice-cream workshop tonight. We will make some fabulous fish and a salad and open some wine. It will be a party, sí?”
“Sí.” I clasped his hand tight and we returned to the kitchen together. I didn’t need time to think. I already knew my answer. Of course, I wanted Carlos and Ramiro to stay. I wasn’t sure if Carlos really belonged in Ashland, but I was willing to give it a shot. How could I say no?
Recipes
Pie Fries
Ingredients:
2 premade pie crusts (you can make your own like Jules or for a quick, fun dessert buy refrigerated crusts)
½ cup butter
½ cup cinnamon and sugar
1 cup of raspberry jam
*If desired, serve in fry containers from your local party store
Directions:
Roll out pie crust into a thin sheet. Use a pizza cutter to cut ½-inch strips. Melt butter. Brush each side of the strips with butter, then sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar. Place on a greased cookie sheet. Bake at 350 degrees for ten to twelve minutes. Serve immediately with raspberry-jam dipping sauce. For a fun party dessert serve pie fries in fry boxes with a side of “ketchup” aka raspberry jam.
Greek Chicken Sheet Pan Lunch
Ingredients:
4 chicken breasts
½ cup olive oil
16 oz fresh green beans
3 lemons
2 large onions
8 cloves of garlic
1 can diced fire-roasted tomatoes
1 jar Kalamata olives
1 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon basil
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
Directions:
Dice onions and garlic and add to a mixing bowl. Cut the chicken breasts into thin strips. Rinse green beans and toss with chicken, onions, and garlic. Drizzle with olive oil and mix together with tomatoes, oregano, basil, salt, and pepper. Slice one lemon and squeeze juice into mixture. Spread mixture onto a greased sheet pan. Quarter lemons and arrange on pan. Sprinkle in olives. Bake at 400 degrees for thirty minutes.
Chili Verde
Ingredients:
1 pound dried white beans
6 cups chicken broth
3 cloves garlic
2 onions
2 cans diced green chilies
2 teaspoons cumin
1 teaspoon oregano
1 teaspoon cloves
1 teaspoon chili powder
4 cups chopped chicken
2–3 cups chicken broth
Directions:
In a large stockpot combine beans, six cups of chicken broth, diced garlic, and one chopped onion. Bring to a boil, cover, reduce heat, and simmer for two to three hours, or until the beans are tender. In a skillet sauté remaining chopped onion, green chili peppers, and spices. Add chopped chicken and remaining chicken broth. Add to the beans and simmer for one more hour.
Garnish with a dollop of sour cream and shredded cheddar cheese.
Grilled Black Bread Sandwiches
Ingredients:
8 slices of molasses or chocolate black bread
8 oz of goat cheese
2 Granny Smith apples
Balsamic vinegar
¼ cup butter
Directions:
Slice the Granny Smith apples. Spread a layer of goat cheese on each side of the bread. Layer in apple slices. Drizzle with balsamic vinegar. Melt 2 tablespoons of butter in a frying pan on medium heat. Grill sandwich on both sides until bread is crispy and cheese has melted (approximately two to three minutes each side).
Triple Berry Coffee Cake
Ingredients for cake:
½ cup butter
¾ cup sugar
1 egg
½ cup buttermilk
2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking powder
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cinnamon
2 cups of a triple berry mixture—any berries in season will work. Jules uses blackberries, marionberries, and blueberries
Topping ingredients:
¼ cup butter
¼ cup oats
¼ cup brown sugar
½ teaspoon cinnamon
½ teaspoon nutmeg
½ teaspoon allspice
Directions:
Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream butter and sugar together in a mixing bowl. Add egg and buttermilk. Slowly incorporate flour, baking powder, salt, and cinnamon. Once mixture is smooth, fold in berries, careful not to damage the berries. Pour into a greased 8 × 8 pan. In a separate bowl, fork together butter, oats, brown sugar, and spices. Crumble over the top of the batter and bake for thirty minutes.
Coconut Cold Brew
Andy’s take on a classic cold brew. Simple, creamy coconut perfection on a hot summer day.
Ingredients:
1 cup good quality cold brew
½ cup coconut milk
¼ cup ice
Directions:
Fill chilled pint glass with ice. Pour one cup of good quality cold brew over ice. Pour in half cup of coconut milk and allow to sink to the bottom of the glass.
Read on for an excerpt from the next installment in the Bakeshop mysteries
LIVE AND LET PIE
Coming in January 2019 from St. Martin’s Paperbacks!
They say that you can’t go back, that it’s better to keep the past in the rear-view mirror. That may be true, but as of late it felt like my past was creeping into everything I touched. Not that it was necessarily a bad thing. It had started with my mom’s gorgeous midsummer wedding. Seeing her marry her longtime love the Professor (Ashland’s resident detective and Shakespeare scholar) had filled my heart with happiness and opened up memories of loss that I thought I had buried long ago. When my dad died in my formative years, it forever altered the course of my future. Mom and I had cocooned ourselves in, sharing the burden of grief, and pouring all our energies into Torte, our family bakeshop. We weren’t merely mother and daughter. We were best friends. She was my rock, my confidante, and my steadfast supporter. She had nudged me (well, maybe more like forced me) to follow my dreams of attending culinary school. Without her gentle, yet firm guidance I might have never left my hometown of Ashland, Oregon. Now I had come full-circle. After years of traversing the seas on a luxury cruise ship I had returned to Ashland, and hadn’t once glanced back.
The only problem was that my husband Carlos was still out to sea. Like Odysseus, he had been sailing vast oceans lured by the siren song of steel blue waters. Just a while ago, he had professed his desire to return to me and plant his feet on Ashland’s sturdy ground. I was torn. As much as I missed Carlos, I wasn’t convinced that he belonged on land. Some people are born to wander. I couldn’t quite picture Carlos thriving in our small, tight-knit community. Wanderlust ran deep through his Spanish blood. He made fast friends at every port of call and thrived on the thrill of ever-changing adventures. Ashland was bucolic, quiet, and quaint. Not that we were without culture. In fact, quite the opposite. As home to the famed Oregon Shakespeare Festival our sun-drenched town nestled in the Siskiyou Mountains saw travelers from all over the globe, who came to take in a production of Sleeping Beauty under the stars or dine at one of dozens of award-winning restaurants. But there was a difference between catering to adventure seekers and actually seeking adventure. I wasn’t sure what Carlos was going to decide, but I knew that Ashland was exactly where I was meant to be.
More importantly I was meant to be at an interview in less than ten minutes. I shook myself from my thoughts and laced my tennis shoes.
I had run home to change in between the morning rush and lunch after splattering tempered chocolate all over myself. Kitchen flubs can happen to the best chefs. I had had my fair share of disasters over the years, but today’s mess had more to do with lack of space.
Torte was undergoing a major expansion. We had recently remolded the basement which was now home to our baking operations. The next phase of our growth was underway and involved punching stairs through to the coffee bar and dining area above. Our contractor had run into a couple of challenges (one being that our architect’s wife had been accused of attempting to poison me) that had set us back a few weeks. Dust and the constant sound of hammering and drilling don’t exactly mix with the artisan pastries and coffees we serve at Torte. I couldn’t wait for construction to wrap and to get back to the business of baking.
In the interim, I had been lining up interviews for potential new hires. We had always run a tight ship at Torte with a small but mighty staff. Our physical expansion and Mom’s desire to cut back a bit meant that we needed to ramp up our team. I was excited about the possibility. Ashland is a college town, home of Southern Oregon University, so there was never a shortage of energetic and eager help, but I wanted to make sure whoever we hired would be a match. The wrong person could completely change the recipe we had created with our young and highly capable staff.
Sterling, a closet poet with soul-piercing eyes and a gentle heart, was responsible for the majority of our savory items—daily soups, grilled paninis, fresh chopped salads, and hearty pastas. Bethany and Stephanie were my pastry stars. They couldn’t be more different in appearance or attitude. Steph’s goth style and aloof attitude, paired with purple hair and a tendency to stare at her feet while speaking, gave off the impression that she didn’t care. Nothing could be further from the truth. Working with her had taught me never to judge a book by its cover. Stephanie was devoutly dedicated to the bakeshop and spent her spare time (when she wasn’t studying for her coursework at SOU) watching baking tutorials on the Pastry Channel and poring through cookbooks. Bethany was bubbly and upbeat. Her cheery, positive attitude brought a lightness to the kitchen. Her baking skills were equally vibrant. She had a natural sense of how to balance sugary confections so that they didn’t end up cloyingly sweet. Finishing out the team was Andy, our resident barista and all-around good guy. Andy’s coffee creations had become a thing of legend. Locals and visitors lined up for his foamy lattes and flavor-infused cold brews.
The trick would be finding new staff with complimentary skills to our current crew. It was a big task, but I was up for the challenge.
Armed with a list of interview questions and a clean t-shirt, I left my apartment and headed for Torte. The minute I stepped outside my small apartment above Elevation, an outdoor store, the sounds of laughter and music greeted me. The plaza, Ashland’s downtown core, was awash with colorful activity. Tourists loaded with shopping totes stopped to admire a window display at the jewelry shop where sparkling diamond-studded tiaras and crowns of rose gold reflected the sunlight. I chuckled at the banner above the glittery gems that read: Where Women Get in Trouble and Men Get out of Trouble.
One of the tourists pointed to the clever line as I walked past. “So true, honey,” she said with a wink to one of her friends. “Let’s go get into some trouble. I see a pair of platinum earrings that will make my husband’s eyes spin.”
I smiled as I continued on toward Torte, which sat at the far end of the block. Across the street, near the bubbling Lithia fountains, a musician blew on a didgeridoo. The trumpet-like sound echoed throughout the crowded streets. It was nearly impossible not to feel happy in Ashland. Maybe that was due to our Mediterranean climate, the long stretches of sun, the fact that mountains swept to the sky in every direction. The sepia-toned hills to the east and the dark green forests to the west. Or maybe it was due to our eclectic community of artists—drawn to the southernmost corner of Oregon for its picturesque vistas and star-cluttered skies. Ashland was a haven for creative types—writers, painters, sculptors, dancers, actors, visual artists, technology wizards all landed in our hamlet, meshing together seamlessly. And then there were the tourists. One of the reasons I was convinced that Ashland exuded such a laid-back and happy vibe was because at any given time vacationers filled our charming downtown streets, popping into shops and restaurants for an unhurried afternoon and lingering over late-night cocktails after the evening show.
Yep, you’re one lucky woman, Jules, I said to myself as I arrived at Torte and pushed open the front door.
Inside, the familiar throng of hammering and the hum of the espresso machine greeted me. Our makeshift dining room consisted of crammed-together chairs and a handful of our dining tables. Usually the front of the bakeshop is open with bright, airy window booths, a collection of two- and four-person tables, our pastry counter, and coffee bar, but during construction we had temporarily reconfigured the space. It was snug, to say the very least.
The entire back half of the shop had been taped off with thick clear plastic. We had removed most of the tables, taken out the old pastry case, and set up a small counter in the short-term that housed our pastry trays and espresso machine.
Andy waved from behind the counter where he was pulling shots of dark, aromatic espresso. I breathed in the scent and said hello to a couple of regulars who were sitting within earshot of the coffee bar. “It’s looking good in here, Jules,” one of them said, raising an iced matcha latte. The green tea and foamy milk made for a lovely glass.
I glanced around the tight space. Every spare inch of countertop contained trays of cookies, hand pies, and crusty loaves of bread. The plastic tarp flapped in rhythm with the work crew’s power tools. Customers squished into booths and tables, and light dusty footprints led from the front door to the construction zone. “Thanks, I think. Hopefully we’re in the home stretch. It’s … uh … cozy in here.”
“No one cares.” The woman pointed to her honey lavender scone. “As long as you keep making baked goods that taste like this, we’ll eat out of garbage cans, won’t we, Wendy?”
Her friend, Wendy, flashed me a thumbs-up as she took a bite of her pesto egg croissant sandwich.
“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” I grinned and left them to their breakfast. “How’s it going?” I asked Andy.
He wore a red Southern Oregon University football t-shirt, revealing tan, muscular forearms. Practice for the new season began in a few weeks, which meant that Andy would have to take off early for daily doubles. Yet another reason I needed to hire extra staff—stat. “Great, boss!” he yelled over the sound of a jackhammer. “Another quiet morning in coffee paradise.”
“Right.” I rolled my eyes.
Andy grinned. His impish attitude was one of the many things that endeared him to customers. Particularly with the teen and twenty-something set. There was often a long line at the espresso bar that I knew had as much to do with Andy’s boyish good looks and charm as it did with his drool-worthy espresso concoctions. “Hey, there’s a girl waiting for you downstairs. She’s here early for an interview and I didn’t know where else to put her.” He motioned to the packed dining area.
At that moment Bethany came through the front door with a tray of lemon drop cupcakes just as two women were leaving. Bethany balanced the tray with one arm as the women ducked under the tray, narrowly avoiding a collision. Visions of lemony buttercream splatting on the floor and windows danced through my head.
“Nice reflexes.” Andy applauded. “Skills.”
A splotchy blush crept up Bethany’s fair, freckled cheeks. I had suspected for a while that Bethany had developed feelings for Andy. I couldn’t tell if he was oblivious to the fact that she turned bright red anytime she was around him, or if he simply wasn’t interested and figured the kindest thing to do was to play dumb in order to spare her any embarrassment. “Thanks.” She set the tray on the counter. “There’s a girl waiting for you downstairs, Jules.”
“Already told her. Y
ou’re too late, Beth.” Andy shot Bethany a wink and poured foam in the shape of a heart in one of our signature Torte mugs.
When my parents had opened the bakeshop three decades ago, they had wanted to create a gathering space where everyone who walked through the front door was treated like royalty. Torte’s cherry red and teal walls, corrugated metal siding, and focus on handmade artisan coffees and pastries had done just that. Now it was my responsibility to make sure that we stayed true to their vision through the new changes and growth. My goal was to ensure that the Torte our customers knew and loved would feel the same. From our delicate Torte logo with its fleur de lys design to our fire engine red aprons and diner style coffee mugs, my mission was to keep the essence of the bakeshop strong and steady through our expanding square footage.
It was a lofty goal, but I was up for the task. Now if I could just find the perfect new staff members, everything would go according to plan.
Also by Ellie Alexander
Meet Your Baker
A Batter of Life and Death
On Thin Icing
Caught Bread Handed
Fudge and Jury
A Crime of Passion Fruit
Another One Bites the Crust
Praise for Ellie Alexander’s Bakeshop mystery series
“Delectable.”
—Portland Book Review
“Delicious.”
—RT Book Reviews
“Quirky … intriguing … [with] recipes to make your stomach growl.”
—Reader to Reader
“This debut culinary mystery is a light soufflé of a book (with recipes) that makes a perfect mix for fans of Jenn McKinlay, Leslie Budewitz, or Jessica Beck.”
—Library Journal on Meet Your Baker
“Marvelous.”
—Fresh Fiction
“Scrumptious … will delight fans of cozy mysteries with culinary delights.”
—Night Owl Reviews
“Clever plots, likable characters, and good food … Still hungry? Not to worry, because desserts abound in … this delectable series.”
Till Death Do Us Tart Page 23
