Freedom Fries and Cafe Creme
Page 3
‘I feel the same. But things seem to be a little different now, don’t they?’
‘My sister has been so indifferent to everyone since she thinks she created the Eighth Wonders of the World. And my nephews are such brats that I don’t really have a very good experience of kids, you know.’
‘But my Juliette is pretty well behaved.’
‘I’m sure she is, and with such a beautiful name … er, she can only be a good girl, can’t she? And, er, with such a nice father …’
After a little pause, Liana continued, ‘I may call you again, Armand. I just don’t know right now.’
‘Fine, I understand.’
‘Have a good night, Armand.’
‘Good night, Liana.’
They hung up, each disappointed, not knowing what would happen next. But the special evening they’d spent together would remain engraved on their memories.
Armand looked at the gifts Rick and Carla had brought him. Then he went to the window. The sky had cleared and there was a striking full moon. He opened the blue flask of Eau de Lune, which was bottled under a full moon in the Alps, and was supposed to make your wishes come true if drunk on a moonlit night. After his conversation with Liana, Armand suddenly felt thirsty. He drank a glass of Eau de Lune and made a wish; he could be superstitious at times, after all, like his mother.
Afterwards he opened the bottle of cognac, for a last little treat before going to bed, and thought about what he had wished for. Armand’s New Year’s resolution was definitely going to be to make sure he and Juliette continued along their paths to happiness.
Four Recipes for Four to Celebrate the New Year
Armand’s Yummy Soup
1 tbsp butter
1 tsp sugar
4 turnips, peeled and cubed
2 ripe pears, peeled and cubed
4 cups (1 litre) hot chicken stock
sea salt, ground black pepper and grated nutmeg
1 cup (250ml) milk
½ cup (125ml) whipped cream (optional)
chopped fresh dill, to serve
1. Heat the butter in a large saucepan. Add the sugar and turnips and sauté until golden. Add the pears and sauté for a further 2–3 mins. Add the chicken stock, bring to the boil and simmer for 10–12 mins, until the pears and turnips are tender. Add salt, pepper and nutmeg, to taste. Allow to cool slightly.
2. Transfer to a blender or use a stick blender to blend until smooth while gradually adding the milk. Reheat gently, then divide between four bowls and top with a spoonful of whipped cream, if desired. Sprinkle with fresh dill, grated nutmeg and black pepper.
Carla’s Divine Meat Pie
This pie is usually made with the leftovers of Thanksgiving dinner.
For the pastry:
1 cup (120g) self-raising flour, plus extra for dusting
1 cup (100g) oat flakes
½ tsp salt
120g butter, cut into pieces, plus extra for greasing
For the filling:
3 eggs, at room temperature
5 tbsp crème fraîche or cottage cheese
½ cup (125ml) gravy
sea salt, ground black pepper and grated nutmeg
250g cooked boneless turkey or chicken, cut into cubes
2 cups (200g) cooked stuffing (any kind)
½ cup (80g) raisins (optional)
1½ cups (175g) cooked fresh spinach or other greens
½ cup (60g) grated mature Cheddar cheese
Old Bay Seasoning or paprika
1. Mix the flour, oat flakes and salt in a large bowl and rub in the butter until the mixture resembles fine breadcrumbs. Add teaspoons of cold water until the mixture comes together to form a soft dough. Leave to rest at room temperature, covered, for at least 30 mins.
2. Preheat the oven to 190°C/375°F/Gas 5. Beat the eggs in a large bowl. Add the crème fraîche or cottage cheese, the gravy, a dash of salt, pepper and nutmeg and stir until combined.
3. Grease and lightly flour a 9½ in (24cm) pie dish. Roll out the pastry on a floured surface and use to line the dish. Lightly prick the base all over with a fork. Sprinkle in the turkey or chicken meat, stuffing, raisins and cooked spinach or greens, then spread over the egg mixture and sprinkle with grated Cheddar and Old Bay Seasoning or paprika, to taste. Bake for 40 mins, until golden. Serve hot.
Juliette’s Colourful Salad
1 small red onion, thinly sliced
salt, for sprinkling
large bag mixed salad or fresh spinach leaves
½ cup (80g) dried cranberries
½ cup (100g) crumbled blue cheese (any kind)
1 apple, chopped
2 tangerines or 1 orange, pared and segmented, the segments cut into small pieces
½ cup (50g) shelled walnuts, roughly chopped, or Grape-Nuts cereal
small bunch flat-leaf parsley, finely chopped, to serve
For the dressing:
1 tsp Dijon mustard
1 tbsp balsamic vinegar
1 tbsp extra-virgin olive oil
2 tbsp grapeseed or walnut oil
1. Sprinkle the onion slices with salt and set aside for 10 mins. Divide the salad leaves between four bowls. Rinse the onion slices and dry on kitchen paper. Sprinkle the onion and all the remaining salad ingredients, except the parsley, over the leaves.
2. Make the dressing by shaking all the ingredients together in a jar with 1 tsp water. Pour over the salad, toss carefully, sprinkle with the parsley and serve.
Rick’s Winter Fruit Delight
½ cup (80g) each pitted prunes, dried figs, dried apricots, dried cranberries and raisins
2 eating apples, chopped
1 orange and 2 tangerines, pared and segmented
1 bag (or 1 tsp) spiced or cinnamon tea, brewed in 1 cup (250ml) boiling water for 10 mins
½ cup (50g) chopped walnuts
⅓ cup (60g) brown sugar
2 tbsp dark rum
Roughly chop the larger dried fruit and place in a saucepan with all the other dried and fresh fruit. Strain the tea and add to the pan with the walnuts and sugar. Simmer gently, covered, for 15–20 mins, until the mixture looks like compote. Remove from the heat and stir in the rum. Allow to cool, then refrigerate for at least 2 hours before serving.
February
Happy Hour au Champagne, s’il Vous Plaît!
‘In victory, you deserve champagne, in defeat, you need it.’
Napoleon, 1769–1821,
French leader
‘Chocolate is a perfect food, as wholesome as it is delicious, a beneficient of exhausted power.’
Baron Justus von Liebig, 1803–1873,
German chemist
Another very cold winter day … February: the time of year when people can be so depressed. There were only a few clients at the Zenith Bar that night … You couldn’t blame people for not wanting to venture forth in such weather. Also, it was 14 February, and couples probably preferred a romantic dinner in the restaurant downstairs to celebrate Valentine’s Day in style to sitting in the bar. I looked around and saw only two or three couples having pre-dinner cocktails, and a sprinkling of melancholy businessmen or -women looking all the more lonely for not having consoling cell phones in their hands, phones not being allowed up here.
I checked my watch. Strange … Anne-Sophie should have been here by now. She was always on time. She loved happy hour: two flutes of champagne for the price of one, and those delicious bar snacks! Since we’d met a few years ago, our Tuesday meetings had become a ritual not to be missed – even on Valentine’s Day. We talked about this and that, we laughed, sometimes we cried. We had a great time.
Rather than worry, I decided just to relax in the comfortable warmth. I loved looking out at the lights of metropolitan Boston from up there, sipping my champagne, and listening to Pierre Hurel, who, to my complete delight, was playing the piano that evening …
Anne-Sophie’s arrival put an abrupt end to my reverie. She plonked herself down in a chair and let
out a deep sigh. She looked odd.
I couldn’t help smiling, seeing her wrapped up in several layers of clothing. I might almost have said that she’d suddenly put on weight. She was holding a beautiful box of Coeurs Noirs chocolates – she knew I just couldn’t resist them. A card that said ‘Be my Valentine’ was still attached to the box.
‘Want them? They’re yours!’ she snapped angrily.
‘Thanks, and happy Valentine’s Day to you as well,’ I responded, frowning. I was feeling a little confused here. ‘But I don’t have a gift for you, since you told me you think that Valentine’s Day is only for couples.’
‘I know, I know,’ she replied impatiently, standing up.
I studied her as she sighed loudly again while laboriously removing her hat, gloves, scarf, heavy coat and wool cardigan, like an Egyptian mummy shedding its wrappings.
I wanted to laugh but didn’t really dare, since Anne-Sophie seemed to be in one of her rages.
‘And look at my hair. Awful! The air here is so cold and dry it won’t stay in place! Mon Dieu, this dreadful climate! I can’t stop shivering all the time; it’s absolutely freezing!’
I didn’t want to talk about the cold. I’d heard enough complaints about it lately.
Anne-Sophie sat down heavily, turned to look out of the huge bay window, and said nothing.
‘Thanks again for the chocolates, but usually you reserve them for your Valentine,’ I said eventually.
‘I know, I know. Don’t worry, I’ve prepared him some sweet treats for later tonight.’
A smiling and very attractive waitress approached. I’d never seen her before and decided she must be new.
‘A glass of champagne, pleeease!’ begged Anne-Sophie desperately.
She looked over the little folded menus to my side of the table. ‘Oh, good, you’ve already got some appetisers!’
She had suddenly brightened upon seeing the food. She helped herself, chewing slowly, and contentment lit up her face.
Food is a comfort when you’re upset, isn’t it? For a while Anne-Sophie could forget her troubles while sipping her champagne and taking pleasure in eating. Neither of us spoke. We simply wanted to appreciate what we had on our plates and in our glasses, whilst listening to the piano music, and gazing out of the bay window. In the dry, clear air the view of the city lights was breathtaking.
At last Anne-Sophie was ready to tell me what had put her in such a rage.
‘Guess who followed me up here with his stupid little I’m really trying to learn about your rich and fascinating culture expression on his face to wish me a happy Valentine’s Day with this box of chocolates.’
‘Spaulding?’
Anne-Sophie raised her eyebrows. ‘How did you know?’
‘Well, I didn’t say anything, but I got the feeling that he wasn’t completely insensitive to your charms when we saw him at your company Christmas party.’
‘Really? It was that obvious? Anyhow, he just told me that he’s crazy about me … the nerve.’
‘I guess the magical atmosphere of Valentine’s Day gave him the courage to offer you some aphrodisiac food—’
‘I’m married, and so is he,’ Anne-Sophie cut in sharply. ‘And you know that I think Valentine’s Day should only be for couples.’
‘Like it is in France.’
‘Exactly. How I despise this profit-making, ultra-sweet and syrupy celebration where anybody can be a Valentine to anyone. It’s so hypocritical.’
I wasn’t going to argue. Having grown up across the pond, she would never understand how fun and special this day was for us in the States. I didn’t tell her that I gave many Valentine cards to my co-workers, and that I received plenty in return. However, she might have had a point about the intense commercialisation of the occasion.
‘If it’s not true love, maybe Spaulding’s just ready to have an affair,’ I added. ‘You know, a torrid adventure with a gorgeous Frenchwoman like you? How exciting!’
I giggled. But Anne-Sophie didn’t.
Her scowl made me laugh even more. Finally, used to being teased by me, she shrugged and continued her story. She told me that she’d informed Spaulding right there and then that he would be hugely disappointed; that she wasn’t a sex addict, like most of the Frenchwomen he’d seen in movies. She’d also told him that he should be ashamed of wanting to cheat on his wife, the mother of his four children, and that in any case she wasn’t going to leave a smart, gorgeous husband for a fling with a guy who looked stupid and had absolutely no taste in clothes (referring to Spaulding’s habit of wearing blindingly white sneakers to travel home in after work with his bland, poorly cut grey pinstripe suit), and no idea about food. These two negative qualities always stopped Anne-Sophie from wanting to know anyone better.
She took a large sip of her champagne, then wolfed down two caramelised ginger garlic shrimps.
‘Hmm, these are so good!’
Taking some more shrimps, she continued her story, which was really starting to amuse me.
‘When I think that I used to feel sorry for him for his terrible clothes and dreary food habits, and I even thought he was a nice guy! Well, I was just trying to educate him in a way …’
‘Sure, with your wonderful French savoir-vivre,’ I replied in a mocking tone.
‘Exactement, ma chère! He could look rather fine with the right clothes on … Anyhow, I took the chocolates for you – flavoured Coeurs Noirs, 75 per cent pure cocoa. You love them, don’t you? And they’re good for you, too.’
I knew about the aphrodisiac power of chocolate but I was a little doubtful about the health benefits. I told Anne-Sophie as much.
She answered by showing me the box, as if that proved anything.
‘With their high amount of cocoa? These are definitely healthy. You can trust me. I know.’
Right. The French know everything, and especially about food, don’t they?
‘Anyhow, I took the box of chocolates that Spaulding gave me and was starting to walk away, leaving him standing there like a vegetable, when I looked back and saw that his mouth was wide open. So I turned, ripped off the giant red silk rose that was attached to the chocolates, and stuck it in his mouth! I just couldn’t resist. And then I left him there with the rose between his teeth!’
I burst out laughing, wishing I could have witnessed the scene. Anne-Sophie, although a typical well-mannered bourgeoise Française, full of principles, could be very funny and unpredictable with her moodiness.
‘That wasn’t too nice of you.’
‘Maybe, but I believe it was the only way to make him aware that I’m not interested.’
‘The poor guy may be feeling pretty miserable right now if he truly has feelings for you,’ I said. ‘We may even see him here soon.’
‘Do you think so?’ She looked around with a terrified expression, changing to relief once she was sure that there was no Spaulding in sight.
‘I think he probably got the message,’ I added drily.
After a minute, Anne-Sophie declared with a big enigmatic smile: ‘Well, it’s not the first time that I’ve had to break someone’s heart!’
‘Right, I forgot: the undeniable charm of the Frenchies!’
She made a face and I was happy to see that her good mood was holding.
I sympathised with this Spaulding, in a way. He’d looked a bit insecure and strange to me when I’d seen him at the Christmas party. He’d been following Anne-Sophie everywhere, like a little dog, gazing at her constantly. Needless to say, his wife hadn’t been at the party, and neither had Anne-Sophie’s husband. I’d attended the event in his place, which was a real treat for me because the food was fantastic!
‘Actually, you should have left him the chocolates. He needs them more than I do right now. They would alleviate his misery. You’ve told me about the benefit of chocolate in lifting depression.’
‘He can get himself some more, can’t he?’
I opened my box of Coeurs Noirs, put it on the tiny tabl
e, and the two of us admired the beautiful glossy heart-shaped pieces of dark chocolate. We sniffed with intense delight the aromas of cardamom, pink pepper, vanilla and bergamot. Spaulding might not have good dress sense but when it came to chocolates I took my hat off to him.
I was staring into the box of dark deliciousness, wondering whether to start eating them straight away or whether to wait. What a dilemma!
But before I had time to make a decision about this delicate matter I heard a voice I didn’t recognise approaching the table.
‘Hello! I’m Mary-Whitney Smith Monroe.’
We both looked up. Then Anne-Sophie gave a sharp cry of panic, nearly dropping the precious box of Coeurs Noirs.
‘Oh, mon Dieu!’ Her face had turned completely white. ‘Spaulding’s wife!’ she whispered in my ear.
The unwelcome arrival was an ageing hippie type with an odd smile on her face. She was very tall, and skinny with it. She looked unhealthy to me, with her pallid complexion. Her abundant blondish hair fell shapelessly to her shoulders. She was wearing a long baggy dress under an overlong faded sheepskin coat. Both garments had seen better days.
I spotted Spaulding in the background, just leaving the room, the red silk rose in his hand.
Mary-Whitney pulled up a chair and joined us at our table without asking our consent.
‘You’re Anne-Sophie, aren’t you?’ she said sharply.
‘Yes, I am,’ answered my friend, not at all at ease.
Did Mary-Whitney know that her husband had a crush on Anne-Sophie, and was probably hoping to have an affair with her? Was that why she was here? Why else would she be?
‘Well, I’ll get right to the point since I don’t have much time. Spaulding just told me everything. I came here straight after he phoned me while having a nervous breakdown in the restaurant foyer downstairs.’
‘Was he really?’ Anne-Sophie asked with a big sigh. Clearly she’d rather have been somewhere else.