One Menu at a Time

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One Menu at a Time Page 4

by Carolyn Hughey


  I wasn’t about to touch that comment with a ten-foot pole. “That’s the reason I have this business. So, okay, we can do a short interview over the phone.”

  “I’m assuming your food is good and I won’t be disappointed.”

  “I have references if you’d like them.”

  “No, that won’t be necessary. I like your confidence. Okay, let me tell you first that Sally is a vegetarian. I’m not. The more meat, the better I like it.”

  “Tell me what kind of vegetarian she is.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Does she eat eggs, dairy, or none of those?”

  “Well, I don’t know what kind of label you put on what she eats. Ask me some questions.”

  “All right. Give me a typical day’s worth of Sally’s meals.”

  “She has tea and toast for breakfast—brings a banana to work with her as her lunch, comes home after school—she’s a librarian—and has more tea and toast. Then for dinner, she’ll have cereal…I’ll have a Hungry-Man TV dinner.”

  I wanted to laugh at his description, but I didn’t think it would be good for business. “Uh, Mike, that’s actually not a vegetarian.”

  “It’s not? Well, that’s what she calls herself.”

  “Okay. So tell me. Does she eat fish by chance?”

  “She does eat fish on rare occasions…if we’re at a restaurant.”

  “How about soy products, tofu, beans, or grains?”

  “No. I don’t think so. Wait, let me ask her.” I could hear him shouting until finally a shuffling sound and Sally was on the phone.

  “Jamie, let me give you a little bit of the lowdown here. I had no idea my husband was having problems with the meals I was serving him—I thought I was doing a good job, but I guess he’s decided this is what he wants, so have at it.” The phone went silent.

  Swell. Just what I needed…to be in the middle of a family feud. It was apparent this wasn’t their first disagreement.

  “So what do you say?” he asked. “Can you make something elegant for tonight?”

  “Sure, let’s go over the foods you like.” I took an extensive list of his favorites and what he wanted for the evening’s meal. “Okay, I think this is a good start. So how many people are we feeding?”

  “Just the four of us, but if you could make more so I can have it for another night, I’d be most grateful.”

  “Okay. How about a stuffed filet of sole with a cheese sauce?”

  “I’m hungry already. And you’ll make vegetables and potatoes to go with it?”

  “Uh, I don’t think you’ll need potatoes since it’s a bread-based stuffing with crab and shrimp, but I’ll make two vegetables if you want. How does that sound?”

  “That would be outstanding.” His voice was filled with enthusiasm. “And how about dessert? Can you do that too?”

  “I can. Do have anything particular in mind that you’d like me to make?”

  “Nope. Just surprise me. Mmm…I can’t wait. So we’ll meet here at my place at five-thirty and I’ll have a check in hand.”

  I could hear Bailey’s pajama-covered feet shuffling against the wooden floors. “Ann Amie,” she said rubbing her eyes. I put my finger up to my lips to quiet her and she leaned against my legs, her hair sticking out at every angle, and whispered, “Brekfist.” I acknowledged with a nod and held up a finger.

  “Okay, Mike. All I need is your address and we’re good to go.”

  “Yeah, I guess that would help, huh?” He chuckled. “The corner of Regent Place and Flatbush Avenue in Prospect Park. We live in a duplex, so I won’t give you the house number, but I’ll be saving you a space to park right in front of the house and waving my arms like a madman. You won’t miss me.”

  “Terrific. Then I have what I need, so I’ll see you tonight at five-thirty sharp. Will the table be set?”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. Will you do that too?”

  “I can, if you want me to. Unless, of course, Sally would rather.”

  “Are you kidding? She hates being a housewife. I’m sure she’d rather have you do it.”

  A queasy uncertain feeling erupted in my stomach. “I really don’t want to come between you and your wife. I feel terrible knowing she’s already decided she doesn’t like me.”

  “Leave that to me. Everything will be fine.”

  “Okay. Would you like me to pick up some flowers for the table?”

  “If you think it will get me a raise.”

  “Well, I don’t know about a raise, but I know it’ll make a good impression. Afterward, you can give them to your lovely wife as a peace offering.”

  “Nice touch, chef. Your boyfriend must think you’re quite a catch.”

  I let the comment slide. “I guess that’s all for now. If I have any questions, do I want to call you or Sally?”

  He snorted like a bull ready for combat. “It’s much safer to call me. Thank you, Jamie. I’m delighted to have found you and I’m looking forward to a wonderful dinner tonight and having some really good meals on a regular basis.” Sally must have walked by. “What?” he said. There was silence for a moment. “Ooh, if looks could kill.”

  “Okay, like I said, I have everything I need. I’ll see you later.” I disconnected, telling myself I shouldn’t worry about their marriage. This was a business deal and I finally had a customer. I reached down for Bailey and cuddled her in my arms and danced around the room singing the theme song from The Apprentice reality show. Bailey giggled when I put her in the chair and filled her bowl with cereal, poured in the milk, and handed her a spoon. I texted Cassie to let her know I needed the truck.

  While Bailey ate her food, I prepared a grocery list from the recipes, now thankful the late hours and time I’d put into getting everything prepared to run my business provided me with everything I needed to accommodate my customers. Life was about to get better.

  Melt three ounces butter in a frying pan, and duck behind something before the wife picks up the pan and hits her husband over the head and this turns out to be his funeral instead of a party. And assuming she only hits him, then it’s okay to add the onions, celery, and garlic and sauté until tender, about five minutes. Let their conflicted marriage serve as one more reminder that you’re right about staying away from unholy matrimony and your sister is full of bologna and all those friends trying to talk you into getting involved are dead wrong.

  Sprinkle the flour over top of the melted butter; add the parsley and whisk continuously for two minutes until the mixture browns and thickens slightly. Lower the heat; measure out the wine and milk in a measuring cup and pour into the frying pan stirring continuously until thickened. Remove from the burner and fold in the shrimp, crabmeat, and the one cup of fresh breadcrumbs you’ve made from two slices of bread that you processed in the food processor.

  Melt the remaining butter in a rectangular baking dish and dip each filet into the liquid, making sure to cover it completely. Place the filet on a flat surface and spread a nice layer of stuffing over top to within a half inch from each end. Now roll the roulade from thin end to the thicker end and place the sealed end of the filet in the buttered baking dish. Place under a broiler just until the top of the fish browns—approximately three to five minutes. Makes eight roulades.

  Melt the butter in a saucepan, add the flour, and blend until you have created a paste (this is called a roux). Add the milk, wine, and salt; whisk until thickened. Add the shredded cheese and stir until completely melted and the sauce is smooth and creamy. Makes one and a half cups of sauce to serve over the stuffed roulades.

  Despite the heavy traffic, I made pretty good time to Prospect Park where Mike and his family lived. As promised, he was waving his arms madly flagging me down when he saw the van. He gestured to a spot in front of the house that he’d reserved with orange cones and removed them as I neared the spot.

  “Hi, I’m Jamie,” I said extending my hand and smiling to myself because he looked nothing like I’d pictured. He
had dark hair, graying at the temples, black horn-rimmed glasses, and bushy eyebrows that rose above the rims, and he was dressed like he was ready for a court hearing. Having heard the interaction between him and his wife, I had no doubt it would be his hearing—perhaps in divorce court.

  “Good to meet you, Jamie.” I continued to open the back of the van and began pulling out the insulated bags. “Here, let me carry those in for you,” he said.

  “Great. I’ll just grab the flowers and follow your lead.”

  Their apartment had a quintessential air of comfort, with a white plush sofa and coordinating area rugs that covered part of the wooden floors. A fireplace blazed out heat and sent a warm glow through the room. He led me to the dining room. “Okay, so what do you need from me?” The dining room had a large cherry maple table with wooden high-back chairs; the seats were covered in beige suede cushions that matched the drapes.

  I removed my coat and prepared to get to work. “You’ve preheated the oven like I asked?” He nodded. “Okay,” I said, unzipping the bag, “then let’s put these side dishes in the oven to keep them warm. What time is your company coming?”

  “They’ll be here at six o’clock.”

  “Okay, then I’d better hustle because I need to broil the fish just before I leave, and assemble the dessert. I was afraid it would get messed up on the drive over here.”

  “What did you make?”

  “I actually made two things. Chocolate-dipped strawberries and a chocolate rum cake.”

  “Mmm.” He leaned over and smelled it as I garnished the center hole with tropical fruit slices and added a few flowers on the side of the base of the dish. “Wow, I may just get that raise after all.”

  “That’ll be a real good thing because then you’ll be anxious for the next time I cook for you.” I handed him the platter with the strawberries and carried the cake to the dining room and placed it on the buffet. “Okay, now I need a tablecloth, the china you’ll be using tonight, silverware, wine, and water glasses.” I stopped talking, suddenly aware I hadn’t suggested wine. “Did you think to buy wine?”

  “Absolutely, and it’s chilling.”

  “Terrific. Nice touch with the fireplace, by the way.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought too.” He pointed to the china closet. “Everything you need is in there.”

  Work finished, I took one last look around before I prepared to leave.

  “I’m sorry you didn’t get to meet Sally,” he said. “She’s real angry with me about calling you without telling her beforehand. I’m hoping after she tastes your food, she’ll realize I’ve done her a big favor by making things much easier after working all day. The food smells fantastic and is making me salivate.” He checked his watch. “I’ve never seen anyone move as quickly as you in the kitchen. I guess that’s what being a professional is all about, and there’s ten minutes to spare.” He pulled out a wad of cash and peeled the bills off in my hand. “And here’s a little extra something for you.”

  “Thank you very much, Mike. We’ll chat tomorrow.”

  “Hey, you didn’t tell me how to serve this food.”

  “I left you a card filled with instructions on the counter near the stove.”

  “In layman’s terms?”

  “Yep, in layman’s terms.”

  I left, wondering whether Sally would be dining with their guests tonight.

  I unlocked the van and slid across the seat anxious to head for home. A contented feeling settled inside me. I had my first customer, and all I could do was break into song, singing at the top of my lungs, and being grateful it was dark outside so no one could see me.

  The apartment was quiet when I entered. Cassie kept Bailey with her when I’d picked up the truck and I guess they were doing something special since they weren’t back yet. I had to admit that I felt slightly disappointed they weren’t home, but they’d probably gone out for dinner or stopped at Lucy’s for dinner.

  Out of habit, I picked up the receiver from the house phone and felt another spike of enthusiasm when I listened to a message from another prospective customer asking if I offered gift certificates. I could barely contain myself as I dialed the number. “I’m Into Something Good” played through my mind. I introduced myself when Milton Stein answered the phone.

  “My mother has a birthday this week and I thought buying your service for a week would be a real nice present for her,” he said in a nasally voice. “Do you offer gift certificates?”

  “I absolutely do. How about you?” I asked. “Do you have someone who cooks for you?”

  “No, but I’m actually thinking of trying your service first—you know, to see if you’re any good. So if I purchase the gift certificate and I try your food and don’t like it, can I get my money back?”

  I laughed. “Fair enough, but I think you’ll be absolutely thrilled. How’d you hear about me?”

  “You shoved a flyer under my door. My dog loved the smell of food on the flyer and ripped it to shreds. Fortunately, I was able to retrieve your phone number from the remaining soggy pieces scattered on the floor, although it was somewhat faded from his saliva.”

  “Thank you, doggie. Are you free during the day?”

  “Do you have any dry cleaning that needs to be done?” he asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “I work for Royal Dry Cleaning. If you have anything you want laundered or dry cleaned I can pick it up and then we can discuss your service.”

  “Uh, I’d rather meet you somewhere.” I wasn’t accustomed to giving out my address to strangers. I was still a small-town girl and rather rattled by some of the sights I’d seen. “Just give me an address and a time and I’ll be there. Where do you live, Milton?”

  “I’m in Brooklyn, upstairs over the dry cleaners on Ashland and DeKalb Streets. You know, right where they intersect and maybe a few blocks back, not far from the Long Island University-Brooklyn campus.”

  “Oh, sure, I know where that is. Sounds like you have a dreadful cold. Are you feeling all right?”

  “I always sound like this.”

  I shuddered, knowing I wasn’t going to win any contests with my approach. “Gee, I’m sorry. I must have a bad connection.”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, so how does ten o’clock tomorrow sound? I’ll come into the dry cleaners if you’d like, or we can schedule something in the evening.”

  “Well, I don’t know if my boss will be there. If she is, we can’t talk…That’s why I wanted to come to your place.”

  “Yes, but if she’s not, you can, right?”

  “Yeah. Okay, but if you see a lady with me,” he warned, “we can’t talk, so if I have on a green cap it means she’s my boss, or if I have a red cap on, it’s my mother—she works here too, and we can’t talk then either.” He sighed.

  “Hmm, I see your dilemma. When is your day off?”

  Thursday morning, Renee arrived at the apartment early to stay with Bailey so I could meet with Milton. It seemed much easier on both of us. I’d already mailed Milton the gift certificate after he’d given me his credit card information so he could give it to his mother on her birthday, and reassured him I’d give a full refund if he didn’t like the meal I’d prepared for him to taste.

  “How about coming for dinner tonight,” Renee said as she watched Bailey zoom around on her pink scooter, barely missing the wall as she took the corner. “Careful, cowgirl,” Renee said.

  “Otay, Nene.”

  “So, how’s business?” she asked, turning in my direction.

  “Pretty good. I cooked for a dinner party the other night for a family in Prospect Park, but…it’s a long story. The husband called me first without telling his wife and she’s in a snit now and refuses the service regardless of how much they enjoyed the meal the other night. He, on the other hand, is determined to have me cook their meals.” I shrugged. “So the long and short of it is, I had a customer and maybe now I don’t.”

  “Well,
he may need you after she walks out on him.”

  “You know,” I snickered, “that’s what I was thinking too. Quite honestly, I really don’t like being in the middle of something like that, anyway, but it sure would be nice to have a regular customer. It did give me encouragement, though.”

  “I can assure you, if she walks out on him, it has nothing to do with you. It’s a problem they’ve had for a while now.”

  “No doubt. Nevertheless, I feel bad.” I sighed. “And today, I’m meeting a guy who purchased a gift certificate for his mother and thinks he wants the service, but asked to taste my food first in case he doesn’t like it, because then he wants a refund.”

  She laughed. “Sounds like you’re getting all the crazies in New York. But what are you going to do if you can’t find more customers?”

  “I don’t know…maybe,” I shook my head in frustration, “I don’t know. I guess go back to work at a restaurant.”

  “What about Bailey?”

  “I don’t know, Renee. Ask me another day, okay? The fact that I might have two possible customers from this meeting tonight gives me hope.”

  “But how much longer can you hold out financially?”

  “Not much.”

  “Hey, I have a few friends coming over tonight for dinner and I’d like you to meet them. I’ve told them all about your service and they seemed very interested.”

  “You sure this isn’t another one of your ploys to get me to meet an eligible bachelor friend of yours?”

  “Jamie, if you’re not interested in finding more customers through my channel of friends, forget I said anything.”

  “You’re right, that wasn’t very gracious of me. I’m sorry. But you have to admit that you are guilty of picking up where Mom left off by trying to get me married.”

  “I won’t deny it, but that’s only because I’ve wanted what I thought was best for you, but it’s not what I’m doing this time.”

 

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