1 cup red wine
¼ cup chopped basil
1 tsp. dried oregano
2 bay leaves
1 T. sugar
kosher salt, freshly ground black pepper
Heat the oil in your heaviest sauté pan and sauté the mirepoix (onions, celery, carrots). When the carrots are soft, add the garlic. Sauté until the garlic just starts getting brown, then add all the other ingredients except the black pepper. Simmer for at least 1 hour, preferably 2, stirring every 5 minutes or so to prevent sticking as the sauce has a high sugar content from the tomatoes. Add a little more stock or wine as needed. Cool and chill. I like my sauce chunky, but you can use one of those long mixers that you just stick right in the sauce to smooth it out if you prefer. This sauce can be frozen in plastic bags for future use.
Seven
Heaven peeked out the pass-through window from the kitchen. She could see Jim Dittmar at the table with the Vangirov duo. They were deep in conversation, probably about some obscure piano riff, Heaven figured. She had called Jim and asked him to come and have dinner with the father and son. She had also asked him to fit Louis into the program next week. If he agreed of course, after hearing him play, that the kid was a genius at the keyboard.
Murray Steinblatz was standing in the kitchen, getting in the way. “Murray, don’t you have something to do? We’re busy back here. That must mean the dining room is full. Go greet someone, for God’s sake, and get out of the way,” Heaven grumbled.
Murray chomped on a red pepper strip. He appeared to be in no hurry to go anywhere. “So, you’ll do it?” he asked.
“You know I hate going out to the stage when I’ve been on the line cooking. I’m hot and sweaty and messy. Why won’t you?”
“Come on, H, this kid is your discovery.”
“Big discovery. All I had to do was go into the dining room. He came to me. It’s not exactly like John Hammond scouring the South for guitar pickers.”
“And Jim is your friend, and famous at that. You should welcome him back to town yourself.”
Heaven pushed past Murray with two orders of eggplant stuffed with ricotta cheese, caramelized onions, and toasted hazelnuts, and topped with marinara sauce, one of the most popular meatless dishes on the menu. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Give me a ten-minute warning, though, so I can at least put on some lipstick.”
“Now, will you please stop bothering the boss?” It was Sara Baxter, the grill queen at night, talking. Sara and Murray teased each other constantly and mercilessly. “If you don’t leave the kitchen now you won’t be in any shape to introduce anyone,” Sara muttered to Murray as she plated two orders of salmon and one duck breast.
“Promises, promises,” Murray said, but Heaven noticed he left the kitchen rapidly.
The next hour was a blur of orders, plates going out, pasta being sauced, shrimp being seared. The noise level from the dining room told Heaven it must be approaching nine o’clock. Suddenly a familiar face peeked into the kitchen from the pass-through, and it didn’t belong to a waiter looking for salads. “Guess what, Heaven? This is so exciting!” It was Pam Whiteside from the mayor’s office. She must have decided from the look on Heaven’s face that it wasn’t the time for a guessing game. “Bob Daultman is back in town, and somehow he heard about your open mike night and he wanted to be here. He brought one cameraman, too. You don’t mind, do you?”
The next two faces Heaven saw were those of Chris Snyder and Joe Long, who produced these open mike nights. They had obviously been shocked by the sight of a camera crew, however small, and were trying to get Heaven’s attention by jumping up and down behind Pam Whiteside. They were making gestures suggesting that they could kill Heaven for not filling them in.
“Surprise, surprise,” Heaven said over the top of Pam’s head. “Joe and Chris, this is Pam Whiteside, who works in the mayor’s office.” She didn’t give them a chance to get a word in. “Pam has brought the famous filmmaker Bob Daultman, who is going to be filming here in town through the Eighteenth and Vine district dedication. Say hello to Pam.”
Pam turned and threw the young men a smile. Heaven hurried oh. “I’m sure Mr. Daultman would like a drink. Why don’t you get him set up, gentlemen? Pam, I’m so sorry there isn’t a table for you all. They’re usually all filled up by eight. But do you see Jim Dittmar out there? He’s sitting with an older man and a young boy, who is an exceptional pianist. I bet we could crowd you and Bob at that table, couldn’t we, guys?”
Chris and Joe had been ready to tell Heaven there was a Bob Daultman look-alike in the dining room with a bogus cameraman. Now they were smiling and nodding yes to Heaven, with the kind of expressions people in the theater get on their faces when a famous director pops up, even one who makes documentary films and so can’t cast them in his next production. “I’ll go downstairs and get some extra chairs,” Joe said.
“And I’ll take you over and introduce you to everyone at the table,” Chris said grandly. “You won’t believe this kid when he starts to play his Duke Ellington medley,” he proclaimed, even though he had no idea if the boy knew any Duke Ellington. It sounded right.
In just a minute, so it seemed to Heaven, Murray was poking his head through the pass-through. “It’s time,” he said firmly.
“Sara, give this risotto another minute. It goes with the quail you’re working on,” Heaven said as she threw a handful of Parmesan on the rice and whipped off her apron. She stepped into the kitchen bathroom and came out a minute later with eyes and lips, something accomplished with the first aid makeup kit she kept in there. On the hooks where the kitchen staff hung their jackets and aprons there was a man’s sport jacket from the sixties, one of those sharkskin, iridescent, skinny-lapel numbers. It was the emergency, I-have-to-look-like-a-hip-businesswoman jacket. She had dressed up the jacket with several bug pins from the fifties: a dragonfly with rhinestones, an enamel ladybug, and a great spider with multicolored glass legs. Heaven removed her chef’s jacket and put the sports coat on over her James Beard Foundation tee-shirt and black leggings. It worked, “I’ll be right back,” she promised, and went out into the dining room.
Heaven scanned the darkened room. Her eyes met Joe’s. She gestured to indicate he should come to her. He made his way through the crowd. “What’s up, boss?”
“The beatnik film guy . . .”
Joe nodded. “Who knew he actually wore the beret in real life?”
“Usually,” Heaven reminded him, “I don’t interfere in your staging of the show, but let me just give you a tip. I heard this guy talk about himself at the committee meeting the other day, and he will put a serious cramp on the timing of your evening. Not that it isn’t interesting stuff, it just isn’t the kind of thing that keeps folks on the edge of their seats. Let me ask him to come up to the stage and tell the crowd about the jazz project that he’s in town for, then we’ll follow it up with the real thing, jazz from the kid, then Jim Dittmar. I know that the kid will blow the house down, and Jim is a homeboy who made good.”
Joe nodded. “Then Murray can pick right up with the list of performers I gave him earlier. Sounds like a plan.”
Murray was already up on the small stage at the back of Cafe Heaven, warming up the crowd. “This show tonight is so big, I knew you wouldn’t believe me when I announced all the talent. So I asked our fearless leader to come out and tell you about it herself. And here she is in person, our angel of mercy, Heaven Lee.”
Heaven couldn’t help but blush when the guests started stomping and yelling “Hea-ven, Hea-ven” like she was a bad talk show host.
“Cut it out or I’ll start watering down the margaritas,” she threatened. “Tonight, in addition to our usual swell combination of hipsters, players, and candlestick makers, we have three very special people here. Bob Daultman is world renowned for his documentary films. He’s in town to film the dedication of the historic Eighteenth and Vine jazz district next weekend.”
Bob Daultman stood up and tossed a few kisses into the ai
r. The crowd applauded enthusiastically.
Heaven continued. “Today, a great talent walked into Cafe Heaven. He’s only eleven years old, and already he’s a jazz pianist extraordinaire. He’s come even farther than Bob Daultman to be in Kansas City for the event. He’s from Belorussia, which was a part of the Soviet Union.”
The crowd murmured, looking at the only child in the room.
“He’s going to play for us tonight, and believe me, you’re in for a real treat. Stand up and take your first bow in Kansas City, Louis Armstrong Vangirov,” Heaven said as she pointed at Louis and smiled. He rose and bowed solemnly. The crowd went wild. With the name, the bad polyester suit, and the ears that were just a little too big for the head, Louis was already a star.
“And that’s not all,” Heaven yelled. The crowd calmed down a little. “One of Kansas City’s own has returned home from two years in Europe. Jim Dittmar has agreed to be the music coordinator for the Eighteenth and Vine dedication. He also has a new CD coming out soon, Jim Dittmar Live in Paris, and tonight he’s live at Cafe Heaven.”
Jim had always had a good following in Kansas City. Most of the crowd hadn’t heard he was back in town yet so there was much clapping and stomping again. Heaven let it go on for a while, then she whistled, not exactly a ballpark whistle, but loud enough. “So, now you know how special tonight is. I want you to tip your waiter well. I want you to drink and eat and enjoy yourselves like there is no tomorrow. I also want you to welcome Bob Daultman to the stage for a minute. Bob, will you tell the Cafe Heaven crew about your jazz documentary?”
Heaven pointed at the celebrity table again, and the filmmaker, making sure his cameraman was catching it all, stood up with a modest expression on his face, as if he were really honored to be asked to talk. Daultman smiled graciously at her as he stepped up onstage. Heaven hoped Joe had briefed Murray and they had come up with a way to keep this guy’s speech down to ten minutes. She took a last look around the room for trouble spots. Everyone looked happy, so she went back to the kitchen.
The night had been a big success. Heaven had listened and watched as much as she could. People had taken her advice and continued to order food, so she hadn’t been able to leave the kitchen.
Bob Daultman had been charming and brief, spending only five minutes onstage.
Louis had wowed them, of course, playing the same tunes he’d auditioned with in the afternoon. Then Jim Dittmar had played and sung “My Little Red Top,” a King Pleasure tune that he dedicated to Heaven. The crowd loved it. After that he called Louis Armstrong Vangirov to the stage and together they played “Moten’s Swing,” a tune from Kansas City bandleader Bennie Moten, whose hey day had been the 1920s and 30s. The duet, four hands on the keyboard, brought the house down.
Two hours and a dozen acts later, the show was over and the guests were slowly clearing out. Heaven had turned her sauté station over to the night staff to break down. She was working the room. Louis and his father were heading for the door slowly, because everyone wanted to shake the hand of the kid. She wanted to, too.
“Well, what a Kansas City debut,” Heaven said as she approached them. “Thank you for making it at my cafe, Louis. By the way, how come you took your jazz tour of America in May? Aren’t you supposed to be in school in Belorussia?”
Louis’s father smiled and shrugged. “His mother and I, we thought this was more important—for his future. We brought all the books and lessons with us. Every morning, Louis and I study.”
Louis was excited, eyes bright with the thrill of a good crowd. “Thank you, Heaven,” he said, and gave her a little bow, then he looked to his father for approval on his English.
Heaven bowed back. “Thank you, Louis.” She looked at his dad. “Is Jim getting you fixed up to play at the dedication?”
“Next Saturday,” Mr. Vangirov said proudly. “And the two will do another number together. We will see you there?”
“I’m setting up all the food, so I’ll be there for the duration. Now, go home and get into bed, or I’ll get in trouble for endangering the welfare of a minor.” Both of the Russians looked blankly at Heaven. She hugged them and then turned toward the bar. She hoped there was a glass of wine with her name on it Her eyes searched the room. If Jim Dittmar was still around she’d buy him a drink, just to thank him for being so nice to the kid. He was nowhere to be seen. Heaven felt a little let down. Of course, she had been discouraging him, hadn’t she? He probably left with some cute thing from the Art Institute. It was just as well.
“Tony, may I have a glass of that Viognier from Calara?” she asked with disappointment in her voice.
Jim Dittmar paced up and down the alley behind the cafe, afraid Heaven would come out the back door any minute and ask him what he was doing there. So far, only the dish washer had come out to make a trip to the Dumpster.
Jim checked his watch for the fourth time in five minutes. He hated this part. This slinking around in alleys, it made him feel so guilty.
“Jim, darling, what an amusing group. I couldn’t get people to stop talking to me, asking for my autograph. They love me here in the heartland.” Bob Daultman came up the alley with a cheerful gait, his beret at the perfect tilt.
“Let’s get this over with. I hate these clandestine meetings.”
“Fine,” Daultman snapped. “Do it Thursday and the kid is your mule. I don’t recall you being so offended by our meetings in Europe. We drank some good wine had some fun while we planned our little jaunts.”
“Yes, and I came back home because I didn’t want to make those little jaunts anymore. But the next thing I know, you’re on the phone, giving me an ultimatum.”
Daultman patted Jim’s cheek. “What did you think, that the buyer wouldn’t miss a five-carat perfect diamond? You were so naughty, Jim. And this celebration is too good to pass up. Besides, I love seeing your roots. I hope I get to meet your son while I’m here.”
“Don’t even think about it, Bobby,” Jim said quietly. “We’re not thugs. Don’t even hint at threatening my family. I’m in, like I told you.”
“Good, because I hated losing the cash we would have got for that stone. But now you’re going to make it up to me, like a good boy. And that was innocent curiosity about your son. After all, we were like a family in Europe, now, weren’t we?” Daultman turned without another word and disappeared down the alley.
Jim Dittmar paced for another minute. He wanted to go back into the restaurant, have a drink, flirt with Heaven. But he felt disgusted with himself. He knew he’d get over it, but right now he didn’t have the stomach to look at his own reflection in the mirror behind the bar. He headed for his mom’s car, parked down the street, his footsteps ringing hollow in the empty alley.
Stuffed Cabbage
1 large head of green cabbage
For filling
1 onion, diced
2 T. each butter and canola oil
1 lb. ground turkey or ground turkey breast
1 lb. mushrooms, if possible include some shitakes, sliced
1 yellow or red pepper, diced
1 cup cooked barley, hulled or pearled
¼ cup chopped fresh dill
1 tsp. kosher salt
½ tsp. ground black pepper
1 T. sweet Hungarian paprika
2 eggs, beaten
1 cup feta cheese, crumbled
For sauce
1 onion, peeled and diced
2 medium carrots, peeled and diced 2 celery stalks, diced
2 T. each oil and butter
3 oz. tomato paste
1 28 oz. can crushed tomatoes
1 28 oz. can whole Italian tomatoes
1 cup chicken or vegetable broth
½ cup brown sugar
½ cup malt vinegar
juice of 1 lemon
kosher salt, white ground pepper
In a big pot of boiling water, parboil the cabbage and as the outer leaves soften, carefully peel them off and put them on paper towels to dry. My
friend Bonnie Winston says this is the old-fashioned way. She does the freezer trick: put the whole head of cabbage in the freezer a day before you want to make your dish. Take the cabbage out enough ahead of time for it to defrost, and when it does, the leaves will peel off just as if they had been parboiled.
Filling
Heat half the oil and butter in a large sauté pan and sauté the mushrooms. When the mushrooms are soft and cooked, remove from heat, cool, and chop fine. Use the other half of the oil and butter and sauté the onion until soft. Add the turkey and the pepper. When the turkey is cooked, remove from heat. In a large mixing bowl, combine the mushrooms, turkey and onion mixture, barley, cheese, seasonings, and the beaten eggs. Fill each cabbage leaf with a tablespoon or two of this filling and roll up tightly, tucking the ends under.
Sauce
In a large, heavy saucepan, heat the butter and oil and sauté the mirepoix mixture (onions, carrots, and celery). Add the tomato paste, the tomatoes, and the stock and simmer for at least 40 minutes. Add the sugar and vinegar and simmer another 20 minutes. Season and add the lemon juice. Remove from heat.
Place the cabbage rolls in a baking dish and cover with the red sauce. Bake at 375 degrees for 30-40 minutes, until the sauce is bubbly and hot in the middle of the casserole.
Eight
Hart. Over here.” Heaven was leading a scraggly group of men and women down the middle of Eighteenth Street. She had spotted Hart Kenton when they had walked through the Ruby Theater earlier. Now he was leaving the building, and Heaven wanted a word with him before he took off.
Hart waved at Heaven and headed her way. “What’s up?”
Heaven indicated the group behind her. “The barbecue titans of Kansas City are arguing about the placement of their food stands. I thought this would be easier than the soul food folks. They are selling their product, not being hired to cater, so I don’t see what difference it makes what order the stands are in.”
The Cornbread Killer Page 10