He stared at me, slack-jawed. A beat passed and I smiled up at him. “Come on, Ben. Don’t leave a guy hanging.”
“Jesus, Carver, way to put a man on the spot.” He grabbed the back of his neck, grinning shyly. It was a good look on him. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. Today, of all the days you could have chosen.”
“Really?” My smile wavered. Maybe I should have thought this through. Maybe it was still too soon—it was a lot of pressure, even for someone who’d been out of the closet for half their life. He’d been acting weird all week, and I’d shrugged it off to exam-week stress. We’d both been on edge, but maybe he’d guessed something was up. Maybe he wasn’t ready for a step this serious.
As the sudden doubts and second-guessing started to carry me away, Ben let go of my hand and reached into his pocket.
“Yeah. I was going to wait till dinner, but…” He slid out his own gold ring. “I thought today would be the perfect day to start a new chapter.”
My eyes traced the shining curve of the band, and my hands began to tremble. It was so perfect, and the love that I’d felt for Ben five minutes earlier had somehow tripled in the time it took him to slide the ring onto my finger.
He tugged me to my feet and kissed me, and after several long minutes we pulled apart, breathless. As I stared at this man who’d had my heart for over ten years, I realized I’d had everything I needed right in front of me all along.
“Well, home skillet?” I murmured. “What do ya say?”
A grin wider than I’d ever seen spread across his face. “Let’s do this shit.”
Butternuts about Benny: A Love Song in Gnocchi
Butternuts about Benny: A Love Song in Gnocchi
They say the way to a man’s heart is with food, and Ben is no exception. Gnocchi was one of the first recipes I’d learned to make in culinary school, and probably the thing that made him fall in love with me. The look on his face when he had his first bite… no doubt that’s when I fell in love with him too.
Ingredients
Gnocchi:
1 3-pound butternut squash
1 tablespoon olive oil
1/2 cup finely grated Parmesan cheese
1 large egg, beaten
1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 1/4 cups (or more) all purpose flour
For the sage browned butter sauce:
1/2 cup (1 stick) butter
2 tablespoons chopped fresh sage
Additional grated Parmesan cheese
Preheat oven to 400°F. Remove the tops and cut squash lengthwise in half. Scoop out seeds, then place squash halves, cut side up, on baking sheet. Brush with oil. Roast for about 1 hour until squash is very tender when pierced. Allow to cool, then scoop flesh from squash into food processor and puree until smooth.
Transfer to medium saucepan and stir over medium heat until liquid evaporates and puree thickens, about 5-10 minutes. Allow to cool.
When puree is cool, measure out 2 cups squash puree and mix with salt, ½ cup Parmesan, egg, nutmeg, and salt.
Gradually add flour, 1/2 cup at a time, kneading gently until dough pulls away from the sides of the bowl. If dough is very sticky, add more flour 1 tablespoon at a time.
Turn dough out onto floured surface, then knead gently just until it comes together. Dough may be a little sticky at this point—this is fine.
Cut off chunks of dough, then roll into long ropes about ½-inch thick and cut into 3/4-inch pieces. Roll gnocchi along back of fork tines dipped in flour to make ridges on 1 side (you can skip this part for a more rustic look). Transfer gnocchi to parchment- or foil-lined baking sheets dusted with flour. Repeat with remaining dough.
Bring a large pot of water to boil and lightly salt. Reduce heat to a simmer, and working in batches, cook gnocchi until very tender. Gnocchi will float to surface, but check for doneness as they may not be fully cooked at this point. Remove cooked gnocchi to parchment-lined baking sheets and allow to cool.
For the sage brown butter sauce: Melt butter in heavy skillet over medium heat just until golden brown. Watch it as it can quickly burn. Add chopped sage and stir 1 minute until fragrant. Add gnocchi and cook until heated through and coated with butter.
Season with salt and pepper and serve with additional Parmesan. Bon appetit!
Chef’s Note: You can prepare the gnocchi through step 6 and freeze on parchment-lined sheets, before transferring to freezer bag for up to 1 month. Cook from frozen, without thawing, when ready to eat.
About Cate Ashwood
Cate discovered her love for books of all kinds early on, but romance is where her heart truly lies. She is addicted to the happily ever afters and the journey the characters take to get there. Currently residing in White Rock, B.C, Cate loves living just a stone's throw from the ocean. When she's not writing, she can be found consuming coffee at an alarming rate while wrangling her children, her husband, and their two cats.
Cate loves to hear from readers. You can contact her at [email protected] or on her website http://www.cateashwood.com.
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About Sandra Damien
There’s two sides to Sandra Damien: some days she’s utterly hilarious (at least in her head), and there are times her dark twin reigns. Her stories reflect both, but the one thing that unites them is, of course, love.
In a former life, she used her degree in psychology for the good of mankind, but she has since left the corporate world to concentrate on her true loves: her kids, writing, and finding errant commas—not necessarily in that order. An Australian uproot with a penchant for wine and the sweeter things in life (send chocolate, please), Sandra has found herself settled in Vancouver, Canada, with a partner-who-won’t-commit, three minions, and two Tamaskans.
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Excerpt: The Extra Virgin
By Cate Ashwood
Chapter One
Jeremy
“Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our descent into Toronto. Please ensure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright and locked position, your seat belt is securely fastened, and all carry-on luggage is safely stowed. Thank you.”
I yanked the end of my seat belt until it was so tight it almost cut off circulation to my legs. Closing my eyes, I let out a slow breath, counting to ten as my lungs emptied. It was a minor miracle I’d succeeded in making it through almost the entire trip without dissolving into a full-on panic, but I suspected enduring the landing might be a little more of a challenge.
The gentle downward angle of the plane already had my anxiety primed and we were nowhere near the ground yet.
The woman in the seat next to me offered a smile as she maneuvered her knitting needles and bright purple yarn. “I don’t mean to be rude, but are you all right? You’re quite pale,” she said.
This wasn’t the first time someone had asked me if I was all right based on complexion alone. It was a hazard of having a touch of ginger in my DNA. I attempted a smile, which I’m sure came out as more of a grimace.
“I’m naturally pale… but I’m not exactly a huge fan of air travel,” I admitted.
I listened to the clacking of the needles and imagined them flying out of her hands as the plane’s landing gear hit the runway, impaling me right through the heart. Sure, that was highly unlikely, but my brain tended to run away with me in situations like this when my anxiety was already higher than normal. It usually delved into the worst-case scenarios before I had a chance to slow it down.
“Fear of flying is quite common, I believe. Do you travel often?” she asked, her eyes trained on me as her fingers worked.
“First trip out of Vancouver. Is it obvious?” I made an ef
fort to laugh; I sounded like I was choking. There was a reason this was my first time leaving the city. Fear of dying in a plane crash aside, everything I could ever want was right there at my fingertips: great restaurants (not that I had time to eat at them), great parks (not that I had anyone to enjoy them with), fantastic museums, art galleries, and playhouses (not that I had the disposable cash to pay the admission fees). The possibility was always there, though, and kept me from ever considering going anywhere else.
At least until I’d gotten the phone call informing me I’d made the list for Culinary Master. That was enough motivation to get over my fear of flying—at least in theory—and arrange to take a leave of absence from my job.
And now I was on a plane that may or may not explode in midair.
She bumped me gently with her shoulder. “Not too obvious, no,” she lied. “Are you traveling for work or pleasure?”
“Work. Sort of. I’m going to compete in a cooking competition.”
“That’s exciting. It must be a big event if you’re flying all the way across the country to go.”
Exciting, yes, but also terrifying. “It is. Very big. One of the biggest, actually.”
“How wonderful. I’m sure you’ll do very well.”
She sounded so sure, and god, I wanted to believe her.
Winning Culinary Master would be my greatest accomplishment, and the cash prize was a life-changing amount of money.
I smiled despite the feeling of disquiet that had settled in my gut the moment I’d gotten the call. “Thanks.”
My stomach pitched into my throat as the plane tilted sideways. I looked around the cabin, my gaze darting from passenger to passenger until I remembered the advice my sister had given me.
Unless the flight attendants are shitting themselves with fear, you’ve got nothing to worry about.
Nothing to worry about. I repeated the phrase over and over as I glanced back at the stewardess. She was securing the drink cart, her face a mask of pure boredom. Somehow, that wasn’t as reassuring as it should have been.
The screen embedded in the seat in front of me showed the position and altitude of the aircraft as it traveled, and I concentrated on the number, watching it fall from ten thousand to five hundred to thirty-seven. Inhale. Thirty-four. Exhale. Thirty-two. Inhale, all the way down. When the plane’s wheels hit the runway at twenty-seven feet of altitude, I yelped in surprise, caught completely off guard. I tossed a sheepish grin at the knitter. It was not exactly my finest moment, but I comforted himself with the knowledge that I’d never see this woman again, so what did it matter anyway?
A minute later, a voice came over the intercom. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Pearson International. The local time in Toronto is 6:03 p.m., and it is overcast at twenty-two degrees Celsius. For your safety and comfort, please remain seated with your seat belt securely fastened until the captain turns off the fasten seat belt sign. Thank you for flying Air Canada, and we hope you have a pleasant stay in Toronto or wherever your final destination may be.”
I exhaled hard. This was it. I was finally here.
Dragging my oversized suitcase behind me, I made my way through the swarms of passengers. Off to the side was an area where people waited with signs. The person who’d arranged the trip had let me know there’d be someone there to meet me, someone whose job it was to usher the contestants from airport to hotel. Seeing her standing there, though, my name printed nearly on a large white placard, complete with the Culinary Fare Network logo in the corner, was totally surreal.
I walked toward the woman, her purple sundress swishing as she transferred her weight from one foot to the other. She was wearing the highest heels I’d ever seen, and just as I opened his mouth to introduce myself, she lowered the sign and flashed me a megawatt smile.
“Jeremy, right?”
“Yeah. That’s me.”
“It’s wonderful to meet you. I’m Tabitha.” She held out her hand to shake. “Did you have a good flight?”
“Not bad.” I didn’t want to get into the gory details of how close I’d come to throwing up when the plane took off out of Vancouver. That feeling of my stomach being dragged down as the plane’s wheels left the tarmac had made me feel more ill than the time I’d eaten that salmon filet a few days past its prime.
“That’s great.” Tabitha flipped her wavy brown hair over one shoulder. “Welcome to Toronto and to the Culinary Master team. I’ll be your liaison throughout your time on the show. Anything you need, I’m the one you want to talk to.” She checked her watch, then lifted the sign once again. “We’re waiting for two more, but I think their plane has already touched down. As soon as they arrive, we’ll be off.”
“Oh, sure. Of course.” I lugged my bag off to the side so I wouldn’t block Tabitha from the influx of travelers. It had been an incredibly long day, but happy to have my feet back on solid ground, I definitely didn’t mind waiting a few extra minutes before leaving.
I watched the other passengers arriving, people returning from trips away, welcomed home by the open arms of their families. It almost made me forget about the terror of flying or the fact that there was a possibility that in a few days’ time, I’d be back on a plane, heading home.
I dismissed the thought immediately. I certainly wasn’t going to be the first chef eliminated.
Nope, scratch that. I wasn’t getting eliminated.
Period.
Definitely not.
Probably not, anyway.
A voice boomed through the crowded, pulling me from the brief fantasy I’d indulged in where Darrin Tate, the host of the show, was handing me a check for $100,000.
“You’re with CFN?”
I glanced up to see a man standing in front of me. Sandy-blond tousled hair and blue eyes that were so vivid they almost looked unnatural had me nearly swallowing my tongue. It took me a moment to realize he was taking to Tabitha, not me.
“Wyatt Finley,” he said expectantly. “I’m competing on the show.”
No wonder the network had chosen this guy. Even if he couldn’t cook, he’d bring in the ratings based solely on his appearance. He looked like he’d stepped out of an ad for a surf resort in GQ.
Wyatt had stopped in the flow of traffic, seemingly oblivious to the fact that there were people trying to get around him. He leaned against the extended handle of his suitcase, his posture casual yet emanating oceans of confidence. He looked expectantly at Tabitha, as though he was waiting for her to snap into action and carry his bags. Arrogance oozed from his every pore, and it put me instantly on edge. This was far from the first time I’d encountered self-importance in the culinary world. Inflated egos were as common as microgreens for garnish.
Tabitha seemed completely unfazed. “Fantastic. We just need to wait for one more, and then we can get you to your hotel.”
Deciding that first impressions weren’t always accurate, I held out his hand. “I’m Jeremy. Cohen. One of the other chefs.”
Wyatt stared at me for a moment as though I’d extended a rotting fish rather than a greeting. His gaze traveled from my hand up to my face, down my body, and back up again before Wyatt took my hand and gave it a firm shake.
“Wyatt.”
I still wasn’t sure about this guy. It was pretty much guaranteed there’d be people on the set I wouldn’t necessarily get along with. I just hadn’t expected it within the first five minutes of being there.
“Where’d you fly in from?” I asked, trying to make polite conversation while we waited.
Wyatt sighed. “Let’s skip the getting-to-know-you chitchat, yeah? Realistically, you’re not going to be around long enough for it to matter.”
Taken completely aback, it took me a second to process that he could really be that rude. My brain stuttered, tripping over itself. Without a doubt, the perfect response would come to me that night, or maybe even days later, but right then, I’d barely begun to formulate a reply when a second man sidled up to our group. His luggage was tattered, h
is dark hair was sticking up in a thousand directions, and he looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, but his smile was wide and his eyes were bright.
I liked him before he even opened his mouth.
“Hey, guys.” He hefted his bag to the side with a grunt. “Are you here for Culinary Master?”
Wyatt turned toward him, his eyes narrowing as he took in the man’s appearance. “Are you?”
Apparently oblivious to Wyatt’s appraisal of him, he beamed. “Yep. Just got in from Calgary.” He paused. “Weren’t you on my flight?” When Wyatt didn’t answer, he gave a little shrug and kept talking. “Anyway, I’m Kai. It’s good to meet you guys.”
“You too. I’m Jeremy.” I was so relieved not all the chefs were as irritable as Wyatt.
I’d imagined a thousand different ways this all could go. Most of the chefs I knew were highly competitive, and being named the winner of Culinary Master was one of the most sought-after titles in the culinary world.
I’d been prepared for weeks of keeping to myself and ignoring the egos. The prize money alone was enough to create an undercurrent of hostility, and there would definitely be a certain amount of psychological warfare employed right alongside the sous-viding and the sautéing.
Things might change, but for now, Kai seemed like he might be an ally.
Tabitha went through introductions once more, explaining her role with the network to the two newest additions to the group.
Kai looked thrilled.
Wyatt looked bored.
“Let’s get going, shall we?” she said finally, tucking her sign under her arm and leading the way toward the exit.
There was a limo was waiting for them right outside the sliding doors, its headlights flashing as they approached. Excitement pierced right through me. This was the first time I’d been in a limo—even cabs were out of my price range—and I felt a sudden click as the situation suddenly became entirely real.
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