by Lucy Knott
‘Well, you press one button innocently and there it is – not my fault, baby girl.’ Dan continued walking, meeting her on her step and towering over her. She didn’t move, challenging him for a minute and staring at the dimples in his cheeks that appeared when he grinned. She sure had missed him. She decided the only adult way to win the conversation was to mess up his hair and run.
Chapter 13
Torrone
Ingredients:
3 large egg whites
1 cup of honey
½ cup of icing sugar
cup of cornstarch
3 cups of sugar
2 cups of pistachios
½ tbsp of vanilla extract
What to do:
Combine honey and sugar in a medium saucepan. Cook until it starts to bubble, stirring regularly.
Attach a candy thermometer to the side of the pan and keep on the heat till it registers 315 degrees Fahrenheit. (Play music to keep you entertained. Patience is not yours or Grandpa’s strong point, but you need to keep an eye on the thermometer. You can’t guess with this recipe – you will burn it, like you did the first time.)
Then remove from heat. The temperature may rise a few degrees but then will drop. You want it at 300 before using.
While your honey and sugar mixture is still cooking, beat your egg whites in a mixer till stiff peaks form.
Add the icing sugar to the egg whites till combined.
Keep the mixer running slow and pour the honey mixture into the egg whites. They may double in size, so let stand for a few seconds and they will return to normal. Add vanilla.
Beat until mixture thickens and sticks to the beaters. Around 20 minutes. Fold in nuts.
Sprinkle cornstarch on a clean surface, then pour your mixture onto it.
Listen to Nanna and be sure to put some cornstarch on your hands too, as you will get VERY sticky. Knead the mixture until it’s firm.
Stretch the mixture out and roll it to the size of your pan.
Leave the tins on a wire rack to cool and firm completely, for up to 8 hours. (Don’t listen to Grandpa and eat it before ready – you will be trying to get torrone off your hands for weeks.)
Cut into pieces.
The fresh aromatic smell of coffee was prominent in the air, mixed with a sweetness that tickled Sabrina’s nostrils. Plates of panforte and torrone littered the small living room as a silky darkness quilted the sky outside. Praiano was lit up with a rainbow of Christmas lights.
The family were gathered in the living room to decorate a humble tree, now feeling ready to sprinkle a touch of Christmas over the house that they hadn’t been quite so up to before. Dan had joined in too, which made Sabrina feel thrilled for her big sister. Dan and Amanda made such a gorgeous couple. They could star in their own Hallmark movie the way Dan looked at Amanda; but give it time, Sabrina thought, smiling knowingly to herself. Happily, she drew her eyes away from her sister and got back to the decorating at hand.
The modest assortment of Christmas décor didn’t require too much time to put up, but with the girls awing and oohing at every item, it prolonged the evening’s events way into the night. Each bauble and ornament that emerged from the wooden box brought with it a story that the girls’ aunties lovingly shared.
Sabrina took her time emptying the box she had chosen to unpack. She wanted to hear every memory, every story that the decorations evoked. It warmed her heart that they had kept hold of the precious belongings all these years and still treated them with the utmost delicacy. Many brought Nanna to tears, with her having not seen the treasured heirlooms for twenty years, but clearly remembering the value they held. The powerful vocals of Andrea Bocelli and fresh panzerotti brought the evening to a close as the whole family and Dan sat back to admire their hard work.
They had placed the Christmas tree in the corner of the room; gold angels and robins adorned the branches. The girls had also added Baci stars and empty panettone boxes, just like they did at home, as that always made their nanna laugh.
The nativity took centre stage on a small table in the middle of the window. It was a beautiful piece of art that Italians took very seriously and had to be displayed as such. Her aunties had Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus, along with the shepherds and a few impeccably carved animals. Zia Rosa had explained how Jesus mustn’t be placed in the scene until Christmas morning, and so she put him on a shelf across from the window. He would be moved closer each day until the time was right for him to enter the nativity.
Sabrina wished Levi could have been a part of the festivities, but she understood that work was work. She picked up her fifth piece of panforte and curled up next to her nanna on the couch. Nibbling on the spicy traditional Italian dessert, that tasted like Christmas in her mouth, she looked at the white lights that glittered from the tree and her heart fluttered a happy beat. Her stomach was full of the most fabulous food and she felt that a week after Grandpa’s funeral, the darkest of days were over.
Nanna kissed the top of her head as Louisa danced around trying to persuade everyone to indulge in a game of charades before heading to bed. One game wouldn’t take too long, Sabrina thought, even though her bed was calling her name. Instead of succumbing to its cosy temptation, she sat up and joined in with the others shouting out guesses and laughing at Louisa as she paraded up and down the living room.
‘I might need another coffee,’ Sabrina noted, with a chuckle, pulling a blanket off the couch and draping it around herself.
‘Make it an espresso,’ Amanda added. ‘We might be here all night.’
‘Come on, it’s not that hard,’ Louisa muttered. She was now hunched over, scratching her armpits, making O shapes with her mouth.
‘Hey, no talking,’ Dad said, his face creased from laughing.
‘Kong,’ Dan said, calmly. He was sitting on the armrest next to Amanda and looked effortlessly handsome. Sabrina enjoyed every minute of getting to work with him; he was ever the gentleman. He was also a perfectionist, which meant they often had late nights in the recording studio and early starts as the sun rose, when he had ideas and needed to get a track down.
It was a privilege to watch him and his band working together, seeing their chemistry and how they fit. The others gave Dan their utmost respect and never once complained or argued about the late nights and early mornings. They were a dream to work with, but seeing Dan away from work was a treat – watching him now, seamlessly fitting in with their family and taking part in goofy activities made him more appealing. Sabrina couldn’t understand why Amanda constantly protested the idea of even looking at Dan in a romantic light. He was a catch.
‘We can’t play this game with this one,’ Amanda said, playfully pushing Dan off the armrest. ‘He’s always right.’
‘Yes, Dan, it’s your turn,’ Louisa shouted, pointing at him with great enthusiasm.
‘Oh, this should be good,’ Amanda noted. The admiration in her eyes was obvious to Sabrina.
The way her big sister looked at Dan was endearing and made her thoughts drift to Levi. She wondered what he was up to tonight and why he hadn’t come over with Dan. She hadn’t seen him much since the funeral. Dan had mentioned that he was working, and Sabrina trusted Dan, but she couldn’t help her mind from running away with her and conjuring up images of Levi and Lydia together. Maybe he was missing Lydia and hiding out at the hotel talking to her on the phone.
Sabrina shuddered and took a big sip of coffee, shifting her mind to focus on the entertaining, and rather adorable, performance that Dan was giving them. She made eye contact with Amanda, then looked at Dan and back to her big sister, offering her a wiggle of her eyebrows and a cheeky wink, which only resulted in Amanda throwing a pillow at her and almost making her spill her coffee. The joys of love, she thought.
***
The family had called it a night as the clock struck ten-thirty. Dan had fallen asleep on the couch and, not wanting to disturb him, Amanda had retired to the kitchen. She knew jet lag must be catching up w
ith him but she herself felt wide awake. The kitchen was cooling off after an evening of cooking up a storm with her aunties and Nanna yet again.
Amanda was getting used to cooking alongside them. She wasn’t looking forward to getting back to working with Jeff. Maybe she could bring her aunties home with her and ask Anthony to hire them; then she could cook with them every day, revamp the restaurant and serve Italian food. She’d much prefer that than the blend of hip pub fare they served, she thought. That’s if she still had a job and any respect.
She gazed through the kitchen windows and sighed at the view. No matter how many times she stared out across the balcony, the magnificent Amalfi coastline took her breath away every single time. The stars burned bright. The biggest, boldest gold star blinked when she spotted it and Amanda wiped a lone tear from her eye. She didn’t want to be sad; she really wanted to make her grandpa proud.
The thoughts of serving Italian food were stronger than ever and she knew, just like him, she couldn’t ignore the passion deep inside her. She would have to follow her gut sooner or later, no matter her fears. And maybe her sisters were right, maybe she needed to take this blogging thing seriously and have a little patience. She knew her recipes were out of this world and she certainly got excitement from sharing them with others.
And it’s not like she was a complete fossil: she could figure out Instagram and post more frequently on her Facebook. People loved Italian food. Once they knew of her blog she was sure they would love it. Though the likes of Snapchat would have to wait until she was a touch more competent, the whole live to the world thing twisted the knob of self-doubt in her stomach, which she didn’t care for. It was better to leave that for now.
Feeling the draught from under the doorframe Amanda got up and grabbed her cardigan from the back of the door, where she’d hung it while she was cooking. The white fleece instantly warmed her. She pulled it up tight around her neck, the smell of mint hitting her nostrils as she did so. They had whipped up a delicious chocolate and mint pudding for dessert and the smell lingered in the air and on her clothes. Her aunties could make a fortune making perfumes, she thought, chuckling to herself.
The smell brightened her sombre mood and her thoughts turned to Dan. He loved everything she cooked and tonight had been no exception. He had inhaled the chocolate pudding and she didn’t think there was another person she enjoyed cooking for more. She twiddled her thumbs, thinking about when he came into her life.
After becoming acquainted with him at a cute café her first day in San Francisco, she had been in awe. It was like she knew him already. He seemed to know her too when he picked out a lemon cake for her to try. Lemons were her favourite and he had grinned at her with such knowing. She wasn’t sure she would see him again after that encounter, but the universe had other plans. She sighed at the memory and followed her feet in the direction of the cafetière … Coffee, she wanted coffee but maybe decaf at this time would be sensible.
***
It was day two of Amanda’s trip to San Francisco and it didn’t take long to reach her destination; the walk had been slightly cool, but it was a gorgeous morning in San Francisco, with the sun shining through the fog. Taking in the fresh air and creativity of the city, she wandered down Columbus Avenue, past Bruno’s Deli until she was standing outside the bright red and brown building.
Her stomach took another lurch as she took in the bold white letters that read ‘The Beat Museum’. She had meant to get here yesterday but had got caught up talking to Nikki and it had got too late. She took a deep breath and stepped inside. The musty smell of decades-old paper and dusty first edition books filled her nostrils.
She couldn’t believe it. She was here, at the home of the Beats, where the likes of Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg and William S Burroughs lived on through their works and memorabilia. Her pace was slow as she read every poster, every article that her eyes met. Goose bumps rose upon her arms and she felt a chill of excitement.
Ever since she was sixteen years old and read On the Road for the first time, she’d felt a connection to Jack Kerouac. His passion, his outlook, the way he thrived on life and learning, it had inspired her so much when working towards her own dreams in the kitchen. Her recipes were her road. In the kitchen she relaxed, followed where her heart took her and got lost in the ingredients. Food was her adventure, and she was always wanting to learn more, experiment with different flavours and try it all.
‘If I had to guess, I’d say On the Road brought you here, but that it’s not your favourite.’ Amanda delighted at the sound of the familiar husky voice, but she kept her eyes trained to the letters on the wall.
‘And what makes you say that?’ she replied, slowly turning to face Dan, the mysterious musician she had met just yesterday. He was leaning against the brown worn-looking counter, wearing a light denim jacket with a faux sheepskin collar. He was tall with broad shoulders and thick legs, yet he wasn’t intimidating.
‘Forgive me for being judgemental but you seem like the type of person who has devoured his works and found solitude in many. On the Road brings out the dreamers, the people taking a chance, believing in themselves to do something out of their comfort zone. You’ve travelled if I remember correctly. Tristessa speaks to the lovers, those who search for that unequivocal love, though I have yet to find out about your love life. And the likes of The Dharma Bums grabs those who seek more from life, who are always searching to find meaning and reach a peace within themselves.’ With that Dan met her eyes and gave a shy smile.
‘Do you work here? Because if you don’t, you should – that was impressive,’ Amanda said, slightly awed by the speech he just gave. She also couldn’t help but laugh. He was an interesting character for sure.
Dan simply watched her. ‘Would you like to grab a coffee?’ he asked, brushing a hand through his hair.
‘Sure,’ Amanda replied, without much thought. She felt compelled to talk to this man. She tightened her blue woolly scarf around her neck and watched Dan as he placed a book he was holding back on the shelf. His movements were slow and he was very sure of himself. He didn’t seem to rush through life.
With a slight nod to the man behind the desk, Dan led her outside. They walked in comfortable silence for a few moments before entering a small café. Amanda caught the name on the door, Caffè Trieste, and her smile grew larger. She had read about this place. The Beats would often come here. She had just walked inside a building that Jack Kerouac himself had visited.
‘I’ll grab us coffees if you find seats,’ Dan said casually. Noticing the bubbling excitement about to burst from within Amanda, he smiled before turning towards the counter. Amanda snapped out of her reverie and pondered for a moment that he hadn’t asked what she would like, before she spotted a cosy-looking booth at the back of the quaint café and made her way towards it, still jumping up and down inside.
She took off her light jacket and made herself comfy. A few minutes later Dan walked over, a small mug in one hand that was filled with rich black liquid, and in the other, she noticed the mug was bigger and piled high with what could only be whipped cream with some sort of crumbs or cookies placed on top. She hoped that was hers. It looked like one sip and she’d be away with the unicorns and fairies on a sugar high.
She felt pleased and slightly giddy when Dan placed the colourful mug in front of her. He looked pleased at her reaction, as she let out a faint ‘Eeeek’ and clapped her hands together.
‘What is it?’ she asked, keen to find out more about this exquisite-looking coffee.
‘It’s your coffee,’ Dan replied, his eyes wide, his mouth turning up into a grin as he bent to sit down.
‘You’re hilarious,’ Amanda said, still staring at her mug, deciding whether to try drinking it or eating it first. She decided on the eating first, of course, so she pinched a biscuit and dunked it into the cream. ‘Oh, my God, that’s not whipped cream, that tastes like custard, but it’s so airy and light and amaretti – these are my favourite.’
She dunked in another biscuit.
‘I thought you might like it. It’s a little twist on your normal Italian coffee. We have a lot of Italians around here. You might have noticed the delis and restaurants.’ When Amanda nodded, Dan continued, ‘It’s more of a hot chocolate really but they mix it with Lavazza. And you’re right, it’s not whipped cream, more of an Italian vanilla frosting with crushed amaretti.’ He smiled, and Amanda smiled back. She liked his description of the extraordinary hot chocolate meets coffee drink and felt there might be a foodie sitting opposite her.
Amanda’s eyes widened as she scooped up more of the frosting with a spoon, so she could get to the hot chocolate. Dan was gaining best friend points fast. Taking a big sip, she squealed rather loudly. ‘Sorry,’ she whispered. ‘Have you tried this before? I’ve been making Italian hot chocolate for years, but this takes it to the next level. I never thought to add coffee.’ She took another sip, slurping past some of the remaining frosting.
‘I have indeed – it’s pretty incredible,’ Dan replied, squinting his eyes and taking a sip of his plain, boring-looking coffee and leaning back in the booth. For a moment Amanda took in the café. It was filled with people, a mix of young and old. There were groups of people chatting, to-go cups ready in their hands, men and women batting their eyelashes at each other as they shared desserts, desserts that looked just as wonderful as her coffee, and naturally, what she would expect in a place that had been frequented by such iconic writers, there were people tucked away at tables, heads down and scribbling in notebooks.
‘So, which book do you think is my favourite?’ Amanda asked, squinting back at Dan. She felt intrigued by this man who she had now stumbled upon twice in two days. She was also curious, after his Jack Kerouac analogy monologue, as to what type of person he pegged her to be.