A Chef's Toque Romance
Cupid's Web Shut Up and Kiss Me
Carolyn Hughey
Washing vegetables during my externship at Chez Francoise for the last month hadn't taught me anything about my aspiring career in the culinary arts except how to get chapped hands. I blocked a yawn using my forearm and drained the water, only to refill it for the third time and watch the spinach float to the top.
Charlie Johnson, the executive chef and owner of Chez Francoise, entered, and I gasped as I gawked at Mr. Rock-hard Chest Guy standing next to him. I stood up a little straighter. Oh yeah, flashed through my mind; things were indeed looking up-big-time.
I quickly moved behind a wall that jutted out to get a better look at him so those close by wouldn't witness my girlish fantasies coming to life. He said something to Charlie, and as his mouth moved, I watched his sexy lips and crooked smile. Charlie said something to him and pointed in my direction. I jolted back to the sink, my heart now wildly pulsating, and watched him head my way. I tried to calm down, but as he got closer, my mind imagined he was Don Giovanni, the Italian Don Juan, and I was Princess Caterina being lured into his world by his good looks and charm. Then, all of a sudden, Dad's favorite song played through my mind.
When the moon hits your eye, like a big-a pizza pie.
"That's amore" shot out of my mouth like a cannon when he stood next to me, the scent from his aftershave teasing my senses. I cleared my throat to squelch my embarrassment, but then, this wasn't the first time I'd made a fool of myself. He leaned toward me. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the woody scent of what I thought was cedar or pine, but maybe it was the wooden crate of spinach he held in his hands-the one I hadn't noticed before.
`Amore?" he said, with a devilish grin.
"Cooking!" I responded quickly, my index finger doing a stand-alone. "The food ... the cooking ... that's love-don't you think?" My lashes fluttered. I couldn't believe how quickly I'd resorted to acting like a love-starved woman who'd been on a desert island most of her life. Actually, I was, but that was my own doing.
"Yes, I agree," he said, with a wink. "Food is love. Now, where would you like me to put this crate of spinach?"
"Crate?" I asked, still watching his mouth move, my legs now wavering like a limp piece of liver.
"Yeah," he said. "Charlie asked me to bring this over to you."
"Oh, right. More spinach," I mumbled, too embarrassed to look him in the eye. "Sorry." I pointed ahead. "By the sink, please" I followed close behind, enjoying his back view as much as the front. He placed the crate on the floor, then stood and extended his hand. I was barely able to lift mine, now limp and shaking, into his warm palm.
I shook my head. This wasn't real, and I had no desire to become involved with anyone, especially now that I had a new career on the horizon. So why was I so bowled over by his looks? Because he was gorgeous, and I was lonely? Or because I had conflicting thoughts about having a love life?
"I'm Josh Benson" He interrupted my thoughts. "Are you all right? You look a little pale."
"Uh-huh," I said, still trying to avoid his baby blues. "I'm Cassie Pirelli," I stammered. "I'm just getting over a cold." I didn't sound congested, but hey, I thought it might work, but then, maybe not so much.
He grinned, and I knew I'd been snagged. He knew exactly what I'd been thinking.
"I'd like to ask you something."
Ohmigod rushed through my mind as my pulse picked up speed. It had been a long time since any guy had paid attention to me.
"So what did you have in mind?" I said, fast and flirty.
He watched me with a cautious eye and a toothy grin. I glanced down at his left hand just for yuks-you know, just in case I was interested-all the while praying I wouldn't see a ring on that finger. Ah, my prayers were answered. No wedding band. Not even a tan line. My heart skipped another beat.
"How long have you worked here?" he asked.
"Oh," I said, hoping I'd been able to camouflage the fact that he'd just sucked the freakin' breath out of me.
"Did I say something wrong?"
I threw my shoulders back. "No," I answered, feeling like a wounded puppy. "I'm just finishing up my externship for culinary school. It's all part of my grade, you know?"
"No, I didn't."
"Right," I said sheepishly, "you wouldn't know unless you were a student in the art of cooking."
"I'm not, but I'm actually toying with the idea. I haven't decided yet"
"You'd make a great chef."
He chuckled. "What makes you say that?"
"Oh, I can just tell." My eyes grazed over his biceps. "You might not be able to exercise every day, though, but not to worry, you'd get plenty of muscles working in a kitchen like this." The ice cream maker and mixer's sudden whining distracted my attention from Mr. Rock-hard Chest, temporarily drowning out the music playing in my head.
I could feel the heat of a stare and nonchalantly glanced over my shoulder. Everyone working in the pastry department, including Chris, the executive pastry chef, was grinning at me like I was a cute puppy playing in a pet store window. Only I wasn't playing-I was serious. Not so much, the logical left side of my brain informed me.
I turned to continue our conversation, when, like a shot, a disgruntled woman appeared behind Mr. Rock hard Chest, calling out his name. He turned. She gave him the hand-on-her-hip pose, and me a dirty look.
"Josh, I've been waiting outside forever. What is taking you so long?"
He turned back to me and gave a shrug. "Thanks, Cassie. I'll give culinary school more thought."
"That again?" the woman said, shaking her head in despair. "If that steak you made me the other night is any indication of your cooking abilities, I wouldn't give up your day job"
My heart dropped faster than the drop tower thrill ride at Disneyland, seeing the deflated expression on his face. I wanted to slap this Drusilla von Trapp.
"I really hope you do," I said in retaliation for her comment. "Nice meeting you, Josh"
"You too," he said with a wink. He quickened his pace, leaving the bimbo girl in the dust.
I continued to wash the spinach, all the while dreaming about Mr. Rock hard Chest and unsuccessfully trying to force myself back to reality. Here's the thing: I didn't need any stinking distractions in my life. I had a career to focus on. But then, I'd had less than stellar success with that in previous relationships. But this was a new career, and I was at the bottom of the totem pole. Rising to the top wasn't going to be an easy task with so much competition in the field. So how could I focus on a boyfriend and be a successful epicurean? Not happening-not that he was asking.
Random thoughts raced through my mind and settled on my finances, or lack thereof. I'd been hanging on to a lot of resentment about Merrill Finance Corporation, where I'd worked for five years. Unfortunately, my savings had gone down the dumper with a thud while I wasn't paying attention.
I couldn't speed up my externship. It was what it was, but in the meantime, I had to figure out how to do some fancy footwork to make more money, or I was going to lose the apartment Megan and I had shared in Greenwich Village before she'd married Ralph.
Fact is, if I hadn't been spending money like a drunken sailor before the big announcement informing us the corporation was going belly-up, I wouldn't be in this predicament.
Sure, I could ask my parents for the money to hold me over, but I'd worked so hard at showing them my independence, it would be taking a step backward. I sighed, thinking about the mere pittance my externship salary provided. Even with my monthly unemployment check, it wasn't cutting it.
I rubbed my chapped hands dry with paper towels as I walked from the restroom, wondering about Josh and finally deciding to ask Charlie what he kn
ew about him. Charlie was a good friend and protege of Dad's. Unfortunately, Charlie had already left for the afternoon, leaving Pascal, the resident French souschef, in charge. I wasn't a fan of Pascal's gruffness. He didn't think women belonged in a professional kitchen. And even though Charlie had warned him about his attitude, Pascal did his own thing when Charlie wasn't around, and I wasn't about to tattle on him.
I cleaned up my area and prepared to head home. Monday through Wednesday were slow nights in the restaurant and afforded me an early evening. My stomach growled as I walked down the busy street past the New York Pizza Joint, the alluring smell of sauce and dough wafting through the air, and that darn song played through my mind and reminded me of Josh Benson. I'd promised myself I would try to concentrate on other things. I was beginning to think God and my mother, Lucy Pirelli, were conspiring to test my resolve; and was Josh Benson the forbidden fruit Adam and Eve were warned about?
PIZZA SAUCE
Add 2 cups tepid water (100-110 degrees) to a container. Sprinkle the yeast over the top and add the sugar. This is called "proofing" the yeast, or testing yourself to see just how strongly you feel about avoiding romance. When it foams on top, you're good to go. This just might be your cue to wake up and smell the pizza sauce.
Combine the olive oil and salt in a mixing bowl. Add 4 cups of flour, 1 cup at a time, and mix, using the dough hook on the electric mixer after each addition. Drape a dish towel over top of the motor to prevent flour from splashing out the sides and all over the floor-less time for cleanup and more time to dream. Using the slow speed, add the yeast mixture until thoroughly combined. As the dough begins to form, it will hug the hook. Now, isn't that exactly how you pictured his arms tightly wrapped around you?
Remove the dough from the bowl and knead with the remaining '/2 cup flour until it is no longer sticky. Mold into a ball. Rub olive oil inside a clean bowl and place the ball into the bowl. Turn the dough ball over and coat the other side. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap, and place the bowl inside a cold oven with the light on for an hour, and enjoy the alone time.
To make the sauce, place the olive oil and minced garlic in a pan over medium heat. It's okay to let the garlic sizzle until golden brown, and it's okay to remember how you sizzled with him next to you. Add remaining ingredients and simmer for 30 minutes.
To make the pies, preheat the oven to 450 degrees. Turn dough out onto floured surface and cut in half, or into thirds-that is, if you want company. Remember, three's a crowd, if you know what I mean. Mold/ roll the dough into a circle to fit on a preheated baking stone that's been coated with cornmeal to prevent the dough from sticking, or use a halfsize baking sheet coated with cornmeal, stretching the dough to the ends. Don't forget to make a ridge around the edges of the dough for the crust.
Add sauce to the center and spread evenly. Now smother? Yeah, that's it. Smother the pie-in-your-eye with your preferred toppings and mozzarella cheese. Sprinkle with parmesan cheese and bake for approximately 25 minutes or until crust is golden and cheese is melted. It'd be hard not to melt with the intensity of that heat. Makes 3 pies.
I got off the train at the Nutley, New Jersey, station and walked up the steps toward my parents' apartment, where I was having dinner. I could hear Mom rushing around in the kitchen when I entered; the familiar smell of Italian food rushed up my nose and sparked my appetite.
"The chef is here," Mom announced to Dad, who was setting the table.
"Hey," he said, leaning in for a kiss, "how's my favorite daughter?"
"Dad, I am your only daughter."
"Right, I knew that, but if I had more, you'd-nah, you'd all be my favorites"
Mom grinned as she placed the pasta in the boiling water. "Where's my kiss?" She leaned back, a ring of jealousy in her voice.
"I'm coming"
Things had become less tense in recent years, even though I still wasn't married. There was a lot of water under that bridge. My broken engagement to Joe had sent Mom on a tangent. Her elephant memory never let up, and it was years before that broken record got recycled. He's married today, with four kids, and I'm sure glad I didn't stick around. In between, there was Barry, my former boss at Merrill, who jumped the gun before I'd made up my mind. He'd flirted with me, and even planted an unexpected kiss on my lips during a business trip that sent me on a tailspin. When I ignored him, because I couldn't make up my mind, he became impatient and reunited with his former girlfriend just when I'd decided to take the plunge. Mom didn't learn about Barry until he'd already sailed off into the sunset for a new job with the girl hanging on his arm. And then there was Sammy. Mom had pulled every trick in the book to get me down that aisle with him. He was her favorite.
The matter was exacerbated when she'd heard her rival, Josephine Cici's, daughter in the whose-daughter-will-get-marriedfirst contest had become engaged. And after all was said and done, much to Mom's chagrin, I won out, and so did Josephineshe had a son-in-law and a grand-baby on the way, and I was still free to be me. Of course, with all of Josie's pushing, her daughter left her husband, and now she has the baby all to herself.
Climbing the corporate ladder at Merrill had been my dream right from the start, but when the walls came tumbling down and I couldn't find a job in my field, I didn't know where to turn. Cooking had never been my forte, but testing through the outplacement service Merrill hired for the employees revealed a predisposition to the art of cooking. Who knew?
Mom walked to the sink with the pot of spaghetti and poured it into the colander to drain. She placed the pasta in a large bowl and ladled sauce over the top, tossing the pasta to coat it before bringing it to the table. I sat down at the small table, now looking like one in an Italian restaurant with its checkered red-and-white vinyl tablecloth. Dad poured the wine.
"Are you making sauce again for Sunday?" I asked.
"I have to," she said. "Your father and Nanu wouldn't know how to act unless they had their bowl of pasta in front of them. Why?"
"How about I come over early so we can make it together?"
Mom looked at Dad. "Some transformation"-she tipped her head toward me-"huh, Michael?"
"I'll say." He reached for my hand and patted it. "But this is a good thing. Right, sweetheart?"
"I'm just as surprised as you are, but I have to admit, I'm enjoying it more than I imagined"
"What do you love about it?" Mom asked.
"The feeling I get when I place a plate of food down in front of someone and they swoon over the taste. It's doing something creative from scratch. It's love" Saying the words brought the image of Josh front and center.
"Holy Mother of Mary"-she smacked her forehead-"there is a romantic side to her. Food is definitely love. And someday when you have your own family-"
I rolled my eyes because I'd been stupid enough to open the door. I glanced at Dad, who'd always been a strong ally.
"Hey, if you had married some nice man like Megan did," Mom continued, "you wouldn't have to worry about making a career change. You could be showing your love by raising kids and pleasing your man" She released a loud humpf "You know, you really missed your window of opportunity with Sam-"
My hand shot into the air as I gave her a stern look.
"Well?" Mom said, her face flushed. "It's true. I know I promised not to mention the `M' word," she said, using her fingers to demonstrate quotation marks, "but now he's married to Rosalie Fatucci."
"And I'm very happy for him," I shot back, "as most people are."
"How would you even know?" She gave me one of her cynical grins. "You were checking up on him, huh?"
'No."
She began to wave her finger back and forth, and I knew what was coming. "You're regretting it, aren't you? I told you this was going to happen" She clucked her tongue. "I knew you'd live to regret it. But thank God you're learning to cook, because now you have the gateway to a man's heart"-she patted Dad's belly-"starting right through here. That is, if there are any men left in your age group who want to get mar
ried. I'm sure all the good ones are gone by now."
"Lucy!" Dad shot back. "That wasn't very nice."
"Perhaps, but we're not going to be around forever. I just want our daughter happy, Michael."
`Ay yi, yi, yi, yi," I sighed. "No, I was not checking up on him. I happened to be in his brother's butcher shop and heard someone ask how he was doing."
"I won't rest until you have someone to take care of you when we're gone"
"Why? Are you going somewhere?" I asked. She gave me the shrug. I gave her the "I can't believe you're shoveling on the guilt" look. But then I had second thoughts about it. Maybe she was sick and didn't want to tell me? Had I been too preoccupied with my own life that I had missed something as important as this? I questioned further.
"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Ma?" I couldn't help but feel concerned. She was only forty-eight.
"Well"-she lowered her voice-"I could be going somewhere. You just never know." She snapped her fingers. "It could be over just like that" She shrugged. "Poor Mrs. Roselli, well, you know, no one knew she was sick. And me? Well, I've had this pain" She began rubbing her lower back.
"Are you sick, Ma?" It was no secret Mom was a drama queen, but this was something new.
"Lucy!" Dad's voice boomed. "What's wrong? Have you been hiding this from me?"
"Well ... no" She shrugged. The lips pouted. "I worked hard today ... It's just that my back hurts. But, like I said, you never know. That's all. I'm just saying."
"So, you're not going to kick the bucket anytime soon, right?"
"I hope not, Cass. But you never know, kiddo. It could be any day, and that's why it's so important that you don't let life pass you by"
"Lu, so which is it?" Dad's concerned voice asked. "Are you sick or just tired?"
Her face cracked into a devilish grin.
"Mother. This isn't funny. Not one bit," I snapped back. "Is this a new ploy of yours to get me married?"
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