Dishing Up Romance

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Dishing Up Romance Page 2

by Carolyn Hughey


  "Is it working?"

  "No"

  I shook my head in disbelief. This woman gets better all the time. I had no regrets, especially concerning Sammy. And unknown to either of my parents, I had given Sammy a chance. We'd actually hooked up after the Masquerade Ball onboard ship when I went on a singles cruise. I smiled to myself, thinking about that very first night onboard ship and how the guy wearing the partner costume to mine swept me off my feet in just three short hours. Once his headdress came off, I was shocked to be standing face-to-face with Sammy Scarliotti. But I have to say, those two weeks aboard ship had been amazing, and I had been ready to tell the world we were a couplethat is, until we got home and I panicked that Mom would be taking over my life and planning a wedding. When Sammy couldn't handle my demands to keep us a secret, and I couldn't handle him pressuring me to get married, he headed back to Rosalie Fatucci, who'd always loved him.

  I changed the subject. "How are things at the deli, Dad? Are you busy?"

  "Not like I used to be, Cass. Business has been very bad. And there aren't many catering jobs to help offset the loss of customers. I think gourmet delicatessens are a thing of the past with so many supermarkets carrying everything but the kitchen sink. Why do you ask?"

  "Oh, no reason"

  "Cassie. I know that look a mile away. What's on your mind?"

  I was cautious about mentioning my financial woes because I knew Mom would be grandstanding for me to move back home. Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. I hadn't forgotten what it was like having her control my life.

  "So, what's going on in that pretty head of yours?" Dad pursued.

  "I was hoping I could work at the deli part-time to see how you deal with your employees" I told an innocent fib; I knew if I worked for him, he'd pay me.

  "Actually, I have a better idea."

  "You do?"

  "Yeah. I've decided to retire. It's frustrating being in the deli and not having it filled with customers like it used to be, so your mother and I have decided it's time to stop beating a dead horse"

  "But you're too young to retire. Are you planning to do something else?"

  "What's wrong with retiring at forty-nine?" he asked.

  "I suppose nothing, but won't you be bored?"

  "Hey!" my mother shouted. "He's earned it."

  "Of course he has. I just thought he'd be bored sitting around all day"

  "Oh, I won't be sitting around all day. Your mother has a list longer than my arm of things she wants done" He demonstrated. "I've been in talks with Sol Sherman of Sherman's Jewish Delicatessan and asked him if he wanted to buy the deli's equipment and some of the stock."

  "Does that mean the deli is gone forever?" I said sadly.

  "It is."

  "I can't believe Pirelli's Italian Delicatessen won't be on the corner of Franklin anymore"

  "The building will still be there-I just won't. I'm tired, Cass. It's time to pass the baton"

  "To whom?"

  "You."

  "But I don't want to run a deli, Dad."

  "Right, you don't. But I still own the building. We can keep our name alive by putting something else in there. Sure, I could lease it to someone else, but now, with your skills, I was hoping you'd take it over and maybe open up a pastry shop, or a coffee shop. What do you think?"

  My stomach knotted at the prospect of owning my own business. "Are you serious?"

  "Absolutely serious."

  "But do you think I can handle it?"

  "You're a Pirelli, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, but Dad, I don't know the first thing about running a business or being a boss"

  "So, I'll teach you" He grinned. "When do you want to get started?"

  "Well, first I have to figure out what I can put in there that would be successful in this economy." I twirled pasta around my fork and took a bite.

  "I know, Cass," my mother said with a bright smile. "I've always wished there was a kitchen store, like Gourmet Kitchen or Sur la Table, in that neighborhood. And you'd be amazed at how many people ask us about cooking classes." She sat back and waited for me to respond. "What do you think?"

  "So you're saying, have a kitchen gadget store that offers cooking classes?"

  "That's exactly what I'm saying. What do you think?"

  "I love the idea, but I'm not ready to teach. I was a speechwriter, remember?"

  "So, design a cooking class just like you did the speeches, practice, and-bingo-you've got a money-maker." She grinned from ear to ear, proud she'd gotten such a positive reaction from me. "Do you know how many people take those classes?"

  "Yeah?" My insides were jumping from the excitement. "Do you think Charlie would show me how to offer cooking classes?"

  "Your father helped him get started in the business, so why wouldn't he?"

  "Of course he will," Dad said.

  Charlie was four years older than me. He'd worked at Dad's deli for six years after school, and when he'd showed interest in the culinary field, Dad helped him get started.

  "I think you'll do a great job," he said and gave my hand another pat. "You can do anything you want to do. All you have to do is make up your mind to see it through."

  "There is one minor problem, Dad. I don't have the capital to start up a business"

  "And you don't need any, Cass. I'll foot the bill."

  "Oh no, you won't. I appreciate the offer, but you've worked hard all your life. The money you have is yours to enjoy in your retirement, not to spend on me"

  Dad pushed back his chair. "Okay, if that's the way you feel, how about I cosign a loan for you?" He pulled a half-smoked stogie from his pocket and relit it, tilting his head back to blow the smoke into the air.

  "So do you think I can get a loan from the bank?"

  "Absolutely"

  I-DON' T-NEED-NO -STINKIN'-GATE WAY-TO-A-MAN'S -HEART

  MEATBALLS IN TOMATO SAUCE

  TOMATO SAUCE

  Let's face it. Mama's nagging is never going to change until you're married and have a houseful of kids, so make the sauce, celebrate the fact that you already love the smell, and forget her antics. Allowing the M word to make you crazy isn't productive, although the key word in Mama's mind is reproductive-if you get what I mean.

  Coat the bottom of a large, 6-to-8-quart pot with olive oil, then add the butter, over a medium-high flame, until it melts and becomes foamy. Add the garlic and onions, stir to blend them together, and cook until a light golden color.

  If you're using an electric stove, slide the pan onto a cold burner before you add the remaining ingredients. If you're using a gas stove, just leave the pan where it is and shut off the burner until you add the tomatoes, tomato puree, tomato paste, parsley, basil, wine, salt, and black pepper, to avoid a backsplash. And, please, use a good-quality wine. If you wouldn't drink it, don't use it in your food. Stir to blend the ingredients with a wooden spoon and allow sauce to simmer, not your anger. Cook for an additional 30 minutes before adding the parmesan cheese. Makes 10 servings.

  MAMA'S MEATBALLS

  Place the rolls in a strainer and run water over them. Squeeze out as much water as you can and, using the palm of your hand, press the bread against the wall of the strainer to dry it a bit more. Place the moist bread in a large bowl. Add remaining ingredients and mix thoroughly. Test the mixture with your fingers, and if still too moist, add bread crumbs a little at a time until the mixture is pliable.

  Coat the bottom of a large frying pan with olive oil and heat. For uniformity, I use a large ice cream scooper to make the meatballs, molding them into round balls. Place the meatballs in the frying pan, being careful not to crowd, and brown on all sides. Remove from pan.

  Lower the heat and drop the meatballs into the sauce. Stir frequently but gently, so as not to break the meatballs. After all this trouble, you don't want burned sauce. Relax and stop getting annoyed about Mama's antics or hint-dropping comments. She wants to make sure Family Fest remains intact, with lots of people sitting around her
big table.

  Stir gently, making sure to reach the bottom of the pan. Adjust the lid to allow circulation of air. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, and allow the sauce and meatballs to simmer for no less than two hours, and forget about Mama's idea of a gateway. Run in the opposite direction, as fast as you can.

  Makes approximately 20 meatballs-two per serving.

  Charlie waved to me as I walked through the back door of the kitchen. It always smelled so good in there. A whiff of dried tomatoes filled the air, and I figured Pascal must have begun to dry tomatoes in a slow oven overnight. He was busily filleting fish, while the grill chef was cutting chops from a rib roast. The noisy ice cream maker sounded like a jet engine as it whirled away, making the usual lavender flavor for the evening's dessert.

  "Want to start working in pastry today?" Charlie asked. "They're shorthanded there, so I figured this might be as good a time as any for you to dive in" Charlie's dark hair, hornrimmed glasses, and dome-shaped belly didn't resemble the average chef's, but he was no average man, especially since he'd dedicated his free time to giving back to the community that had given so much to him.

  The excitement of moving up to another spot had me feeling giddy. After an entire month with my hands submerged in water, I'd been wondering when Charlie was going to give me the go-ahead. I'd even begun to worry that he'd decided I wasn't cut out for this business after all and kept me on because of his loyalty to Dad.

  "Oh, Charlie, thank you"

  "Chris will be in later, but I'm sure Becky will have plenty for you to do in the meantime."

  "Wonderful. Listen, do you have a few minutes to chat?" I asked. "I'd like to talk to you about something."

  "Sure. What can I do for you?"

  "I'd like to talk to you about my future plans and ask for your help."

  "Let's grab some coffee and go sit in my office." Charlie turned to Becky as she checked the ice cream maker and tasted the liquid from a spoon. "Cassie will be out in a few minutes to help you. Chris called ten minutes ago and said he's running late. Do you have anything she can do?"

  Becky saluted him. "I do, Chef." She smiled and resumed her chores.

  Charlie shut the door to block out the noisy kitchen as more chefs arrived. "Have a seat" He gestured to the chair positioned in front of his desk. I eased my way into the chair, being careful not to disturb the voluminous stack of recipes on the edge of his desk. Charlie leaned over the long desk and pushed the open cookbook aside, offering his apologies. "Sorry my office is such a mess, but I'm working on the spring menu."

  "That's okay. I'm not going to tease you, because mine was just as messy when I worked for Merrill." I pushed the chair back a little to stop the claustrophobic feeling closing in on me and glanced at the five shelves on the wall behind him loaded with cookbooks in every size and shape. He made his way around the back of his desk and sat down, propping his feet on top to fit in the only clear path available.

  "Dad's retiring."

  "Holy cow! I never thought I'd see the day. So why is he retiring?"

  "Business hasn't been as good as it was, and he just thinks it's time."

  "Okay, so where does your future fit in there?"

  "Well, as you probably remember, Dad owns the building. He wants me to put something in there after I'm done with my externship. Mom suggested I open up a kitchen shop. You know Nutley. What do you think?"

  "I think that's an excellent idea, but what about your cooking? You're not planning to give that up to run a store, are you?"

  "No, actually I thought I would conduct cooking classes while I'm getting the store ready. It would be a good way for people to see what we offer and, hopefully, keep them coming back for more. I know every time I go into a kitchen store, I want to buy every new gadget that comes on the market." I grinned. "How about you?"

  "Well, I have more than my share right now, but I do get what you mean"

  "I couldn't sleep a wink last night thinking about the prospects of running my own business. What do you think about holding cooking classes?"

  Charlie brought his finger to his mouth and played with his lips while he pondered my question. "I think it's a fabulous idea. But have you ever taught a class before?"

  "No" I pointed to him. "That's where you come in."

  "What would you need me to do?"

  "Help me design a cooking class."

  "You're not asking me to conduct the class, are you?"

  "No, not unless you want to sometime ... like maybe as a guest speaker, or something like that"

  "I might be able to work that out." He slapped his hand on the desk. "What a fantastic idea. I absolutely will help you" He jotted down some notes on a piece of paper and shoved it into the breast pocket of his chef's jacket. "I'll draft something up as soon as I have a little free time."

  "Thanks"

  "You know," he said, "you'll need to remodel the kitchen with overhead mirrors if you're going to teach classes."

  "I know. I was hoping Dad knew of a contractor I could trust to do the job"

  "Whoa, have I got the contractor for you," he said. "You know the guy who was in here the other day? He carried a crate of spinach over to you?"

  My ears perked up like a dog hearing footsteps, and my heart rate took off like a shot. "Yeah." How timely. "You mean Josh?"

  "Yes, that's exactly who I mean," he said, surprised. "He's remodeling our kitchen at home. Maddie has been after me for years to get it done. I could talk to him for you, or, better yet, you could come over to the house to check out his work when he's there, and talk to him if you agree with my assessment. What day did I give you off?"

  "Wednesday." My pulse was pounding wildly now, knowing I was going to see him again.

  "Perfect. How soon were you planning to get this going?"

  "Well, here's my dilemma and why I want to get it up and running as soon as possible. Just before I lost my job, I renewed the lease on my apartment in the Village, and now I'm scrounging for money because I don't want to give it up. I thought if I could begin the classes and get that part started, I'd be all right"

  "Probably not a good idea while you have a contractor in there, though. You'd be setting yourself up for a lawsuit if anyone got hurt in the store"

  "I guess I hadn't considered that. See what I mean about not knowing the first thing about running a business?" I slapped my hand on my leg and sighed. "By the way, please don't mention my financials to my parents"

  "I was just going to say, you should ask your father. But if you want me to keep my mouth shut, consider it done" He took a swig of coffee. "So Wednesday it is. Stop by the house around ten o'clock. Is that all?" I nodded. "Okay"-he pointed outside his office-"get to work."

  "Yes, sir." I saluted. "Thank you, Charlie" My mind was buzzing with plans and wondering how I was going to talk to Josh, knowing how much time I'd already spent daydreaming about him.

  TOGETHER, YOU-AND-I GINGER SNAPS

  Sift the flour, baking soda, and spices into a large bowl and set aside.

  With an electric mixer, combine the brown sugar and room-temperature butter until smooth and creamy. I know you want Cassie to see how smooth and charming you are, but as Charlie's already told you, this ain't gonna be easy. This one is going to be a tough cookie! Add the egg and molasses and blend. Yeah, she looks like she's mesmerized, but I wouldn't celebrate just yet.

  Add the flour mixture a little at a time and beat those ideas of bliss right out of your mind. This mixture might be stiff-just like she isbut be patient. Yeah, that's right, she doesn't have a clue about what she's up against when it comes to your determination.

  Using your hands, roll a teaspoon of the mixture into a ball, then sugarcoat the balls with brown sugar and place on a greased baking sheet 2 inches apart to allow room for spreading. She's pretty sharp when it comes to sugarcoating, so don't go overboard with the flattery. Just remain the consummate gentleman and you might manage to melt those icicles surrounding her heart by filling it
with the warmth of sunshine. Bake 10-12 minutes in a 350-degree oven. Makes 3 dozen cookies.

  And, if you're brave enough to withstand her rigid ideas about romance and work, brace yourself for the ride of your life and hope that she eventually sees you're indescribably delicious, just like her.

  I rushed into my apartment and dialed Megan's phone number. "Hey, what are you doing?"

  "Oh, I'm just sitting here reading e-mail. Ralph is still at work. He has a dinner meeting tonight, so I'm alone. Want to get together?"

  "Oh, Megan, I'm so happy you said that. I've wanted to call you a few times, but you're still newlyweds and I didn't want to bother you. Yes, yes, yes. I really need to talk to you."

  "Uh-oh, that sounds ominous."

  "Okay, I haven't eaten yet. Want to go to The Pub? We haven't been there in months"

  "Yeah, but if you want to talk, the band may drown you out," she said.

  "Okay, meet me at the Jackson Diner in the East Village. Sound good?"

  "Sure. I'll see you in twenty minutes."

  I clicked off and changed into slacks. It felt good to be in regular clothes for a change. I styled my short dark hair, used hair spray to hold it in place, and was out the door.

  Megan was already sitting in a booth when I arrived. I leaned over to give her a hug. Seeing her gave me a warm feeling. "Boy, I've missed you"

  "I know, Cass, me too," she pouted. "I love being married to Ralph, but I'm really missing our time together." She gave me a tight squeeze. "Okay, talk to me. Who's the latest guy you're trying to avoid?"

  I snickered. "Oh, man, I hate when that happens."

  "When what happens?" Megan's eyebrows knitted together.

  "When you call it like it is. You know me too well." I grinned. "But first things first: I'm going to be abusiness owner"

  "You're kidding. My God, when did this happen?"

 

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