“That’s easy: what’s local, what’s fresh, what’s good.”
“Sounds simple. But how do you plan menus when you don’t know what you’ll have on hand?”
“You do have to be flexible, and know your foods. But that’s half the fun of being a chef—improvising. I wouldn’t want to run a big place and have to turn out the same boring stuff day after day. I saw enough of that in Boston. And no way do I want to use prepackaged stuff. You’d be amazed at what some of the big restaurants get away with, because people don’t know any better.”
“The chefs, or the patrons?”
“Both. The chefs settle for what’s easy, like canned sauces, and the patrons accept it because that’s what they expect. You have to educate both sides.”
Meg hesitated a moment before saying, “I’ve got one piece of good news for you: Jake Kellogg said he’d be willing to talk to you about supplying pork.”
“Isn’t that the place . . .” Nicky’s voice trailed off.
“Yes, but Seth says he’s the best supplier around. If it bothers you, you don’t have to use him.”
Nicky squared her shoulders. “It’s okay. I can handle it. And thanks, Meg.” Talking about food, which she clearly loved, seemed to have calmed Nicky down, and she didn’t flinch when Seth’s voice called out from the front, “Anybody home?”
Nicky gave Meg a quick smile. “Here we go!”
Meg followed her to the front room, where Seth waited with Edna Blakely, the potential sous chef. She was an older black woman, with close-cropped hair, mainly silver. She was nearly as tall as Seth, and taller than Nicky. Her eyes were wary.
“Hi, Nicky, Meg. This is Edna Blakely. Edna, Nicky Czarnecki. Is Brian here, Nicky?”
Nicky strode forward and extended her hand. “It’s good to meet you, Edna. No, Brian had something to do in Springfield, but he might get here before we’re done. Why don’t we sit in the kitchen? As you can see, Edna, we’re still just setting up out here—I thought we should get the kitchen right first.”
“Pleased to meet you, Nicky. And you got that right—the kitchen’s the heart of the place. Nice space you’ve got here. How many covers?”
“We’re thinking two dinner seatings, at least forty each.” Nicky led the way back to the kitchen and doled out coffee to the newcomers. They all found seats, with Nicky and Edna across from each other at one end, Meg and Seth at the other end.
“Okay, Edna, tell me your background,” Nicky began.
Edna’s expression gave little away, but Meg noticed that she kept twisting her hands in front of her, maybe unconsciously. How badly did she want this job?
“I didn’t grow up around here,” Edna began. “Came with my husband, Luther. He was a restless sort, never could figure out what he wanted to do. We lived in Ohio before here, and Tennessee before that. He’s gone now. I always worked, some factory work, back a good few years. Then the Millers opened up that diner on the highway—you remember, right, Seth?”
“I do. We used to go there Sundays after church, for breakfast.”
“I’d always cooked, but whatever training I got, I got at Millers’ diner. Open eighteen hours a day, breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
“Did the Millers do most of the cooking?”
“Early on, yeah. When they got older, I took over more and more of it.”
“What was the menu like?”
“ ’ Bout like what you’d expect for a diner—sandwiches, hamburgers, big breakfasts, served all day. We did a couple of daily specials—I was pretty much responsible for the idea, and then for cooking ’em. Got to be pretty popular, too.”
“What happened to the diner? It’s closed?”
“Five years now. Mrs. Miller died, and Mr. Miller kind of lost interest. He tried to sell it, but nobody wanted it—he’d let it get pretty run down, over the years. I tried to put together enough cash to buy him out, but Luther didn’t leave me much, and the bank wasn’t about to help, so in the end it closed. It was out where that gas station is now.”
“And what have you been doing since, Edna?”
Meg suppressed a smile: Nicky was trying so hard to be professional and dignified as she interviewed a woman old enough to be her mother. She sneaked a glance at Seth, who had been quiet, allowing Nicky to handle things.
“This and that,” Edna said. “Mostly prep cook for a couple of places around here. I can give you names, if you want. But I’m tired of chopping up stuff for other people’s dishes. I can do more. What you looking for, Nicky?” Edna gave Nicky a direct, almost challenging, look.
Nicky gave a small sigh. “I don’t know how much Seth has told you, but here’s the story. My husband, Brian, and I moved here with a friend of ours, Sam Anderson. I’m the head chef, and Brian’s the manager, front of house, and the numbers guy. Sam was going to be my sous chef and forager. You’ve probably heard that Sam . . . died.”
“Found dead in Kellogg’s pigpen. Somebody kill him?”
Nicky looked startled by the direct question. “Maybe. Is that a problem, Edna?”
“Nope. I didn’t know your man. I do know the Kelloggs, though—good people. Good pigs.”
“How do you know that?”
“Used to be he’d smoke some bacon, now and then. When he did, I grabbed it up for the diner.”
“Ah.” Nicky looked speculatively at Edna, but it wasn’t an unfriendly look. “Tell me, how would you see working with me in this kitchen?”
Edna took her time looking around. “Good layout, plenty of room. Your husband’s gonna cover the front of the house? Because that’s not what I’m good at.”
“Yes, Brian’s going to do that. Can you handle suppliers?”
“Sure can, no problem. But listen, I’d want to do more than chop up your onions. I want to cook.” Edna’s chin came up.
Nicky studied Edna’s face. Finally she said, “Show me.”
“Now?”
“Why not?”
“With what you got on hand?”
Nicky nodded. “Exactly. Show me what you can do.”
Edna thought for a moment, then nodded in response. “Okay. But can you all clear out for a bit, let me get a feel for the place without everybody watching?”
“Fair enough. Edna, the kitchen’s all yours.”
When they’d left the room, Edna closed the door behind them.
“This is an interesting approach, Nicky,” Meg said. “What are you looking for? And what the heck does she have in there to work with?”
“What I really want to know is what her approach to food is. I’ve been stocking up on basics—we’ve been eating here for a few weeks, so she’s got more than a can of beans and some bread to work with. I hope I didn’t insult her, Seth, but if she’s a real cook, she’ll understand.”
“She seemed to take it well. Look, Nicky, she needs the job, but you aren’t under any obligation to give it to her if she’s not a good fit.”
“Thanks, Seth. I’d hate to hurt her feelings, but I need to know what she can do.”
Seth nodded. “Now, what do you want to know about the selectmen’s meeting?”
“Oh, goodness, I don’t know. What do I need to know? Who’s going to be there, what they need to hear. Are we going to run into any problems? Who’s in charge of permits? Is there an inspector? What questions are we supposed to ask?”
“Slow down!” Seth laughed. “Look, there are three selectmen—me, Tom Moody, and Caroline Goldthwaite. We’re all elected. The town secretary may be there, to take the minutes, even though we videotape the meetings these days. At some point you’ll have to talk to the town assessor, but that can wait. There should be some outsiders—local citizens—there, mostly those who are curious about what you’re doing with the place. And the handful who believe in attending every public meeting on principle.”
“Are they going to ask about . . . Sam’s death? Are people really saying it was murder?”
Seth shrugged. “Maybe, although it would surprise me. M
ostly they’ll want to know about what kind of food you’re planning to serve, and whether they can afford it. As for your other question, I’d guess the cat’s pretty much out of the bag, no matter what Detective Marcus may think.”
“Huh. Well, what can people in Granford afford?” Nicky asked.
“Hard to say. Are you aiming for a casual, local kind of place, or a special occasion place?”
“Somewhere in the middle, I think. I mean, I want people to feel welcome, and I don’t want them to think they have to dress up to walk through the door, but I want the food to be special. Something that might attract people from Northampton and Amherst, and maybe tourists, but I don’t want to price my neighbors out of the place. Is that going to be impossible?”
“Nicky, I honestly don’t know. But I think you’ve got the right idea. If it helps any, we’re thinking of including a nonchain lunch place in Granford Grange—that’s the new shopping strip south of town—so you wouldn’t have to cover that part of things.”
“Okay.” Nicky chewed her lower lip. “I’m sorry if this sounds kind of vague. I mean, before we got here, I didn’t want to get too wedded to any one idea before I actually knew what kind of place we’d have, and even now that we’ve got this place, I’m still thinking about a lot of things. That’s why I can’t give a lot of details yet. Can your selectmen help with finding providers?”
“Maybe. You might want to talk to the Agricultural Commission.”
“Will they be there?”
“Not this time, but I can put you together with the head of the commission.”
The kitchen door opened. “You all ready?” Edna asked.
“That was fast!” Nicky whispered. It hadn’t been more than ten minutes since they’d left the kitchen.
Meg didn’t know whether Edna’s speed was good or bad, but she promised herself to keep an open mind. After all, she liked diner food, but she wasn’t sure if that was what Nicky was aiming for.
In the kitchen, Edna had arrayed plates around the table, each with a colorful salad, carefully arranged. They took their seats, and Nicky said, “Tell us what you’re serving us, Edna.”
Edna stood at the head of the table, her arms crossed. “Fresh tomatoes, goat cheese—is that from Kibbee’s?—and fresh basil, with a mustard vinaigrette.”
Meg looked down at her plate, reluctant to spoil the pretty ensemble. It certainly matched anything she’d had back in Boston restaurants. She picked up her fork and took a bite. Lovely balance of flavors: the tomatoes were at the peak of ripeness, the basil was bright and green, the goat cheese was tangy and crumbled into pieces that neither overwhelmed nor disappeared into the other ingredients. She took a second bite, and a third, then looked up to see Nicky’s reaction. After all, it was Nicky’s opinion that counted.
Nicky was beaming. “Edna, this is terrific. This is exactly what I want. How did you know?”
Edna shrugged, but permitted herself a small smile. “Get good local products, and don’t mess ’em up. That’s what I do. Glad you like it.”
Meg noted that everyone’s plate was clean in moments.
Nicky said firmly, “Edna, we can’t pay a whole lot, but if we can agree on a salary, I want you to work for me, for us. Are you interested?”
“We can work it out.”
“How soon can you start? Because I’d love to have your input on our menus, and where we can get more stuff like this. And you’re right—it is Kibbee’s cheese. Sam found it, and I think he’d be happy you used it.”
“I oughta give notice where I am now, but maybe a week or two? When you thinking on opening?”
“September, we hope.”
“Whoa. You don’t mess around. But that’ll give us a couple of weeks to work things out between us. And I can give you a list of the people I used to buy from. Some of them, they’re out of the business now, but most are still around, maybe only to please themselves these days.”
“Wonderful. Could we do that now? And then you can meet Brian when he gets back.”
Edna agreed, and Seth stood up. “Edna, this was great. I’ve missed your cooking since the diner closed. Nicky, I’ve got to run—I’m picking up some lumber in Chicopee. But I’m glad it looks like things will work out with you two.”
“Thank you so much, Seth! I’ll see you tomorrow night at seven, right? At Town Hall? Oh, Meg, we haven’t even had a minute to go over the numbers. Can you stay a bit longer? “
“Sure,” Meg said. “Just let me see Seth out and I’ll be back.”
Meg followed Seth out to the parking lot. “That looks like a match made in heaven, Seth. What a great thought, putting them together.”
“I’ve known Edna for years—she’s been wasted on the places she’s working now.”
“Even I can see that. What really happened to the diner? Wasn’t there enough business to make it viable?”
“No, there was. It was a local hangout, and not just for high school kids. But the Millers let it go too far, and Edna couldn’t scrape together enough money to buy it and fix it up. I’ll have to admit the town wasn’t much help—they figured the gas station and the convenience store would bring in more money than the diner, which is probably true. But people still miss the diner.”
“Too bad ‘quality of life’ doesn’t come with a dollar value attached.”
“Exactly.”
“So I’ll see you at the meeting?”
“Of course. Now I’d better get back in there and help Nicky polish up their pitch.”
15
When Meg arrived at Town Hall for the meeting of the Granford selectmen, she was surprised to see that most of the adjacent parking lot was filled. She wondered if it was because Nicky and Brian were unveiling their plans for the restaurant, and if so, how the word had gotten out. There was no local press, although Granford meetings were listed in the Springfield paper. E-mail blast? Phone tree? Or good old-fashioned word of mouth?
Once inside, Meg followed the buzz of voices to the meeting room on the first floor. The selectmen sat at a table at the head of the room, their name plates in front of them. About thirty folding chairs had been arrayed in rows facing them, taking up most of the available space. Two-thirds of the chairs were already filled, ten minutes before the meeting was scheduled to begin. Meg scanned the group for familiar faces and was happy to see Gail Selden from the Historical Society, who waved and pointed to an empty seat next to her.
Meg slid along the row and sat. “Quite a turnout, isn’t it?” she said.
Gail grinned. “Obviously we don’t get a lot of excitement around here. And people are certainly curious about what’s going on. You’ve been inside the building after they started renovations, right? What’s it like?”
“Nice. They’ve kept it simple. I for one think it’s going to be a real asset. You have any idea what the rest of the town thinks?”
“I haven’t heard anything negative. Too bad about the murder, though.”
“So people are saying it’s murder now?” Meg asked, troubled. When had it become public knowledge?
“What else could it be?” Gail replied. “Young guy just keels over of natural causes in a pigsty? Nobody’s buying that. What did the cops say? Do they have any idea who did it?”
Meg shook her head. “Not that I know of, although they’re not likely to tell me.” Would Marcus be more willing to share now that he’d gotten so friendly with Lauren? “I’m happy it hasn’t discouraged Nicky and Brian.”
“They’re really a cute couple, but do they know what they’re doing?” Gail asked in a low voice.
“As far as food goes, I’d say yes. On the business side, I don’t know, although I understand that Brian has at least taken business courses. And I don’t know how deep their pockets are. The kitchen’s finished anyway, and they’re working on the front of the house. And they’ve hired Edna Blakely to help with the cooking.”
“Oh, good. She deserves a break.”
“You know her, too?”
“Slowly, but I really enjoy it. It’s a nice change from working in the orchard and on the house. The problem is, I keep getting sidetracked by interesting documents, so I’m probably not getting as much done as quickly as I could. And I have to take advantage of the good weather when I can, for both the stuff that needs doing in the orchard, and the outside of the house. I can’t afford to paint the whole thing yet, so I’m kind of slapping paint on the worst parts, like the window frames.”
“I hear you, and I’m not in any hurry on the cataloging. Consider whatever gems you find one of the perks. Anything interesting lately?”
“A nice old map of the town. Don’t you love it when they draw in not only the houses but the trees? And it’s so kind of those old mapmakers to label who lived where.”
“Yeah, they took that seriously in the old days. Of course, there were fewer people then, and they pretty much stayed put for generations. Nowadays the map would be out of date by the time it was printed.” Gail looked toward the front of the room. “Well, looks like things are about to start.”
Tom Moody had stood up in the front of the room, and glared at the group in front of him until they quieted. He nodded toward the high school kid at the back of the room, who flipped a switch on the video recording system. “The meeting of the Select Board of Granford is now in session. All three board members are present, as is the chair of our finance committee, Eli Nash.”
He and the others dealt with some ordinary business items and fielded a few questions from the floor. Seth’s comments were generally short and upbeat; Caroline Goldthwaite was well informed but seemed to radiate an air of constant disapproval. After about half an hour, Seth said, “We have an unusual item on tonight’s agenda. Let me introduce Nicky and Brian Czarnecki, who have bought the Stebbins place across the street, and who are planning to open a restaurant there in a couple of months. Brian, Nicky, why don’t you come up and tell us about it?”
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