10. Don’t give out your phone number or address on the first date.
11. No sex on a first date. It’s much too soon.
12. Don’t go out with married men. No matter how attractive. You deserve better.
Five Reasons Why Rita Likes San Francisco
(Here’s What, Where, Why, and When)
1. WEATHER—Rita loves the weather in San Francisco because (like her) it’s so unpredictable. But it does make it hard for visitors to plan ahead. Yes, it’s supposed to rain in the winter but there are gorgeous dry warm days all year round. Rita is always prepared because she never knows what weather the day will bring. That’s why it’s so important for a girl to dress in layers. Another fun fact is that the weather changes from neighborhood to neighborhood. The wind sometimes blows cold air and fog in off the ocean while a few miles away there can be warm sun on Telegraph Hill where Rita lives. The only things she knows for sure is that the sunsets over the ocean are spectacular, the fog creeps in “on little cat feet” under the Golden Gate Bridge and it never (almost never) snows except in 1887 when four inches of snow fell in San Francisco according to Meera who says she was there then, and there are (hardly ever) any April showers. Rita’s advice to tourists—Come in the fall for the best weather and wear layers, layers, layers.
2. WATER—San Francisco is a city that’s surrounded on three sides by water. The Pacific Ocean, the San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Strait. Rita has a view of the Bay from her flat on Telegraph Hill. The beaches can be a bit chilly for sunbathing and the water downright cold even for the bravest swimmers, which Rita is not.
3. WALKING—San Francisco is a relatively small city, laid out over a grid of 40 hills, which makes it both challenging and exhilarating to walk around. Some of Rita’s favorite walking neighborhoods are Pacific Heights with its stately historic homes and spectacular views. She also takes out-of-town guests on a steep hike up to Coit Tower on Filbert or Greenwich Streets where they can get a peek into the gardens and lifestyles of the people who live on the hill. Rita has yet to walk across the Golden Gate Bridge but she wants to do that, ideally holding hands with one of the men in her life as they gaze at the beautiful city in the distance or the hills of Marin County to the north.
4. FREE STUFF—Rita is always looking for a bargain, whether it’s clothes, shoes, accessories or entertainment. Fortunately there is no entrance fee to the Golden Gate Park which was created in the late 1800s according to our resident wannabe vampire, Meera, who says she remembers when it was just sand dunes out there. The park is even bigger than Central Park in New York. Home to the DeYoung Art Museum, the California Academy of Sciences and the Japanese Tea Garden, the park is a great place for Rollerblading, bicycling or having a picnic. The museums require an entrance fee, so Rita likes taking advantage of the free stuff like the Botanical Garden, the Buffalo Paddock, Stow Lake, and the Shakespeare Garden. There are also occasional free Sunday concerts in the outdoor band shell.
5. FOOD—Rita didn’t come to San Francisco for the food, but like so many others she is eating her way through the city. She’s not much of a cook but she has a healthy appetite and the men she meets like to eat too. Obviously she came to the right place. Since she arrived, she’s been introduced to Romanian food thanks to Nick Petrescu and his aunt, Meera. She’s also eaten sushi, Vietnamese pho, cracked Dungeness crab, sourdough bread, clam chowder from a bread bowl, Korean tacos and much much more. It’s a wonder Rita can still fit into her favorite Lucky brand jeans; it must be all that walking up and down the hills that keeps her a perfect size 4.
Recipes
Meera’s Stuffed Cabbage Rolls—
Galumpkis
(With thanks to “Angelinaw”)
Serves 4 Romanians or 6 Americans
Meera learned to make galumpkis from her grandmother in the medieval town of Brasov, where her family lived near the historic castle of Bran, a Gothic fairy-tale kind of palace. No wonder Meera has the spirit of the vampires in her blood. (If not the real thing.) Grannie used to fill Meera’s head with tales of Vlad, the fifteenth-century prince who was the inspiration for Bram Stoker’s Dracula. No surprise that Meera is a selfdescribed vampire. Vampire or not, she’s a great cook!
This galumpkis is the perfect dish when the weather gets cold in Romania or wherever friends gather to eat and drink. The tomato sauce is often described as a sweet-sour sauce.
TOMATO SAUCE
1 ½ quarts crushed tomatoes (or you can use 1 can of tomato juice)
2 tablespoons white vinegar (apple cider vinegar will make it more tart)
1 tablespoon sugar
2 tablespoons garlic, minced
1 teaspoon pesto
CABBAGE ROLLS
1 head cabbage
1 onion, chopped
1 pound meat (traditionally done with ½ lb pork, ½ lb beef—but I use venison)
2 tablespoons garlic, minced
1 large egg
2 tablespoons parsley,chopped
1 ½ cups white rice, cooked
salt and pepper to taste
Core and boil the cabbage first. You are boiling for about 5 minutes—just to make the cabbage leaves pliable.
While the cabbage is boiling, prepare the tomato sauce.
Sauté the garlic and pesto in a skillet for 1 minute.
Add the tomatoes and cook, stirring occasionally for about 5 minutes.
Add the vinegar and sugar and simmer until the sauce thickens (this is a good place to taste the sauce—we like ours a little tart).
Season with salt and pepper and remove from heat.
By now your cabbage should be done.
Take the cabbage out of the water, run under cold water, and gently start taking the leaves off of the head. (If you overboiled your cabbage this will result in the leaves shredding.)
Lay out the leaves flat (like sheets of paper).
Cut out the vein from the backside of the leaf (this will make it really pliable).
The bigger leaves will be used for the bottom of your pot and the top of your pot, so put those really big leaves aside.
MAKE THE FILLING
Sauté the onion and garlic until the onion is soft (if you can caramelize them a little this adds extra flavor to the filling).
Stir in the parsley and a little of the tomato sauce (about ¼ cup).
Combine this mix with your meat in a large bowl.
Add the egg and cooked rice.
Mix well with your hands, seasoning with salt and pepper if desired.
Take the mix in small palm-sized chunks and place one chunk in the middle of a cabbage leaf. Roll the end up so it curls around the meat and then tuck in each side, covering the meat, and then roll the cabbage leaf up completely. (You should not see any meat.)
Continue rolling until all of your meat mix is gone.
Dividing the big leaves in half, place the big leaves in the bottom of your pan.
In Romania they use a big stock pot or dutch oven on top of the stove for cooking. In America Meera uses a Crock-Pot, or she bakes them in the oven in a cast-iron, porcelain-enamel French pot.
Place the cabbage rolls on top of the big leaves.
Pour the sauce over the rolls and add water if needed to cover the rolls completely.
Place the other big leaves on top of the rolls, tucking them in.
Cook for about 3–4 hours on low heat.
POFTA BUNA!
Zama De Pasole Verde
(Meera’s Green String Bean Soup)
Guaranteed to cure the common cold, allergies, sore throat and ease the pain of minor concussions or the agony of unrequited love.
2 pounds string beans, cut in short pieces
3 pounds spring chicken, cut into pieces
2 tablespoons lard, oil or butter
One onion, chopped and sautéed
1 teaspoon red pepper or more to taste
1 garlic clove
Bunch of parsley and dill weed, chopped fine
1
½ teaspoons flour
3 quarts water
Place lard or substitute butter in a heavy pot and sauté together with the flour until you have a roux, 3 to 5 minutes. Add red pepper, water and chicken and cook until chicken is firm. Cook green beans, garlic and onion in a half cup of water separately for a half hour then add to the chicken pot and cook the whole thing for 45 minutes or more. Add parsley and dill weed at the end.
Turn the page for a preview of
Grace Carroll’s next Accessory Mystery . . .
Died with a Bow
Coming soon from Berkley Prime Crime!
April in San Francisco is all about layers. Not the layers of fog that blanket the ocean beaches, not the layers of cake at bakeries like Miette or Tartine. I mean layers of clothing, from a sleeveless tunic worn over a polo neck to pairs of leggings with ballerina flats or plain pumps. Under no circumstances should you wear a tight shirt or sweater with your leggings. The overall look must be balanced: the top must be roomy and the leggings must be fitted. It’s simple really.
That’s what I’d been telling the customers at Dolce’s, the boutique where I’ve worked for the past year. Because in our city surrounded on three sides by water, chilly fog and a brisk wind can sweep over the town without notice in any month, and you have to be prepared for them. Sometimes it’s a burst of brilliant, warm sunshine followed by damp mist or, in winter, a heavy downpour. If you asked me, and many customers did, I would recommend wearing a narrow fitted top under a classic belted trench coat with dangling earrings and, in this case, knee-high socks over tights.
Today I was wearing all gray, which looks softer next to the skin than black or navy and is not as boring as it sounds. With a boyfriend blazer over a tank top under a thin Alexander Wang sweater I love, I carried a striped canvas tote. Wide-legged pants and strapped loafers made me feel ready to take on the world, or at least Dolce’s regular customers, the rich and well-connected to the city’s social scene.
One thing I was not ready for was to be greeted by a stranger at the door of the Victorian mansion Dolce had converted into an exclusive shop.
“Hello!” The young woman in satin shorts so full I thought they were bloomers, along with tights, a ribbed longsleeved T-shirt and patent leather wedge sling backs invited me inside as if I were a customer and she worked there. It turned out she did work there.
“I’m Vienna Fairchild. Welcome to Dolce’s,” she said with a dazzling smile. So dazzling her teeth must have recently been laser-whitened.
“Hi, Vienna. I’m Rita. I work here.”
“Rita,” she said, looking puzzled for a moment while she scratched her head. “Where have I heard that name before?” Which made me wonder, was she kidding or wasn’t I in the right place? Had I landed in an alternate universe? “Oh, I know. Dolce mentioned you.”
Mentioned me? Me, her right-hand girl? That’s funny, I thought, because she hasn’t mentioned you to me.
Right away I could tell things were different, and I’d only been gone for two days. I’d taken Saturday off to move into a smaller, more affordable apartment, and Sunday, the shop was closed. While I was gone the accessory section had been moved from the foyer and jewelry had taken its place. Racks of new clothes were pushed against the far wall of the great room, and our mannequins wore bright, bold spring outfits that I’d never seen before, and if I had, I would never have worn them or dressed anyone, even a fiberglass model, in them. I knew the theme was citrus colors, but someone had gone way too far. I mean, who wants to look like a grapefruit?
I looked around, feeling a chill of apprehension. Vienna was rubbing her slender, ringed fingers together, looking at me as I looked around. Was she thinking, why is Rita wearing so much gray today when clearly spring is in the air?
“How do you like it?” she said. “Don’t you just love, love what I’ve done?”
“You did this?” I asked.
She nodded, waiting for me to go off into ecstasy.
“It’s stunning,” I said. It was. I was stunned. But not in a good way. “So Vienna, are you . . .”
“Working here? Yes, I am. Isn’t it amazing? Last week I was wondering what to do with myself, just out of school with a degree in marketing and nothing to market. I thought I’d be perfect as a personal shopper for celebrities who don’t have time to shop for themselves. Or should I be a buyer for a store like Saks or Nordstrom? Then my stepmother, I believe you know Bobbi, suggested I move to the city. Next, I land a job here at her favorite boutique. How perfect is that? Works for them, and it works for me. I mean the suburbs where my parents and their significant others live are way too quiet for me. Borrring. So I came in for an interview on Friday night, got hired and Saturday was my first day.” She sighed, no doubt exhausted from this long speech, and spread her well-toned arms out wide. She beamed at me and said, “And here I am.”
I tried to beam back, but all I could come up with was a weak smile. How on earth was there going to be room for both of us and my boss, Dolce, in this chic little store? I got my answer before I could say Diane von Furstenberg when Dolce came down the stairs from her apartment above the store.
“Rita, I see you’ve met Vienna.” More beaming, this time from Dolce, who was wearing business casual—a magenta ruffled top with a tweed jacket and some sleek straight pants. “I knew you two girls would get along. And having Vienna here will free you up for some important work I need you to help me with,” she said to me.
The work she had in mind was unpacking boxes of clothes, pressing them and hanging them on racks. The kind of thing you would ask the new girl to do, I thought. But no, Dolce, ever tactful, said she trusted only me to handle the new merchandise. Which made me feel good for about ten minutes. Then I missed my old job of being out front. The question was, didn’t the customers miss me too?
As I worked by myself in the back room sorting endless boxes of new clothes and accessories, I could hear the sound of voices out in front. There was laughter and gossip, but I wasn’t part of it anymore. That hurt. How long was I going to have to play the role of the backstage understudy? Once I overheard a customer saying, “Where’s Rita?” I stopped and straightened my shoulders, ready to pop out and say, “Here I am,” but then I heard Vienna say I was busy today and ask if she could help her.
Of course, it was her first day, and she was excited and eager to prove herself without me around to show her up. I could understand that. Tomorrow would be different. How, I wasn’t sure. Would Vienna be willing to do this kind of work when the fun of the job was finding the right outfit for the right customer for the right occasion? I suspected the answer was no, she wouldn’t.
After we’d closed that evening and Vienna had left with her boyfriend, Geoffrey, a tall, lanky guy she pointed out to us when he stopped in the street to pick her up on his BMW motorcycle, Dolce explained that Vienna was working on commission only.
“It’s the only way I could afford to hire her,” Dolce told me. “And why she has to work up front with the customers she promised to bring in. If she isn’t selling anything, she isn’t earning any money. Whereas you . . .”
She didn’t have to say more. I had a salary. It wasn’t very much, but it was enough to live on as long as I got a big discount on my designer clothes and didn’t go out to eat unless someone took me. Which hadn’t happened lately. And which used to happen more frequently when I was the new girl in town. There was no guy on an expensive motorcycle outside waiting for me today. No guy at all.
Only a few months ago I was juggling dates with Nick, an athletic Romanian gymnastics instructor, Jonathan, a gorgeous ER doctor, and Detective Jack Wall of the San Francisco Police Department, but my phone had stopped ringing after I helped Jack solve a murder. It seemed to be a case of No Good Deed Goes Unpunished.
Maybe Dr. Jonathan Rhodes was dating one of those attractive nurses I’d seen the last time I was at the hospital to have my sprained ankle examined. They’d have more in common with him than I ever would. I could
n’t discuss sprains or infections in a meaningful way, if that’s what he was looking for in a date.
Maybe Nick the gymnast was busy giving classes in competitive trampoline, introduction to the beam bar and so forth. He’d wanted me to sign up for one of his classes, but instead I’d joined Alto Aquatics, a swim club where I got my exercise swimming laps and learning floatation and water safety techniques from the swim coach. Maybe it’s because I was born under the sign of Aquarius, the water bearer, that I’m more at home in the water than at a gym. What I do know is that I’m a typical Aquarius in that I look good in turquoise and I’m tolerant of others’ viewpoints. To a certain degree.
It might be time to check up on my favorite police detective, I thought, though I knew my aunt Grace strongly disapproved of women chasing men. At age eighty, she’s so with-it, she even has a Facebook page. At the same time, she has such strict rules she doesn’t approve of calling or texting men unless they contact her first. She definitely wouldn’t approve of going to the neighborhood where a certain man worked and having dinner at his favorite Vietnamese restaurant just in case he dropped in. I could just see her shaking her head, the curls in her bold blond updo quivering at the very idea.
It was possible the sexiest cop in the city had been transferred out of town, or he’d gotten disillusioned with law enforcement and quit, or he was wounded in the line of duty, or . . . It was only common courtesy for me to find out if he was okay.
“Date night?” Dolce asked me hopefully before I left. She’d probably noticed there’d been a drop in the number of men in my life from three to zero, and maybe she guessed I was eager to leave the shop, where I didn’t exactly feel important today.
Shoe Done It Page 23