Expiration Date

by Devon Delaney

  When she raced back to her table, Amber had begun mixing ingredients. Diana had yet to start constructing her pizza. The woman was intently studying the written recipe in front of her. Mac and Patti approached the prep tables just as Sherry placed her tenderloin on the cutting board. Diana leaned across Sherry’s table to get Mac’s attention.

  “Mac, would you happen to have a close-up of Jamie Sox’s uncooked pizza from the day of the cook-off? I’d be very interested to see how he arranged his toppings. I think I owe him getting the appearance of the dish as close as possible to the way he wanted it.”

  “Mac to the rescue. I still have all the cook-off shots on my other camera. Detective Bease told me not to erase any for now. It would’ve been nice of him to offer me some Benjamins for the equipment he put a freeze on, but no way, Ray.”

  Mac lifted the camera from his equipment bag. “This one right here has the photos. Let me find it for you.” Mac clicked the arrow keys on his viewfinder. “Give me a few minutes.”

  Mac stepped to the side of the table while shoppers circled the cooks like great white sharks around a school of anchovies. After a few minutes, Mac strutted up to the front of the crowd. “Important information coming through. Move aside.” Mac displayed his camera playback for Diana to see.

  “Perfect, thanks!” said Diana.

  People began jostling for position in front of the cooks. On the table between the shoppers and the cooks was a placard that read, “Questions are encouraged.”

  “Excuse me.” A young woman in a revealing workout top with a toddler on her cellulite-free hip waved her muscular arm up from the middle of the crowd. “I’m trying to go meatless. What could I substitute for the bison sausage in your pizza?”

  Sherry slowed the pace of her knife work so she could hear Diana’s reply.

  “There are meatless sausage crumbles you could use,” Diana didn’t hesitate to reply, “but add some smoked paprika, cumin, cayenne, and thyme to the sausage to give it a more gamey flavor.”

  A white-haired man holding a small boy’s hand shouted a question at Amber. “Does your seafood stain tables?”

  “I’m sorry?” Amber spoke to Sherry rather than the man.

  Sherry couldn’t think of any advice to offer.

  “No, it shouldn’t stain tables.”

  The young boy with a backward baseball cap whined, “No, Grandpa. I wanted you to ask if it’s sustainable.”

  The crowd chuckled.

  Amber giggled. “Yes. Of course it is. No ecosystem was compromised in the making of my recipe.”

  “Good job, Amber,” Sherry called out.

  Step by step, the dishes came together, and Sherry’s assembled dish was the first to go in the oven.

  “Soon it’s pizza time,” Diana sang. “Does anyone have a pair of oven mitts I can borrow?” Sherry handed Diana hers as Diana chanted her cook’s prayer.

  “Let’s give thanks for the quality food I prepare,

  “Well-done in a world of mediocrity is quite rare.”

  “Looks so delicious.” Sherry surprised herself with her enthusiasm.

  Diana bowed her head. “Visual appeal is just one component of a winning recipe, but thank you.”

  The audience clapped when Diana carried her pizza to the oven, caftan billowing as she moved. Sherry hustled to open the oven door for her. Diana shoveled the pizza from the paddle into the preheated oven then turned and curtsied. Sherry returned to her table, accompanied by Diana.

  “Is there a particular way to cut a pizza?” The inquiring woman was dressed in form-fitting tennis attire, and Sherry was sure pizza seldom touched the slender woman’s lips.

  “You know some Chicago-style pizza is cut into squares, ‘party-style.’” Diana etched a quotes sign in the air with her pizza cutter. “Today I could stick to traditional wedges, but I’d like to be accurate.” Diana turned to Sherry and Amber. “Do you ladies remember how the pizza was cut at the cook-off?”

  Both Sherry and Amber shook their heads, “No.”

  “I’m guessing we need Mac again. Let me grab him and see if he has your answer.” Sherry threw down her cleaning towel and skirted around the tables.

  “His pics will also help me figure out what garnish to use,” Diana called out after Sherry.

  Sherry found Mac fishing in a bowl of cheese cube samples at the back of the crowd. “We need a shot of Jamie Sox’s pizza after it was baked, so Diana can see how he sliced and garnished it.” Sherry studied the cheese cubes. “Don’t you ever think about how many grubby hands have been in that bowl before yours?”

  “Never.” Mac wiped his fingers on his shirt and picked up the camera equipment at his feet.

  Mac followed Sherry back to Diana’s table, where they caught the tail end of a dissertation on garnishes.

  “I know lots of people think garnish is just for show, but I’m definitely of the mind it should complement and harmonize with the flavors of the dish. You’re not just accenting with a touch of color on the plate. Garnish should make sense with the entire recipe. One of the subtle herbs used in the pizza sauce would serve as a logical garnish.

  “There were even green herbs in the bison sausage,” Diana concluded. “Think of garnish as having the same purpose as a Walmart greeter. It welcomes you in an unassuming way to the dish, while subliminally setting the tone of your entire dining experience.”

  Sherry whispered in Diana’s ear. “Mac has the photos you wanted. He’s coming.”

  “Right here.” Mac bumped his way through the milling crowd to get to the front of Diana’s table.

  “Perfect. I’m curious how he cut his slices. Never mind about the garnish, though.” Diana picked up a copy of Jamie’s printed recipe and pointed to the bottom of the ingredients list. “He doesn’t have any listed. I would’ve included one, but that’s just me. A recipe without garnish is like a guard dog without a bark. Incomplete.”

  “No. Jamie Sox’s pizza definitely had a garnish.” Patti Mellit held up a glossy piece of paper from the side of Diana’s table. “Check this out. It’s even in the photo in the store flyer.”

  “Mac sees a garnish, too.” Mac showed Diana two photos from his camera’s viewfinder.

  “Can I see?” After lengthy consideration, Sherry added, “Wonder if anyone noticed Jamie didn’t use the same garnish on the plate sent to the judges versus his plate on the display table.” Do I have that photo at home? Note to self: pull that photo.

  “Well, there’s none listed in his written recipe, and if it wasn’t, it shouldn’t be in his finished dish,” stated Diana. “A rookie mistake on Mr. Sox’s part. Enough said.”

  The oven timer behind the cooks rang out. Sherry handed Diana her oven mitts and watched as she pulled the bubbly pizza out of the oven and relayed it to her cutting board.

  “Guess I won’t be needing this.” Diana tossed a plastic bag of herbs off her table. It touched down in front of Sherry. “Oops, sorry.”

  “Delicious!” a spandex-clad woman raved at the sight of Diana’s pizza. “I’ll definitely have my personal chef make this for my family.”

  The oven timer rang again, signaling Sherry’s dish was done. She donned her oven mitts and chanted her cook’s prayer before removing her dish from the oven.

  “Thanks for the food we’re about to share,

  “There’s love in all the delicious layers.”

  Much to her delight, her tangy, luscious Chutney Glazed and Farro Stuffed Pork Tenderloin had the appearance of perfection. The glistening chutney glaze bubbled with gingery goodness. The split pork tenderloin was stuffed with organic farro and wilted baby spinach. Sherry’s trained eye recognized the meat had retained the majority of its juices, ensuring inner moistness, while releasing just enough of its rich drippings in the roasting pan to be spooned over the slices.

  Sherry pulled her aromatic pork out of the cramped oven. The internal meat thermometer read 165 degrees. It was cooked to her liking, medium rare. She let the meat rest for seven
minutes before she cut it at an angle. Her growing audience seemed to be buzzing with what Sherry hoped was escalating anticipation of a taste. One woman in particular had been at her table from the demonstration’s onset. She stood at the ready to receive a tasting plate. The woman, even while being bumped and jostled, wasn’t going to give up her prime spot at the front of the tasting line for anything.

  Sherry placed the meat on paper plates, leaving the majority of the pork on a serving platter for display purposes. Patti was waiting by Sherry’s station with notepad in hand. Before Sherry could set the first filled plate down on the table, the woman at the head of the line grabbed it and speared a bite with a fork she held at the ready. She hummed as she chewed. The woman had yet to swallow when Patti asked for her comments.

  An instant later, the woman bent over at the waist and began dry heaving while shivering violently.

  “We need a doctor over here!” Patti called out to her husband, “Rafe, can you help us?”

  Sherry rushed to the side of the ailing woman. She searched the crowd for Patti, hoping she still had an ally. When she found her, their gazes met briefly before Patti turned her head. Rafe hustled over and aided his wife as they guided the woman to the store’s customer service center for further assistance. As the woman was whisked away, Sherry moved her dish off the table and behind the ovens so she could evaluate the problem.

  “Madame.” Chef L’Herb waddled over to Sherry. “Was the pork cooked to the proper temperature?”

  “Yes, Chef. I was very careful to get it cooked through to one hundred sixty-five degrees.”

  The chef replied, “Humph.”

  Sherry bit her bottom lip when she spotted Detective Bease and Detective Diamond push through the crowd of gawkers.

  “What’s going on?”

  “My dish made a lady ill. I don’t know what happened.” Sherry put down her carving knife. “I can’t let anyone else try a bite. Ugh, I broke my own rule of always being the first to taste my dish when it comes out of the oven, you know, to adjust the seasonings. But because the crowd was restless, I served it without trying it. It could have been me doubled over in pain!”

  “Ms. Frazzelle.” Nick Andime, accompanied by Mike, the security guard from the OrgaNicks facility, wedged himself between the detectives and Sherry. “Sorry I’m late. I heard a bit about the woman who became sick.”

  “It’s awful, I’m so sorry,” said Sherry. She pushed her plates of tenderloin to the back of the table and covered them with dishtowels.

  “I think you shouldn’t take it personally,” said Nick. “The customer may have come in to the store under the weather. While we sort things out, would you mind just helping Ms. Sherman and Ms. Stroyer with their recipes? We’ll clear your area, just as a precaution. I’ll go check on the woman, but I’m positive it was a coincidence. She’ll be fine. Follow me, Mike.”

  On his way out, Nick peered back. “Keep cooking, ladies. We have mouths to feed.”

  Sherry shimmied over to Amber’s table. The detectives shifted their location, shadowing Sherry. Amber had just removed her Seafood Flatbread from the oven. “I’m going to slice this up. I think it looks okay, but I’m really nervous.”

  “I thought mine was okay, too, but I was very wrong.” Sherry shuddered and, like a contagious yawn, Amber followed suit and shuddered.

  Amber sectioned off a slice of saucy flatbread while Sherry crossed her fingers. Sherry willed herself to keep a cheerful dialogue going with the audience while watching for any signs Amber’s shrimp and scallops topping might be toxic.

  “I doubled my recipe,” Amber said. “I hope I haven’t cooked up double trouble.”

  Amber took a bite. Sherry clenched her teeth as she concentrated on Amber’s facial expression.

  “Pretty good.” Amber wiped the excess red sauce off her lips with her apron. “Anyone want a slice?”

  Cheering ensued. Sherry picked up plates with shaky hands for Amber to fill, then passed them out. Detective Bease circled to the back of the table. Seeing him, Sherry let the plates fall on to the table from her hand and ran full speed toward him.

  “Can’t you see someone is out to discredit me?” Sherry’s eyes pleaded for understanding. “I can’t be having this much bad luck. It’s just impossible. If it was a deliberate act today, whoever it was knew exactly how and where to hit me the hardest.”

  “You have quite a substantial list of odd incidents happening to you, Ms. Frazzelle.” Bease squinted. “Did you happen to know the woman who got sick?”

  “Of course not. I’ve never seen her.” Sherry’s voice quivered as it raised an octave.

  “I’ll take your food back to the lab and the results can tell us more,” said Detective Bease. “Diamond, gather a sample.”

  * * *

  As the midday demonstration neared its end, Nick came over to the cooks to let them know OrgaNicks deemed the demonstration mostly a success, despite the hiccup. Patti, Rafe, and Mac accompanied him. For their time, the cooks were presented with another gift basket filled with OrgaNicks goodies.

  “Thanks, ladies,” Patti said as she and Rafe exited.

  Mac hoisted his cameras to his chest and waved farewell.

  “Mac, before you leave, could you e-mail me a copy of the photo you took of Chef L’Herb and me?” Diana asked. “He’s such a cutie. You girls want a copy?”

  Sherry, in her exhausted state, relented. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I want a permanent reminder of another one of the worst days of my life?”

  “Sherry, unfortunately your food was gone by the time we searched for a sample to bring back to the crime lab.” Detective Bease picked up Sherry’s gift basket and waited for her to finish folding her apron. “No trace of it, whatsoever. The ingredients on your table check out fine. We have no way of identifying what caused the woman’s discomfort. Thankfully, she did seem to recover and has since disappeared before I could get her professionally examined, but the whole scenario is troubling, to say the least. As for your disappearing food, it’s not an advisable move if someone is tampering with evidence.”

  “Sherry, I think you handled it so gracefully.” Amber removed her apron and put it in her basket. “I know you’re technically not a ‘pro,’ but you sure acted like one today.”

  Despite the kind words, Sherry was left with a lingering unrest in the depths of her stomach. A question sizzled on her brain like a strip steak on a blazing fajita platter: What’s really going on here? She wrung her hands out to shake off the clamminess and yelled, “Stop!” The trick that worked for her in the past worked again. Her negative thoughts retreated and she was back in the present moment.

  “Sherry?” Amber halted in her tracks.

  “Ms. Frazzelle, I was just helping you carry your gift basket. No need to shout at me.” Detective Bease’s free hand plunged inside his coat.

  Sherry saw the strap of the detective’s shoulder holster when his coat flapped open. The skin on the back of her neck prickled with discomfort. “Sorry. I’m fine. Just ignore me.”

  The detective relaxed his arm and dropped it to his side. He took two steps toward Sherry. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked her straight in the eyes. “Ms. Frazzelle, things are getting complicated. My advice would be to keep a distance from anyone or anything associated with the cook-off until further notice.”

  Sherry’s eyes darted toward Amber.

  “Ms. Sherman excluded.” Detective Bease turned and marched away but not before adding, “Reminder, I need those photos back, ASAP.”

  Chapter 15

  “Amber, remind me again why doing yoga is better for me than giving in to the tuna melt craving I’m having? It’s your last afternoon here and this is how you want to spend it?” As Sherry neared the Namaste All Day yoga studio, she caught her reflection in the building’s tall window. Sherry tugged at her compression capris to loosen the wedgie they were giving her.

  “Body, mind, and spirit,” chanted Amber. “Body, mind, and spirit. Each of
those needs attention and replenishment periodically, and yoga is just the answer. Remember, our goal at this stage of our lives is to keep calm, keep growing and move forward. No backslides. All positives. Tuna can wait.”

  Sherry slammed into a wall of ninety-degree heat when she opened the studio doors. “Okay, you make it all sound worthwhile, but wow, does it have to be so hot in here? It’s like an oven. I hope it’s not me that’s cooked by the time we’re done.”

  “Did you know men who practice yoga are referred to as yogis, and women are yoginis?” Amber asked.

  “I’d prefer paninis and martinis, but I appreciate your wealth of information.”

  “Just trying to keep you in the know.”

  As the two ladies passed the other yoga students, Sherry noticed how protective they were of their chosen spots. If Sherry so much as glanced at empty floor space, someone would throw a mat or towel down to cover it. She followed Amber to the unpopulated area in the back of the room, taking care not to step on those who had sprawled out to begin preliminary stretches.

  After Sherry unrolled her funky-smelling mat, she found herself staring headlong into a room-width mirror. It had always been a source of pride that her weight had been the same for years, but now her reflection introduced an undeniable revelation. Her shape had transformed. Muscle, once uplifted, was now as droopy as a popsicle in the August sun. In vegetable terms, she was still a scallion but the lower bulb was widening.

  “The few times I did yoga, it wasn’t this ‘hot’ yoga,” said Sherry. “I’m glad we brought lots of water, because I think I’ve already lost a pint of bodily fluids just standing here. The smell in here brings back fond memories of Marla’s sweaty sports clothes.”

  “Sherry! Don’t make me laugh or people will think we aren’t serious!”

  When the class began, Sherry had trouble focusing on her movements because she was distracted by her surroundings. The man in front of her had discarded his shirt, and his sweat was pooling on his mat. To Sherry’s left, a woman was obviously very well-versed in the required poses, but she grunted with every change of position. Like a preheating oven, the temperature and humidity elevated as the class progressed. The air was stifling and thick with rancid body odor. Sherry’s body hadn’t been asked to bend in such acute angles since her time in the womb. She would have giggled at the absurdity of her situation if it weren’t for the fact she was close to tears. It was as if the walls were closing in on her.