by Amy Pershing
Still nothing. I waited.
“Not because of me,” he said finally. “Please tell me you didn’t turn it down because of me.”
What? Was he going for sainthood?
“No,” I said, in all honesty.
“So why?” he asked softly.
I heard Helene in my head again.
“Because suddenly I knew that here—the Cape, Fair Harbor, Aunt Ida’s house—was exactly where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be.”
EPILOGUE
We piled into Miles’s truck, with Helene up front and me in the back. Miles was blasting the Hamilton soundtrack from a Bluetooth speaker he kept permanently on the dashboard. It was nice. Driving in Miles’s truck was nice. Even on Snow’s Way, the ride was pretty smooth.
“When did trucks turn into cars?” I asked Miles.
“About ten years ago, when I bought this baby,” Miles said. “You should see what they’ve got now though. Some of them have sound systems and coolers built into the bed.”
I could see Miles imagining himself at his beloved Patriots games wowing all his tailgating buddies, of which he had quite a few, all straight. Which I’d always thought was wonderful.
We pulled into Jenny’s driveway, and she hopped in back with me, waving to Roland and the three Things standing in the doorway. The boys waved back madly. Roland did not.
“Be good for Daddy!” she shouted out the window. “I’ll miss you!”
Then she leaned forward and said to Miles, “Drive, drive, drive!”
Miles drove.
It had been all of three days since my little run-in with Curtis Henson, but Krista had decided that three days off was enough. I’d promised her I’d review the Crying Tiger and, by god, it was time I did. I didn’t have high hopes for the restaurant, but even pale imitation Thai food was better than no Thai food at all. So I was pleasantly surprised by what was on offer. In true Thai style, we ordered a half dozen dishes for the table, ranging from a green papaya salad to the house specialty, the Crying Tiger itself: supremely tender flank steak, marinated, grilled, and sliced thin, then draped over a cone of steamed rice. I was delighted with the spicy hot pad Thai and the rice noodles with chicken and garlicky greens. A stir-fry of crunchy hearts of palm with shrimp came adorned with two giant prawns, heads still attached, and I thought Jenny was going to pass out.
“I don’t eat food with eyes,” she said, waving the dish away with her chopsticks.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Helene said as she calmly snapped a shrimp’s head off and began peeling it with her fingers. “You eat lobsters, for Pete’s sake.”
“That’s different,” Jenny said with finality, as if she’d made a point whose logic could not be denied.
Helene just rolled her eyes and reached for the other shrimp.
We washed down the feast with cold Thai beers (except for designated driver Miles, who pouted) and pronounced the meal a success.
As we were finishing up, a trim Thai woman wearing a floor-length silk skirt and long-sleeved collarless blouse came over and introduced herself as Madam Phi, the restaurant’s owner. She insisted on knowing all our names, though when she came to me, she said, “Of course, you need no introduction. I have seen you on the computer.”
My heart sank. Was my infamy going to follow me forever?
“You are so amusing.”
Really? Because that was a reaction I hadn’t come across before.
“I did not know the story of the spaghetti tree.”
“The spaghetti tree?” I repeated inanely. Not YouTube? And then, with a sinking heart, I remembered the video of me and Mr. Logan at Bits and Bites. The video in which I said to a man who every Clarion reader now knew had tried to run me down with a speedboat, “I’ve really enjoyed our time together.” How long had that clip been online? A week? Krista needed to pull that thing down!
“It is surprising, what people do not know about the food they eat,” Madame Phi continued. “I once had a patron who said there was no chili in his pad Thai. I pointed to the dried red chilies in his meal, but he was confused.” She laughed. It sounded like a bell ringing. “He wanted American chili, you know, with ground beef and red beans!”
Jenny turned to me and said, “‘The Cape Cod Foodie, Episode Two: Where’s the Chili?’”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
An author could have no more trustworthy guide and champion than my tremendously supportive agent, Sandy Harding, whose smarts and professionalism are surpassed only by her warm and caring heart. Plus, she totally gets my sense of humor.
To my editor, Michelle Vega, at Berkley Prime Crime, a thousand thanks. Michelle’s sheer enthusiasm (this is a woman who has never met an exclamation point she didn’t like!) and spot-on editorial judgment have made working with her an absolute joy. And many additional thanks to fellow foodie Jenn Snyder for all her help in guiding A Side of Murder into print. Plus, they both totally get my sense of humor.
I would be remiss in not mentioning that all three of these remarkable women have been models of grace under pressure, working with unflagging dedication and optimism in “a world turned upside down.” I am in awe of their strength and resiliency, and I thank them for their example.
And, of course, all love and gratitude to my wonderful husband, Bill Schwartz, whose devious mind started the whole ball rolling!
RECIPES
A Casual Dinner with Friends
This is a lovely, informal meal to share with good friends. I like to serve it “European style,” as four small courses (appetizer, soup, salad, and dessert). This lets you and your guests really appreciate each course—and keeps you around the table, laughing and talking, much longer!
BEACH SHACK ONION RINGS
These delicate rings are dipped in a light flour and water batter and cook up into lovely “nests” of fried onion goodness. As an appetizer, bring out a platter piled high with the golden nests and put it in the middle of the table, encouraging your guests to pull it apart and eat the nests with their fingers. It’s so much fun!
(serves 4)
2 large onions, thinly sliced (no more than ¼ inch)
2 cups water
2 cups all-purpose flour
1½ quarts neutral frying oil such as canola (or more as needed)
Salt
Warm oven by preheating to 150-200 degrees, then turn it off.
Slice the onions as thinly as possible, no more than ¼ inch. (A mandoline, if you have one, makes short work of this, but a nice sharp chef’s knife will absolutely do the trick.) Separate the onion slices into rings.
Put 2 cups of water in a shallow bowl and gradually whisk in the flour, until the batter is smooth. It should have the consistency of sour cream—you can add more flour or water if necessary.
Fold the sliced onions into the batter with a spatula.
Pour the oil into a large, heavy pot until it comes 2-3 inches up the sides and place over high heat. When the oil is very hot but not smoking, test it with one batter-dipped ring—the oil should be hot enough to sizzle on contact.
One large forkful at a time, slip about ⅓ of the onions into the hot oil. Use tongs or a long fork to stir them around a bit and to make sure they are not sticking to the bottom of the pot, but do not try to separate the individual “nests.”
Cook until a fine golden crust forms, about 2 to 3 minutes, turning the “nests” occasionally. Using the fork or tongs, transfer the onions to platter lined with paper towels and sprinkle with salt. Place in the warmed oven.
Repeat the procedure two more times, until you have fried all the onions (this should only take about 10 minutes total).
Serve immediately.
AUNT IDA’S CAPE COD CLAM CHOWDER
A real Cape Cod clam chowder is a thing of modest beauty. It is not thickened or overly creamy. It is nothing more than tender clams, lit
tle crispy cubes of salt pork (or bacon), some minced onion and celery, and a couple of diced potatoes—all swimming in a rich, milky, buttery broth redolent of the sea.
Aunt Ida would go out and dig her own quahogs, but any reputable fishmonger should have fresh hard-shell clams on hand. If these aren’t available to you, frozen or canned clams are a perfectly respectable substitute.
Also—and this is important—do not add your clams to the chowder until just before serving. They will only need a few minutes to cook (for canned clams even less). Anything more than that and they turn to rubber.
(10-12 servings)
2½ pounds hard-shell clams such as littlenecks, cherrystones, or quahogs (in order of increasing size) or 1 pound frozen clams (unshelled) or 2 cups of chopped or minced canned clams, drained (six 6.5 ounce cans)
¼ pound salt pork (or thick cut bacon), cut into ¼-inch cubes
2 tablespoons butter
1 medium onion, finely chopped
2 stalks celery, finely chopped
4 cups bottled clam broth (if using canned or frozen clams)
1 quart whole milk
2 bay leaves
1½ pounds (about 3 cups) russet (baking) potatoes, peeled and cut into cubes no larger than ½ inch
Salt and freshly ground black pepper
Optional: 1 cup heavy cream (Aunt Ida never would, but it does make it extra yummy)
If using fresh clams, rinse them under running water to clean the shells and set aside. If using frozen clams, thaw them in the refrigerator overnight and chop them roughly, if necessary. Canned clams are fine right out of the can.
Put the cubed salt pork (or bacon) into a heavy-bottomed stock pot or Dutch oven over medium heat. Cook until it begins to get brown and crispy.
Add the butter, minced onion, and celery and cook for about 5 minutes or until onions are softened but not browned.
If using fresh clams:
Add the clams and 1 cup of water to the pot and turn the heat to high. Cover and cook, opening the lid every once in a while to stir the clams, until they begin to open (about 3 minutes). As the clams open, remove them with tongs into a large bowl, keeping as many juices in the pot as possible and keeping the lid shut as much as possible. After 8 minutes, discard any clams that have not yet begun to open.
Roughly chop the clam meat and put it into a separate bowl with any juices.
Add the milk, bay leaves, and cubed potatoes to the pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes or until the potatoes are very tender and starting to break down. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Add the clams to the pot. Add the cream if you are using it, bring to a simmer and cook for two or three minutes. Serve immediately. (I like it with a pat of butter melting on the top, but that’s just me.)
If using canned or thawed clams:
Add the bottled clam juice, milk, bay leaves, and cubed potatoes to the pot. Bring to a boil, then reduce the heat and simmer for about 20 minutes or until the potatoes are very tender and starting to break down. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Add the clams to the pot. Add the cream if you are using it, bring to a simmer and cook for two or three minutes (one minute for canned clams). Serve immediately. (I like it with a pat of butter melting on the top, but that’s just me.)
NOTE: If you are making the chowder in advance, do not add the clams and the cream until you reheat it for serving.
ARUGULA, MANGO, AND GOAT CHEESE SALAD WITH HONEY DRESSING
The trick here is to arrange the ingredients in layers on a pretty platter and drizzle the dressing as you go rather than tossing the whole shebang in a salad bowl. This keeps the salad light and the flavors wonderfully distinct. Plus, it makes a beautiful presentation!
(4 servings)
3 tablespoons honey
4 tablespoons olive oil
Kosher or sea salt and fresh black pepper
5 ounces baby arugula
½ cup small basil leaves or larger ones torn into pieces (plus a handful of whole leaves for garnish)
2 ripe mangoes, peeled and cut into ½-inch cubes
8 ounces goat cheese, in small pieces (not crumbled)
Whisk together the honey and olive oil and season with salt and pepper to taste.
Arrange the arugula, basil, mango, and goat cheese in layers on a platter, drizzling the dressing over each layer as you build it, finishing with a final drizzle of dressing on the top. Garnish with whole basil leaves.
Guests should serve themselves from the platter onto individual salad plates.
SAM’S THIN AND CHEWY CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES
The trick here is to use high-fat butter, which usually means a French or Irish brand. Many supermarkets carry Irish Kerrygold butter, which works beautifully. Make sure the butter is really room temperature, which means so soft you can poke your finger through it. Also, if you use salted butter, you may want to skip adding any more salt to the batter.
(makes about 4 dozen cookies)
10 ounces high-fat French or Irish butter, softened to room temperature
1¼ cups dark brown sugar
¾ cup white sugar
1 tablespoon vanilla extract
2 teaspoons kosher salt (or 1 teaspoon table salt like Morton’s)
2 large eggs
1¾ cups all-purpose flour (plus another 2 tablespoons of flour set aside to coat the chocolate chips)
1 teaspoon baking soda
8 ounces semi-sweet chocolate chips
Preheat oven to 350.
Combine butter, brown sugar, granulated sugar, vanilla, and salt in a bowl and cream on medium-high speed until light, about 3 minutes. Add the eggs and mix on medium speed until blended, about 2 minutes.
Whisk the flour and baking soda together in a separate bowl, then mix into the dough at medium speed for 2 minutes.
In another bowl, combine the chocolate chips with the set-aside 2 tablespoons of flour. Use a spatula to stir the flour-coated chips into the dough by hand.
Drop the dough by slightly rounded tablespoons onto cookie pans, preferably lined with parchment paper. To allow for spreading, 12 cookies per sheet works well.
Bake until golden brown, 8-10 minutes. Let the cookies cool for 5 minutes before transferring them to a wire rack to cool completely.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Amy Pershing is a lifelong mystery lover and wordsmith. She was an editor, a restaurant reviewer and a journalist before leading employee communications at a global bank. A few years ago (with the final college tuition bill paid), she waved goodbye to Wall Street to write full time (and spend more time sailing on the Cape!). A Side of Murder, the first of the Cape Cod Foodie mysteries, is her debut novel.
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