Caught Bread Handed (15 page)

She snipped another rose. “My pleasure. Are you sure you don't need me to stick around tonight?”

“Not unless you want to. We've got it covered.”

“In that case I'll finish this up and be on my way, but I want a full report first thing tomorrow, got it?”

“Got it.” I gave her a serious salute.

“Juliet, I'm serious.”

“Me too. I'll give you the play-by-play over our morning coffee.”

“Perfect.”

“Are you going out with the Professor tonight?”

Her browed furrowed. “I think so.”

I walked closer to her. “Mom, is everything okay with you and the Professor?”

She set her scissors on the counter and sighed. “I think so, but to be honest I'm not exactly sure.”

“What's going on?”

“I don't know. At first I thought it was this new case. It rattles him, you know, to see something so brutal in our hometown. Doug loves Ashland more than anyone I know.”

“I know. It shows.”

She smiled. “It does, doesn't it?” She swept a handful of needles into her hand and tossed them. “I figured that he was distracted with the case. He's been a little more distant than normal. I tried to talk to him about it last night. He didn't seem to want to talk. I'm a little worried.”

“Why?”

She wiped her hands on her apron. “It's hard to articulate. I'm not even sure what it is myself. There's something between us that isn't being said, but I don't know what it is. I've tried to ask him about it. He gets pensive and thoughtful. Whenever I try to push a little he says it's nothing—that he's distracted by the case.”

I helped her gather the rose clippings. I had a feeling I knew why the Professor was being distant, but I couldn't tell her. The Professor had asked me what I thought about Mom getting remarried when we were at Lake of the Woods. He didn't officially say that he was planning to propose, but he definitely hinted. Since we'd been home he'd been unusually quiet. I didn't want to ruin his surprise if he proposed, but I felt bad keeping something from Mom.

Maybe he was having second thoughts. Or maybe he was trying to work up the courage to ask her.

I tossed a handful of stems into the garbage. “Mom, the Professor adores you. I'm sure there's nothing to worry about. Your first instinct is probably right. I'm sure he's wrapped up in the case.”

“Probably.” She sighed. “My gut is usually right about things like this, Juliet. There's something he's not telling me and I'm not going to be able to relax until I figure out what it is.”

“Talk to him tonight.”

“I plan to. It might require a special pastry.” She winked and placed the last rose on the table. “What do you think?”

I walked over to the table and kissed her head. “I think it's perfect, and I think you are too. Don't worry about the Professor. It'll all work out.”

She squeezed my hand. “Thanks, honey.”

After she left I thought about what she'd said about not being able to relax until she figured out what the Professor was keeping from her. I knew the feeling, and suddenly I knew where I'd inherited the trait.

Carlos salsa danced his way around the kitchen island to the beat of Latin music. His hips swayed from side to side. He held a serrated bread knife in one hand and used the other to pull me toward his body.

“What are you doing?”

“We must dance, Julieta. The music it is wonderful, no?” He drew me closer and nuzzled my neck. “Sterling, you see, this is what I was telling you, you must show a woman how much you love her. Telling her is not enough.”

“Got it,” Sterling replied.

I freed myself from Carlos's grasp. “I don't have time to dance. We have so much to do.”

“There is always time to dance,
mi querida.
” Carlos looked to Sterling for support.

“Don't look at me. I'm not getting in the middle of this one.” He tossed his apron in the laundry basket by the office. Being Carlos's understudy in the kitchen was not for the faint of heart, and Sterling's apron looked like it had taken a beating. He tied on a clean one. “And I'm not dancing. I'm not really the waltzing type. Maybe if there was a mosh pit or something.”

“You don't have to dance, Sterling,” I assured him as I walked to the far counter where we keep a notebook with all of our family's original recipes. “Don't pay any attention to him. The kitchen is no place for dancing. It's way too dangerous.”

Carlos gasped. “How can you say this, Julieta? I'm trying to teach him the ways of love, and you tell him there is no dancing. Terrible. Terrible.”

I picked up the notebook and flipped it open. “Should we talk about the time you sliced your finger open when you tried to convince the kitchen staff to do a conga line?”

A sly smile tugged at Carlos's cheeks. “Ah, but that was a very fun night, no?”

It was a fun night. Carlos served sangria and flatbread. We all drank way too much and ended up doing the conga through the kitchen and down the hallway. Carlos, who led the charge, had slipped and cut his hand on a paring knife. He handled it like a pro. Professional chefs are trained in first aid and CPR. On the ship we had mandatory safety protocol workshops and drills. Working in tight spaces with multiple chefs, line cooks, dishwashers, and waitstaff meant that everyone had to be acutely aware of their surroundings. From open flames to cast-iron skillets to razor-sharp knives and boiling water, the kitchen can be deadly.

Carlos had bandaged himself up and rejoined the impromptu dance party. His philosophy was simple—happy staff, happy food.

I caught his eye and we smiled at the memory. Those days felt like another life.

Sterling called Carlos over. “Is this a good size?” He pointed to a bowl with diced onions.

“
Sí, sí,
it is perfect.” Carlos shifted back into chef mode.

I thumbed through the recipe book. My almond and lemon olive oil cakes were both baking. Now it was time to create something for Craig. Mom had preserved her mother's and grandmother's handwritten recipes by laminating them. They were splattered with batter and had notes in the margins where they had substituted a flavored extract or reduced the amount of flour. Since the Green Goblin was known for its cocktails I wanted to bake something slightly irreverent for Craig to serve to late-night revealers. I knew just the thing—red velvet cake.

My grandmother used to bake the layered cake for my birthday. I'd had many red velvet cakes over the years and none compared with hers. The secret was her frosting. Southern-style red velvet is served with cream cheese frosting and sometimes with traditional buttercream. My grandmother's red velvet frosting is boiled with a flour base. The frosting requires a bit more work and patience, but the end result is well worth any extra effort. It's so light and creamy that it's like tasting air. I like to pair it with layered cakes so that the cake can be the star of the show.

For the cake, I whipped butter and sugar in the mixer. Then I incorporated eggs, buttermilk, flour, a dash of vinegar, and cocoa powder. Once the batter was smooth, I added the red food coloring. The batter turned a deep shade of red as the drops of food coloring swirled in.

Carlos snuck up behind me and pinched my waist.

I jumped and let out a little scream.

“It is only me.” His face lit up.

“What are you doing?” I asked. I knew that look. He was up to something.

“Nothing. I wanted to taste your cake. That is all.”

“You don't even like cake.”

He pretended to be injured. “How can you say this? I love your cake.”

“Go ahead.” I stepped aside.

Carlos didn't move. I noticed that one of his hands was hidden behind his back.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.” He grinned.

“What's behind your back then?” I lunged toward him.

He was spry. In one quick move he ducked away from me and tossed something to Sterling. “Catch!” he yelled.

Sterling caught whatever Carlos had thrown at him with one hand. “Oh, no.”

Carlos had tossed him a bottle of green food coloring, but in his haste to get rid of the evidence, he hadn't screwed on the lid. Green food coloring splattered on Sterling's red apron. He looked like a Christmas craft gone terribly wrong.

I couldn't help but laugh. “That's karma, you two.”

Sterling's shoulders sagged. Carlos swept in with a dish towel and soapy water. He helped Sterling scrub green food coloring from his apron and the island.

“I warned you that he wasn't to be trusted,” I said to Sterling. “Carlos can't go a day without playing a prank. That better not stain my island.”

I will take care of it.” Carlos wrung out the towel in the bowl of soapy water. “It is true, but you know the pranks they are for the food.”

“The food?” Sterling looked confused.

“
Sí.
The food it tastes better when it is infused with fun.”

“What were you planning anyway? To turn my cake green?”

Carlos's eyes twinkled.

“You know. That's not a bad idea actually.” A green cake for the Green Goblin. Carlos wouldn't have been very successful in turning my chocolate cake batter green. He knew that. But I could make a vanilla cake and tint it green. That would give Craig a chocolate and vanilla option for his customers and a hint of whimsy. While Carlos and Sterling scrubbed green food coloring from their work surface, I quickly mixed together my vanilla cake batter. I found a new jar of food color paste and worked it into the batter until it was the color of summer grass. I slid both cakes into the oven and gathered the ingredients I needed for my grandmother's frosting.

Flour isn't usually associated with frosting. I remember my grandmother teaching me how to make it and being in awe of how the flour and water transformed from a thick paste into a light and airy frosting. It didn't seem possible. Flour in frosting? I don't know who the genius pastry chef was who created this masterpiece, but if I ever met them I knew I would be in the presence of greatness. This frosting is so unbelievably divine it should be illegal.

To begin I whisked flour and water on the stove until it turned into a translucent paste—almost like a béchamel. Then I set it aside to cool while I whipped butter, sugar, and vanilla in the mixer. Once the flour paste was completely cool I began whipping it together with the butter, sugar, and vanilla. It's imperative to make sure the flour isn't the least bit warm otherwise it will melt the butter. The stainless steel beater worked at full speed whipping the mixture until it turned ivory in color.

I stuck my pinky into the mixing bowl. The simple butter flavor was understated with a sweet creamy finish. It was by far the most delicious frosting I've ever had. Paired with my chocolatey red velvet cake the frosting would be nothing short of perfection.

After my cakes cooled I sliced them into four thin layers and spread generous amounts of my flour frosting between each layer. I piped the top layer with more frosting and dark chocolate shavings. On the whimsical green cake, I opted to decorate it with crystalized green sugar. I stood back to survey my work. The cakes looked beautiful and (fingers crossed) they should taste good too.

I boxed them up and waved to Sterling and Carlos. “I'm off on a delivery. Be back in a couple of minutes. Sterling, you're in charge while I'm away. Keep your eye on that guy. He's up to no good. I can see it. Oh, and change your apron. That one is a disaster.”

Sterling looked down at his apron. “What, you don't like the tie-dye look?”

I curled my top lip.

He took off the apron. “Right. I'll watch him, Jules. Don't worry.”

“Good.” I stared at Carlos. “Set a good example for my staff.”

His dark eyes gleamed. “Me? Always.”

I carefully positioned the cake boxes in my arms and headed for the front door. The late-afternoon air outside was warm and refreshing. Puck's Pub had set their bistro tables on the sidewalk. Was it really January? An Irish band played on stage as I walked past the popular pub. I stopped to listen to for a minute before continuing on to the Green Goblin.

Craig was behind the bar when I came inside. “Come on back, Juliet,” he said as he squeezed a fresh lime into a stainless steel cocktail shaker. I walked to the far end of the bar and waited for him to finish making the drink. Cocktails have never exactly been my thing. I enjoy a well-made drink, but mixology isn't my medium. Pastry is.

He shook vodka and fresh lime juice and poured it into a cocktail glass. He had rimmed the glass with crystalized sugar and finished it with a twist of lime. “You want one?” he asked, after he passed the light green drink to a customer waiting at the bar.

I licked my lips in response. “That looks so good.”

“Let me make you one.”

“It's tempting, but we're hosting a Sunday supper at Torte tonight. I have to get back to the bakeshop.” I opened the cake boxes. Craig bent closer to get a better look in the dimly lit bar. “This one is a red velvet,” I said, running my hand over the first cake.

“I love red velvet.” Craig gave me a thumbs-up. “Good choice.”

“This one is a little more fun. Do you have a plate and knife?” I asked, removing the second cake from the box.

“Sure. One sec.” Craig walked to the other end of the bar and came back with two plates, two forks, and a knife.

“This is a simple vanilla on vanilla.” I sliced the cake and handed a piece to Craig.

He studied it for a minute. “But it's green.”

“That's just food dye.” I cut a thin slice of the red velvet too. “Go ahead. Tell me what you think.”

He started to taste the red velvet cake. I stopped him. “Start with the vanilla. When you're tasting you should always start with the lighter flavor and work your way darker.”