“Do you like it?” Mick asked me from across the table in his Italian restaurant. He looked well-groomed in a white pinstripe button-down shirt and with a freshly shaven jaw line.
A forkful of chocolate souffle was transmitting pure sugar joy from my tongue to my brain. I smiled slowly. Everything seemed hazy.
“I can’t ...” I paused to swallow, my mind caught in slow motion, “even remember ...” I put another bite into my mouth and sighed, talking with my mouth full, “why I was so mad at you ...”
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
The scene dissolved as I was yanked back into the real world. Morning peeked through my curtains. I was wrapped in blankets and buttressed by warm, sleeping furballs. I didn’t want to move. Suddenly, everything that had happened in the last few days came flooding into my brain. Mick’s possible affection for Lydia. The online cooking class’s rocky start. Bradley and Keith’s argument on the sidewalk the day before, and my clownish act. My stomach plunged with anxiety. I can’t do it. I just can’t do it. Not today. No. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to pretend this day wasn’t happening.
Then a thought struck me. I could take a day off. Carlos had shown repeatedly that he could handle things without me, and Ava would be there … I felt myself relax. I deserve a day to myself. I’m doing this for me.
I pulled the blanket up to my chin and snuggled into my pillow. I was beginning to drift off when, suddenly, a weight pressed down on my chest and stomach. My eyes flew open. Reeeoooowwww? Reeeeoooooowwww? Bobbi Jo stared down at me expectantly, her little bobtail wiggling with impatience.
“Right, right, sorry,” I mumbled, hobbling down the stairs with my blanket around my shoulders and trailing behind me like an old-fashioned bridal train. I managed to feed kitties and scoop litter with one hand since the other was busy clutching my majestic cape.
“No sleeping in for Mommy, huh?” I cooed to Lenny, who was purring his gratitude and rubbing against my legs. “Not even on her day off?” I gave up and chucked the blanket onto the back of a kitchen chair. “It’s okay, I’m hungry anyway.” But for what? Something indulgent but low effort. Something with chocolate, but still breakfast-y. Chocolate chip pancakes? No. I knew just the thing.
I snapped the oven on to preheat to 425 degrees, then beat a single egg for an egg wash. Once the oven beeped that it was hot enough, I pulled some leftover store-bought puff pastry out of the fridge. Pain au chocolate would hit the spot. Well, the Jolie version of it. It was supposed to be a delicate puff pastry with one or two small pieces of dark chocolate in the center. I pulled a full-sized Hershey bar out of the pantry and wrapped the puff pastry around it, brushing the outside with the egg wash and popping it into the oven. The French would be so appalled. I giggled.
While my breakfast treat baked, I collected blankets and books, piling them on the couch. It would be my fortress of comfort for the day. I clicked on the television and flipped through the channels. Rom-com? No, thank you. I didn’t want to think about love. Ahh, a black-and-white detective movie. Perfect. I had just started to smell something glorious from the oven when my phone rang. Ava. I declined the call. Sorry, friend. Not today. She’ll figure it out eventually.
I opened the oven and pulled out the rack. The pastry had morphed into a flaky golden volcano, with rivulets of molten chocolate pouring out. I slid the whole thing into a large ceramic serving bowl and grabbed a fork. I was glad no one else was here to watch me devour this thing. It was not going to be dignified.
I settled onto the couch with the detective movie on the television and the book Tabitha lent me propped up against the bowl in my lap. Sammy Jr. had turned into a perfectly round, furry cushion that rested, vibrating, on my shins. Bobbi Jo was stretched out on the back of the couch like a lion on the savanna. Lenny was perched right next to me, on the arm of the couch. DJ was nowhere to be seen, so probably eating or breaking something.
I took a huge bite of my breakfast pastry. Chocolate dribbled down my chin. Oh man, that was good.
An hour later, I was fifty pages into my book, two-thirds of the way through my French Chocolate Volcano, and the square-jawed detective on the screen was in a taxi, heading to the cabaret to ask the owner some very pointed questions about his whereabouts at eleven p.m. last Thursday. I had very nearly forgotten my troubles.
At least, until my front door slammed open and a small crowd of people poured through it: my Aunt Fern, my mother Patty, Uncle Wylie, Grandma Opal and her boyfriend Tom, with my cousin Tink and Ava bringing up the rear.
A lot of very interesting words came out of my mouth.
“Jolie!” shrilled my mother, her eyes enormous. I leapt to my feet, sending cats scampering.
“You I get.” I pointed at Ava’s chest. “You get a pass for bursting in here.” I whirled on the rest of them. “But why, in the name of the Fourth Amendment, is my entire family, including my grandmother’s boyfriend, IN MY HOUSE?”
Uncle Wylie elbowed Aunt Fern. “Which one’s the Fourth Amendment?”
“The right to privacy,” sighed Aunt Fern. “She’s got herself a smart mouth.”
“Privacy, pshaw!” snorted Grandma Opal. Only my grannie would pshaw the US Constitution. She’d probably pshaw James Madison himself. Or flirt with him. I felt a chortle rise in my chest.
“Just look at her with that weird smile on her face,” clucked my mother Patty. “Mick went and broke her heart and now she’s losing it. It’s a good thing we came over when we did.”
My anger boiled back up in an instant. “That’s why you’re here?”
“Now, sweetie,” said Grandma, “I was out shopping, and everyone was whispering about how Mick could be the father of Lydia’s baby! After what she had said at the party, and then all the gossip, it was just too much. So, I rushed right over to the restaurant to tell you, but Ava said you weren’t there and weren’t answering your phone!” She paused to take a breath. “What were we supposed to do?”
I was so angry my hands were shaking and my breath was coming in ragged gasps. I was pretty sure my face was beet red.
“Hey!” I shouted, startling everyone. “My life is not an open cardboard box at some yard sale that everyone is allowed to wander past and root around in as they please. I don’t appreciate that every move I make is headline news on the Tucker Family News Channel. Also, I know that you all know! Ava already told me!” My hands were clenched in fists and my jaw was clamped hard.
“Jolie, honey,” said my mother in a syrupy voice, “we do all of that because we care about you. You know that. We tried to leave you alone, even after what Lydia said at the party, but you didn’t contact us. You left us no choice.”
My shoulders slumped and I sank back down onto the couch. I looked down at the remnants of my French Chocolate Volcano, languishing in the bowl. It was crumpled and deflated, just the way I felt. This was the part of the argument where I always gave up. They are my family. Their hearts are in the right place, even if their execution is a bit … clumsy. Tears sprang to my eyes.
I imagined telling Tabitha about this familial home invasion at my next session. Today would certainly not go down in history as a victory. This thought grounded me and gave me strength. I took a deep breath. You can do this, Jolie. I stood back up and turned to face them.
“I apologize for yelling,” I said in a steady voice. “However, I do need all of you to listen. I have something important to say.” They had been milling around, murmuring among themselves, but they fell silent. “I know that all of you care about me, and that this—” I gestured around myself, “was intended as an act of kindness, but it has to stop. I am going to set some boundaries. And you guys are going to respect them.”
My family looked perplexed. Tom, Grandma’s boyfriend, stared awkwardly out of the window with his hands behind his back. Tink had wandered off to the kitchen to play with Lenny.
“First and foremost, you may only come to my house when I invite you over. Please do not show up unannounced. Please do not use whatever extra copies of keys you have made over the years to let yourselves in.” My mom and Grandma Opal began to make little squawks of protest. Uncle Wylie gently shushed them, tipping his head toward me as if to say, Let’s listen to what she has to say. I knew everything I was saying was in vain. They would continue to butt into my life. Baby steps for us all.
“What if we want to see you?” demanded Aunt Fern.
“Call or message me with an invitation to come to your house,” I suggested. My family looked at one another.
“Moving on.” I was feeling good about this. I was getting so much off my chest. “Please do not … intervene … in my romantic relationships. Don’t follow my exes, don’t call them, don’t confront anyone on my behalf, don’t try to set me up with anyone new. All of that is my own private business.” Again, this was a hope, but I knew better. But they needed to hear it.
“If the whole town is gossiping about someone you’re in a relationship with, we’re just supposed to . . .” Grandma Opal seemed literally unable to finish the sentence.
“Just keep it to yourself. You were able to give me space for a while. Stretch it out longer!” My voice was gentle but firm. “Any questions?”
“No,” my mom said stiffly. “I think we’re clear.”
“Great,” I said, ignoring her tone. “Now, if you will excuse me, I want to start preparing for next week’s online cooking class.” Everyone filed out of the front door. Uncle Wylie gave me a smile and a quick wave on the way out. Tink gave the cats one last pat and joined them. Ava was almost out the door when I grabbed her arm.
“Not you!” I said. Ava looked relieved and plopped down on a kitchen chair. The door closed.
“So …” Ava said cautiously. “Wow.”
“Yeah, wow,” I agreed.
“Do you think they’ll abide by your wishes?”
“I really don’t know.” I stared out of the window for a moment. “We’ll have to see. But I have to stick to my guns. I need boundaries.”
Ava snuck a look at me. “May I ask what your thoughts are on this whole Lydia and Mick thing?”
“Nope,” I shook my head. “We have other things to worry about right now. What are we going to do about Alyssa?”
“I have worked with some of Delilah’s adult art students on a few projects.” Ava shook her head. “They love to socialize. They love to get attention—actors. Sometimes they don’t know when to take things seriously. If we let it slide, our class might turn into a variety show. It seems harsh, but I think we should refund her money and expel her from the class. Make an example of her.”
“I feel bad penalizing her, since we don’t know if that was something she planned with him or if he was just playing a prank on her.” I furrowed my brow. “But Poppy, Mod, Lahiri, and Darla paid to learn about cast iron cooking.”
“If we are kicking her out, we should call her and let her know right away,” Ava concluded. “We don’t want her thinking all week she is still in the class. Plus, we need to decide if we want to find a replacement.”
“Yeah, okay, you’re right. We can’t let this class go off the rails,” I finally agreed. “I’ll call her. Then we need to map out the lesson. You know I like to prepare in advance and make changes throughout the week.” I reached for my phone to deliver the bad news. “I want this next class session to be a well-oiled machine.”
Alyssa’s number rang twice before she picked up. I heard her talking to someone in the background. “No, I think it’s my cooking class, hold on.”
“Hi, Alyssa, it’s Jolie Tucker,” I said, my stomach twisting with nervousness.
“Hello,” she replied. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I am sorry to say that I have some bad news. We have a … zero tolerance policy …” I was flailing, trying to find professional sounding reasons for our decision. I definitely should have scripted this out before I called. “for behavior … in class … that is disruptive, violent, or …” Ava shoved something scribbled on a napkin at me to read: induces panic. “… induces panic,” I finished. “We are going to have to expel you from our cooking class, but we will provide a full refund,” I concluded, trying to end on a positive note.
“Are you serious?” All of the professionalism drained out of Alyssa’s voice. “You’re going to kick me out of a class because of a dumb joke?” She was shouting now. “I can’t control what my boyfriend does! You can’t hold me responsible for that. This is ridiculous! You guys are such jerks!” Without another word, she hung up. I lowered the phone and looked at Ava, who had one eyebrow quirked.
“That went about as well as could be expected,” I sighed. “Let’s plan out next week’s class session, shall we?”
Ava got out a notebook and began to write out a lesson plan and I made a list of supplies we would need to pick us later in the week to teach the class. We thought it would be clever to teach our way through a steak dinner. We wanted to cover a soup as an appetizer, two side dishes, a steak, and a dessert, all made in cast iron.
Being as this would be the first full class period, we were planning to teach them the lesson how to make cast iron skillet creamy potato soup that was intended for the first class, but we still needed to plan the rest of the course.
We liked to make the food in advance to rehearse and work through possible problems. So, we’d go buy the groceries today and probably make the soup tonight to prepare.
“Okay,” I stood up and grabbed my list. “I’m going to get dressed and get ready for the day!” Ava stood up and leaned over my shoulder, studying the slip of paper.
“This seems pretty simple and hard to mess up. Why don’t you let me do the supply run?” she offered.
I looked sideways at her. “You never go to the grocery store. Why today?”
“I mean, you were trying to take a mental health day and that got messed up, and I kind of feel like it was maybe a little bit my fault.” Ava shrugged. “You could relax for a few hours before we do our trial run on the soup. I kind of wanted to stop by and see Delilah anyway.”
“Sold!”
I was snuggled on the couch with the TV on before Ava was even out the door. I must have drifted off to sleep, because I woke to my phone buzzing against my face like a large rectangular insect. I picked up before I was even fully aware of what was happening.
“Hello?” I mumbled.
“Hello? Miss Tucker?”
“Wait. Alyssa?” I snapped awake.
“… yeah, it’s me.” Her voice was soft and uncertain, like she was embarrassed. “Listen, I know you aren’t going to let me back in the class. That isn’t why I’m calling. I just wanted to apologize to you for being so rude earlier.”
“Well, thank you for that, Alyssa.” I cleared my throat. “I know what I said wasn’t easy to hear.”
“Yeah, I didn’t want to burn bridges with you. I was hoping …” she took a deep breath, “if you keep teaching online classes … maybe at some point I could sign up for one of your classes again? I am really interested in cooking and I like your style. It’s inspiring. So independent and confident. You are a real role model for young female entrepreneurs.” She sounded a little teary. “You’re a role model for me, actually. Which is why I was so excited to take your class. And so angry when I got kicked out.” Alyssa sniffed.
I was floored. I was a role model? I could change this kid’s life.
“Listen, Alyssa.” Words were coming out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying. “First of all, you can call me Jolie if you want. I want to give you a second chance. Can you have a talk with your boyfriend, what’s his name?”
“Tad.”
“Yes, Tad. Can you have a talk with him and tell him no more theatrics?”
“I sure can, Jolie!” squealed Alyssa. “Thank you so much! I’ll be there next class!”
“I’ll see you then.” I hung up the phone. I trusted her to fix her behavior. But what on earth was Ava going to say about this?
Ava and I walked into Peggy’s Pies and Purses, grinning ear to ear from the old-time diner appearance, the wonderful smells of pies, and seeing Peggy with her long, wavy strawberry-blonde pigtails, lanky legs in jeggings with soft high-top tennis shoes and a yellow and white checkered half shirt. She was adorable and fit the old-fashioned look of her little diner.
“I’ve missed you both SO much!” Peggy shouted in glee, running to grab us both in a big bear hug.
“You just saw me a few weeks ago,” Ava giggled.
“I know, but I haven’t seen this one in ages!” She pointed her fresh face in my direction. “Now, have a seat, I just texted Gemma when I saw you two walking in, she’ll be right over.”
Peggy went behind the counter and came back with a tray of pie samples. There was coconut cream, chocolate cream, sugar cream, blueberry, apple, cherry, Dutch apple, and Oreo iced cream pie. My mouth watered.
“Oh man, what are all of you going to have?” A beautiful woman with harvest moon, sepia skin said. She had long, thick dreadlocks that came to her waist with the coolest bright-colored beads at the bottom of her dreads. She wore a maroon head scarf with yellow, green, and white fan shapes. I noticed she had on funky jewelry including bright green and black beaded necklaces, multi-colored, beaded bracelets on each arm, and emerald, sapphire, and pearl rings covering her fingers.
We all laughed as Peggy introduced us to Gemma.
“Hey, that was my line!” Ava bellowed reaching out a hand to shake.
We all reached for sample pies and dug in as Gemma asked Ava how the marketing tips she gave her were going.
“It’s going good so far. I’ve got the website up and running with our contact information on it. My girlfriend, Delilah, made some flyers, too.” Ava reached into her bag pulling out several and handing them to Peggy and Gemma. “There are two separate flyers for each of you—one for our online courses for later in the year to register and one for the PI business. I appreciate you both helping to spread the word in the city.”
“Of course, our pleasure.” Peggy got up and went and grabbed some tape and put one of each on her door and then tacked one of each up on her bulletin board by the cash register.
“I’ll do the same in my store,” Gemma said. “Oh man, guess what? Your mayor was in my shop yesterday!”
Ava and I looked at each other in shock. “Mayor Nalini? What was he doing here?” I exclaimed.
Gemma’s eyebrows waggled up and down. “He asked me what kind of jewelry a lovely lady might like to wear. I sold him a pair of teardrop moonstone earrings. I wonder who he was buying them for?”
“Who knows? I didn’t realize he was dating!” Ava said. Our mayor was one of several eligible bachelors in Leavensport.
The diner was set up so that customers walked into the pie shop but there was an entrance to the back that led to the purse shop. Gemma’s jewelry store was located right next door.
We finished our pies and went to check out the purses in the back. Our final destination would be the jewelry store. I was examining a brown leather tote that looked similar to the one I was carrying when I heard a familiar voice up front. I noticed Ava caught my eye in the same moment.
“Is that—” Ava started as we both moved toward the beaded curtain that separated the front and back, which I was sure was made by Gemma. We pushed the long-beaded strings to the side in time to see Tad, Alyssa, Darla, Lahiri, Mod, and another girl I’d never seen before—could that be Poppy–all out front chatting it up and laughing. They had another man with them. He looked a bit older than they were, and wore a large, black-and-white-checkered kerchief around his neck. It made me think of a director. None of them noticed that we were watching them. My head spun. Those little liars!
“The girl with the bleach blonde silky bob, is that Poppy?” I asked Ava.
“Probably, I’m not sure how much that one can be trusted—she’s good at altering her appearance—for all we know Peggy or Gemma could be Poppy in disguise.”
That made my stomach turn.
“Should we say something?” I asked Ava.
She pulled me back from the curtains. “Peggy, do you know those kids up front?”
Peggy looked perplexed and looked up front then walked over to where we had hidden ourselves behind the wall. “I don’t know them, but they come in here pretty regularly. They got to Triopolis University. It’s not far from here. They can easily walk depending on where they live on campus.”
“So, they come in here as a group?” I asked.
“Normally if you see one, you see them all,” she said then went off to answer a question for a customer.
“So, the little twerps do know each other!” Ava crossed her arms.
“Looks that way. I say we don’t call them on it. We should have guessed, though. They are all the same age. They are all majoring in something artsy. Well, except Mod, but she mentioned she likes to paint. Why would they lie? I asked them point blank and they lied to us.”
“Maybe they were worried we wouldn’t think they would take the class seriously? If we knew they were a bunch of friends?”
“What?” I said sarcastically. “Act like fools in our class? NEVER!”
“Point taken. Let’s see what happens at our class next week.”
I’ll keep an eye out the window and come out and help you unload when you get here.
It was time for the next class. Last week was a whirlwind of prepping for this week’s class, plus we had been extra busy at the restaurant since Carlos had to take several days off when he caught a spring cold, and I had to keep my family under control after giving them the third degree.
I sent the text and went back to scrunching my hair. I had gotten out of the shower and put in leave-in conditioner fifteen minutes ago and now it was time for the all-important finger fluffing that makes my curly hair presentable.
Although technically, I was only an honorary curly-haired person. Every few months I got a perm to keep my hair looking like my BFF Ava’s natural curls. We had been a pair of curly tops for as long as I could remember.
I swiped on some mascara and lip gloss and put some cat-shaped silver studs in my ears. I heard her pull up in the driveway, so I went out to help.
Since Ava did the shopping last week, she volunteered to go again for tonight’s class. Ava was trying to carry everything from her trunk into the kitchen in one trip. She had four plastic grocery bags on each arm, the handles cutting into her forearms. I took two from each arm and we tottered into the house together.
We bustled around, arranging the show area. Bradley came in and began setting up his equipment. He waved hello in our direction but wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I tried to peek at his face to see if he had any bruises. I wondered if, after all the laughing stopped last week, they decided to beat each other to a pulp anyway. I hadn’t seen either of them since.
I chopped up and arranged the ingredients into ramekins and wrote out the recipe on the white board, trying to find the right time to tell Ava about my decision to let Alyssa stay in the class. Things were about to start, though, and she needed to know. No time like the present!
Bradley put on some headphones. “Just talk for a little while in a normal voice while I adjust the levels.” I gave him a thumbs up.
“Oh, hey, forgot to tell you!” Ava said to me. “I ran into Bea at the grocery store.”
“Bea Seevers?” I asked. “How is she?” I took a swig of water from my water bottle.
“I started telling her about our online cooking class and she thought it was really cool. She said she was interested in learning to do more with cast iron cooking, so I offered her the open spot in our class! I sent her the link and everything. She’ll be in class today!” She beamed at me.
I gasped as I was drinking, inhaling water. I coughed and choked for a few seconds while Ava thumped me on the back. Bradley ripped his headphones off and grabbed his ears, glaring at us. Apparently, our coughing and back-thumping was super loud on the body mics. I waved a one-armed apology while I struggled for air.
“Are you okay?” asked Ava.
“Yeah,” I croaked, realizing maybe I should have told Ava sooner rather than later. “But I may have screwed up.” She looked alarmed. “Alyssa called back after you left last week to pick up groceries and apologized. She seemed really sincere and genuinely interested in cooking. She promised everything would be smooth sailing from now on … so I told her she could come back to class.” I looked guiltily at Ava. Her eyes widened for a second, and then she laughed.
“That is totally something we would do,” Ava laughed. “Give one class spot to two people. I don’t think it is a problem, though. It just means we have six people in our class instead of five. We can handle that.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, “we can handle one more person for sure, especially a well-behaved one like Mrs. Seevers.” We chuckled at the thought of little old Bea causing trouble in our class.
“Speaking of, though,” Ava said, furrowing her brow, “Alyssa better keep her attitude to herself. I’ve got my eye on her.”
“She promised she would,” I reassured her.
The kitchen was set up and the ingredients were ready. Ava and I turned to one another and checked each other’s hair and makeup one last time. We smiled at each other. I was excited. This time, our class would be perfect!
“Okay, ladies, the class starts in ten,” called Bradley while doing a two-handed countdown from nine, eight, and so on. We stood in our places, watching his fingers until he hit one. He waved to us, and we turned and smiled at the camera.
“Oh my goodness, look at all you beautiful cooks! You look amazing! We are thrilled to have you here!” said Ava, using the same introduction she had used for the first session. I grinned. She wasn’t letting on that we knew what liars they were.
“Now, I emailed everyone the list of ingredients for today’s dish,” I began, smiling at the camera, “and I hope everyone has everything out in their workspace, ready to go.” I gestured with my hands at our countertop, which was covered with ramekins, cutting boards, and utensils. “But first, we have some class housekeeping to take care of.”
I glanced at Ava, who nodded at me.
“I would like to welcome a new student, Bea, to our class. Everyone, say hello to Bea!” I peeked at the monitor that showed the faces of all of the students in a grid. I saw the chat filling up with comments of “Hello!” and “Welcome to our class!”
The students’ cameras didn’t come on until the class started, so this was the first time I had a chance to see them this session. Mrs. Seevers had her hair in a tidy bun and was wearing a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. She looked excited but uncertain. I was guessing she wasn’t totally comfortable with the technology involved.
Lahiri was grinning, wearing a sporty gray lightweight sweatshirt and her dainty, antique hair comb. Mod was leaning on one hand on her table with her ingredients around her. She wore a plain white V-neck T-shirt, the kind you can buy in a pack of six in the underwear aisle. The careless look worked for her. Alyssa seemed eager to impress, in a nice sweater with a white apron over it. She looked a little bit embarrassed but smiled and waved.
Darla was wearing an elegant top that looked almost Victorian—it was pure white and silky, with a high lace neck, puffed sleeves, and ruffles down the front. Drama majors! My jaw dropped as I glanced at Poppy. Gone was the round-faced blonde. In her place sat a vixen with an electric-blue bob, glossy, blood-red cupid’s-bow lips, long, thick eyelashes, and striking cheekbones. I would never have guessed it was the same person. She must have seen me gape on the camera, because she waved her onyx ring and smiled broadly.
“Not bad, huh?” she said.
“You’re really good at changing your appearance!” I exclaimed. “Wow! Okay, folks, let’s get started. But first, please make sure your cast-iron skillet and your cast-iron Dutch oven are preheating over medium heat, so they’ll be ready. Now, I just want to remind everyone that it is important to maintain proper classroom behavior during these sessions. This will help us get through the material during the class period, and also keep you guys safe. We are working with sharp knives, hot stoves, and other dangerous kitchen appliances. I would feel terrible if someone got hurt on our watch. Okay?” I saw everyone’s head nod on the monitor.
Alyssa looked down at her lap, unwilling to make eye contact in that awkward moment. “Remember to be careful around hot pans. Don’t forget, I recommend using cookware with rubber handles, but if you don’t have those, use a pan holder or a thick dishtowel. Safety first!”
“This dish is essentially two recipes put together,” Ava said. “It is called ‘Crispy Potato Soup’ because we are going to create a kind of fried potato garnish that will rest on the top of our creamy potato soup to provide two different textures. If you plan on getting through all three courses of this steak dinner, serve this appetizer in a very small bowl. It is rich!”
“First, chop your uncooked bacon into small pieces and cook it quickly on low to medium heat. You decide how fatty or crispy you want it to be. Be careful!” I instructed. “When the bacon is done to your liking, pull it out with a fork, or, preferably tongs for a better grip. It will end up in the Dutch oven, in the soup, but we’ll use the bacon fat to make the crispy potatoes. That’s called recycling!” I laughed at my own joke. I was in my element, talking about cooking. I could teach a cooking class to the president.
“If you’re vegetarian, there are vegetable protein bacon products you can use for this step,” I added. “They won’t render any fat out, so you’ll need an oil with a high smoke temperature, such as coconut, peanut, or canola.” My bacon was done, so I scooped it out with the tongs, transferring it to a paper-towel-lined plate.
“Next,” I continued, “we are going to peel and grate one-third of our potatoes and pat them dry with paper towels. The other two thirds will get peeled and cubed.” I began to process the potatoes as I talked. “If you would like a thinner soup, be sure to choose a low-starch potato like red potatoes or round white potatoes, or you can soak high-starch potatoes before cooking. If you would like to make a thicker soup, medium or high-starch potatoes are good—Russets. We will be frying some of these, so I asked you folks to get Yukon Golds. They are medium starch and hold shape well when frying, so we get the best of both worlds. Put the vegetables, seasoning, and chicken broth into the Dutch oven and add the cubed potatoes. Cook until the potatoes are tender, probably ten minutes or so.” I gave the ingredients a good stir and turned to Ava.
This is the part where Ava and I had rehearsed that she would take over. Cooking wasn’t her strong suit, but we had practiced. She stepped up to the counter and picked up a wooden spoon, beaming at our students. I walked off-camera to look at the monitor. Everyone was watching intently, following the directions in their own respective kitchens.
I looked back at the monitor again. Mod had a half-smile on her face as she stirred the potato soup. Poppy’s blue wig was slightly askew as she adjusted the heat under her frying potatoes. I could see that Alyssa was taking notes. Lahiri was bent over her Dutch oven, checking her soup. She wiped sweat from her forehead.
I was a little jealous. I had given Ava the fun part of the dish. She was showing them how to set round metal cookie cutters in the bacon-fat-greased cast iron skillet, then fill the cookie cutters with grated potato, using the bottom of a glass to push the potato down. The grated potato would get crispy on the bottom, creating a tasty circle of fried potato that could be placed on top of a small bowl of the creamy potato soup. The finished product was visually appealing and also delicious. As the potatoes fried, Ava gave them a rundown on how to blend their soups into delicious smoothness. I kept a close eye on all of them. It looked like they were all in different places, but I still thought it was strange no one was letting on they knew each other.
“You can use anything from a countertop blender to a good old-fashioned potato masher, but my weapon of choice is an immersion blender.” Ava hoisted the well-used one from Cast Iron Creations in the air like Excalibur.
I chuckled. Ava blended the creamy potato soup and ladled it into two bowls, placed the crispy potato circles on top, and then began garnishing the dish, channeling her girlfriend Delilah’s artistic nature and flinging chives, shredded cheddar, and blobs of sour cream everywhere.
Time to review our tips and wrap it up. I was elated. This session was a total success—minus the secrets that no one was sharing!
At that moment, I heard a quiet squeal. My eyes snapped over to the monitor and my blood began to boil. Darla! That was it. No more second chances for anyone.
The dark-haired drama major had turned to face a tall figure in an upside-down face mask exactly like the one Tad had worn. The masked figure had a sharp, dark-metal stake in its hand. In a single gesture, the figure lifted its arm above its head and plunged the stake into Darla’s chest.
Darla was a much better actor than Alyssa had been. Her eyes bulged with the shock of being “stabbed.” Tad must have invested in fake blood, because it bloomed from the “wound,” spreading across her white shirt. Darla grabbed the stake, miming weakly trying to pull it out. Then her eyes became glassy, and she crumpled to the floor and out of sight. The masked figure walked off-camera so quickly it stumbled a little. End scene.
I would have been very impressed by her performance if I wasn’t in a blind rage.
“That’s it. THAT’S IT!” I roared. I whirled to Bradley, making a cutting gesture across my throat. He killed the camera and ended the session.