One Menu at a Time Read online

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2012 Carolyn Hughey

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Montlake

  P.O. Box 400818

  Las Vegas, NV 89140

  ISBN-13: 9781612186856

  ISBN-10: 1612186858

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER 1

  I Don’t Get No Satisfaction Crabby Cakes

  CHAPTER 2

  Sister Like A Freight Train Brandy-Soaked Raisin Oatmeal Cookies

  CHAPTER 3

  Home, Home By The Range Apple Nut Stuffed Pork Tenderloin With Raspberry-Brandy Sauce

  CHAPTER 4

  I Told You So Chunky Gazpacho

  CHAPTER 5

  Dead Man’s Party Seafood Stuffed Filet Of Sole With Cheese Sauce

  Cheese Sauce

  CHAPTER 6

  Don’t Stop Believin’ Shepherd’s Pie

  CHAPTER 7

  Gettin’ Jiggy With It Mediterranean Pasta

  CHAPTER 8

  The Impossible Dream Mexican Lasagna

  Mexican Tomato Sauce

  CHAPTER 9

  Puttin’ On The Ritz Espresso-Crusted Beef Tenderloin

  CHAPTER 10

  Eating Humble Pie Ground Beef Pasties

  Meat Mixture

  CHAPTER 11

  Something’s Always There To Remind Me Broiled Sea Bass With Garlic-Wine Sauce

  CHAPTER 12

  Mission Impossible Grilled Pear And Gorgonzola On A Crostini

  CHAPTER 13

  Stupid Cupid Exotic Moroccan Chicken

  CHAPTER 14

  Just Breathe French Onion Soup

  CHAPTER 15

  Burning Heart Sloppy Joe

  CHAPTER 16

  Sugar And Spice And Not Everything Is So Nice Chocolate Almond Biscotti

  CHAPTER 17

  I Can’t Make You Love Me Snickerdoodles

  CHAPTER 18

  My Foolish Heart Sweet Cinnamon Noodle Kugel

  CHAPTER 19

  Against All Odds Chocolaty Breakfast Casserole

  CHAPTER 20

  Sticky Business Steamed Sticky Toffee Coffee Pudding Cake With Carmelatta Sauce

  CHAPTER 21

  Get Over Yourself Gorgonzola Cheese Sauce For Espresso Beef Tenderloin

  CHAPTER 22

  Mama Carlucci’s Giving The Malocchio Penne all’Arrabbiata

  CHAPTER 23

  Baby Come Back Chocolate Pecan Pie

  CHAPTER 24

  Another One Bites The Dust Herbed Sausage Stuffing

  CHAPTER 25

  All Out Of Love Mexican Black Bean Soup

  CHAPTER 26

  How Will I Know Tiramisu

  CHAPTER 27

  Eye Of The Tiger…Or Mrs. Carlucci—Nutty Granola

  CHAPTER 28

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  “Look out…oh no, ladies and gentlemen, it looks like Owen Michael’s car lost it, and he’s spinning out of control,” the announcer’s voice screeched from the television, “and it looks like his front wheel just clipped the corner of Chase Walker’s car and pushed him smack into the wall. Look at that metal flying. Oh, no, Chase Walker has just—”

  “Josh,” Cassie said, turning off the television with the remote, “we need to get going to my parents for dinner.”

  “Darn it, Cass, I have one day off a week to relax. Why can’t we just say ‘no’ to your mother for one Sunday?”

  “If you want to say no and put up with Lucy Pirelli’s wrath, be my guest.” Josh groaned and headed for the closet to get his jacket.

  Cassie noticed me grinning. “What are you smiling about over there, Jamie Burke?”

  “Oh, nothing,” I said nonchalantly. These two had been married for six months and were beginning to sound as though they’d been married for years.

  “You and Bailey are coming too, aren’t you?” she asked as she buzzed around the room gathering her winter coat and purse.

  “Are you sure Mom wants us there?” I asked.

  “Are you kidding? She loves having you and Bailey, and quite honestly, when Bailey’s around, she’s off my back about having babies. So puh-leeze come,” she exaggerated.

  “Hey, Bailey, want to go see Nana Lucy?”

  “Ana ’Ucy,” my three-year-old niece said from the hallway and bounded toward the living room. “Eat?”

  “Yes, sweetheart, that’s exactly what we do at Nana Lucy’s. We eat lots of good food.” Bailey nodded. “Okay, let’s get your coat and scarf before we go outside in the cold.” Bailey held her arms out to the side so I could slip her coat on. When she was bundled up, I put on my coat and we all headed toward the subway to take the train to the Port Authority for a PATH train to Nutley, New Jersey, where the Pirellis lived.

  Cassie was my best friend and roommate—that is, before she married Josh Benson. Of course, she is still my best friend. They met one day during her externship at Chez Francoise while she was sloshing around in a sink filled with water cleaning crates of spinach. Josh was remodeling the kitchen of her boss, Charlie, who is a good friend of the Pirelli clan and a strong advocate of marriage, just like Mama.

  The way Charlie tells the story, Cassie’s face lit up like she’d won the lottery when she laid eyes on Josh. That’s when Charlie’s matchmaking skills went to a whole new level—whenever Mr. Rock Hard Chest was around…and probably when he wasn’t around. And what better way to get two people together than to have him remodel the Pirelli Deli, which Papa Pirelli gifted to Cassie for her own business as soon as she was finished with her externship. Convincing her to have Josh do the work was like feeding candy to a baby and, well, the rest is history.

  Six months later, The Kitchen Widget and Cooking Club was born, and Josh and Cassie were dating. Talk about doing the tarantella. Lucy Pirelli had finally snagged a son-in-law, even though she had to forgo one who was Italian. But she didn’t care so long as she got what she wanted—grandchildren, and lots of them. After the job was finished, Josh enrolled in culinary school while Cassie and I taught cooking classes to the masses and sold kitchen gadgets.

  “I’m hungee,” Bailey said as we walked through the terminal.

  “I have a banana in my purse,” Cassie offered.

  Josh rolled his eyes. “I guess that’s in case you don’t get enough food at your mom’s house?” Cassie shot him a look, and I laughed.

  “You two really crack me up.”

  She pulled the banana out from her purse and handed it to me. I hadn’t quite gotten the hang of this parenting thing yet—like having food on hand at all times for such an occasion. I was getting a stiff dose of reality on my lack of parenting skills after my sister’s death when I was named guardian. We walked down the steps to the train and meandered down the aisle to the vacant seats.

  “Eat, Amie,” Bailey said as I peeled the banana down a short way and broke off a piece and handed it to her. She was doing fine until she noticed a brown spot and handed the small mushy piece of banana back to me.

  “There’s nothing wrong with it, sweetie.” The child shook her head back and forth, puckered up her face, and pushed my hand away as I tried to encourage her to take another bite. “Okay, but now you’ll have to wait until we get to Nana Lucy’s house.”

  The words were no sooner out of my mouth than she began to wail like a ship’s foghorn. Panic eked out
of every nerve in my body. Josh at least had some training with kids because of his nephews, but Cassie and I were the leaders of the Parental Reject Society. What did we know about raising kids? The two of us were too busy enjoying our youth in the city that never sleeps. Seriously, if Renee were witnessing this fiasco she’d be stamping our foreheads with “PRS.” We frantically searched through our belongings for something, anything, to calm Bailey down. Normally, New Yorkers pay no attention to what’s going on around them, but Bailey’s wail had them all seething and shooting daggers directed my way as the bad mommy.

  Fortunately, Josh found a red lollipop, one of Bailey’s favorite colors, hidden in the inside pocket of his jacket. And boy, was that a good thing because the cranky old biddy who sat behind us looked like she was ready to have a hissy fit. Somehow Bailey knew something was up and blew the woman a kiss when she’d turned around in her seat. Fortunately, the old biddy’s face cracked into a smile and her hand extended for a slight pat on my little cherub’s head. Bailey’s astute sense of when something was wrong never ceased to amaze me. I don’t know if it was just a proud new mom speaking or if she really was that smart.

  I untied her hat and smoothed her hair back. She was a beautiful little girl with huge blue eyes and curly blonde hair—a clone of my sister, Missy. Sometimes it was hard to look at her knowing Missy wasn’t ever coming back.

  Needless to say, my life at twenty-six had taken on a drastic change—not that I was complaining, but parenting wasn’t as easy as Missy had made it appear.

  My older sister, Renee, and her family moved to New York right after Missy died (most likely to harass me) and were constantly reminding me I needed to be more of a disciplinarian with Bailey. The way I saw it, Bailey had enough confusion going on in that little head of hers and I wasn’t about to load on more. That would come later, after we’d adjusted to each other.

  Josh and Bailey were ahead of us as we walked the short distance to the Pirelli apartment. They were having a good time singing songs and playing one-handed patty-cake. When Josh pulled the apartment building door open, the aroma of Italian food burst out like a gust of wind and reminded me of the treat we were in for today.

  Lucy had never made it a secret she wanted grandkids more than anything, and now that Cassie was married, she was even more verbal on the subject, with Josh in full agreement. Cassie—not so much. She’d begged Josh to curb his enthusiasm in front of Lucy, but he found it hard to refrain from showing any excitement. Or at least that’s what he told us.

  “You’re awfully quiet today, Cass,” I said, leaning closer to her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just steeling myself for Lucy.”

  “Got it.”

  By now, Josh had Bailey giggling and Lucy must have heard her because she was waiting on the top level. Bailey reached out when she saw her, anxious to be held in her tight embrace. And of course, Lucy smothered the kid’s face with kisses. Given Lucy’s penchant for grandkids, she was grinning from ear to ear as she turned and entered the apartment without even acknowledging our presence.

  Papa Pirelli was the first to greet us with hugs all around, and pulled Josh into the living room with the uncles for a smoke. Josh wasn’t a smoker and didn’t like Italian stogies, but he didn’t have much of a choice because Michael, better known as Papa Pirelli, popped a lit one into his mouth.

  “Hey, Dad, did you hear anything about the guys in the NASCAR pileup?” Josh asked.

  “It was just on the news. That Owen guy walked away without a scratch, but not Chase…what’s his name?”

  “Chase Walker,” Josh said.

  “Yeah, him. He was rushed to the hospital. That was some accident, wasn’t it?”

  “I didn’t see the whole thing,” Josh said wryly. “Cassie turned off the tele…” His voice faded into the room.

  Lucy looked up from cuddling Bailey when she heard our footsteps. “Will you two help serve lunch so I can spend time with Bailey?”

  “Hello to you too, Mom,” Cassie said with a twist of sarcasm.

  “Oh, Cass, sorry. I wasn’t trying to ignore you, but this little girl has captured my heart.” She tickled Bailey in the ribs and she giggled with delight. “You know, I’ve been a nana-in-waiting for so many years, I thought by now you’d be telling me you’re expecting. It sounds like I’m the only one who’s expecting.” Her mouth twisted to the side.

  “Mom, will you give me a break? I’ve only been married six months!”

  “Well, stop the lollygagging and get busy. You could be three months pregnant by now.”

  “And what about my business? Should I just let that go?”

  “What about it? You have the kids and I’ll do the babysitting. Get it?”

  “Oh, yeah, I get it all right.” Cassie did an about-face and walked through the double doors into the kitchen.

  Okay, so call it what you want—only-child syndrome, a temper tantrum, or being spiteful. No more extra credit for marrying Josh until you can deliver the bambinos to the woman. Married six months without hitting a home run is a strikeout in her book. So if you’re feeling a little crabby, you can bet Mama Pirelli is the cause.

  Take a deep breath and blow it out. You have plenty of time to clean the crabmeat, and rinse and remove any remnants of shells in the kitchen before she comes in and takes over. Not to worry though, take your time—she’s preoccupied with someone else’s child. It’ll be good for the time being not to have to suffer through the heat of Mama’s wrath. Drain and place in a bowl. Let it sit while you’re making the breadcrumbs with two slices of bread pulsed in the food processor. That’s it, pulse faster; it’ll help relieve that tension.

  Okay, now go ahead and add the remaining ingredients into the food processor and pulse until mixed.

  Heat a skillet that’s been coated with oil and butter. Using a large ice cream scoop, drop the mixture into your hand and mold the crabmeat into the shape of a fat hamburger—just like your big fat bad mood. Fry until golden brown on both sides—no, no burning or even singeing; it’s got to be golden.

  Makes eight crabby cakes. Serve with lemon wedges.

  “Bailey pretty, Ann Amie,” my three-year-old niece said as she clogged and scuffed her feet down the hallway in my favorite pair of Louboutin heels toward the kitchen where Renee and I sat. Although I’d put her down for a nap a short while ago, it now appeared she’d had other ideas in mind. She stopped midway to catch her breath. Yeah, wearing oversized heels will do that to you.

  Tilting her head back slightly to hold the oversized sunglasses in place, she giggled. “Bailey pretty?” she asked again.

  I didn’t want to encourage her by laughing, but seeing her face smeared with bright colors had me struggling to maintain composure. It was obvious her forte was not going to be cosmetology with the blue eye shadow on her eyebrows and lids, red lipstick smeared beyond the perimeters of her lips, and round circles of red on her cheeks. My mind drifted and made me wonder if I’d survive her growing years.

  Unable to keep my silence for more than thirty seconds, I erupted into a full belly laugh. Renee sat stone-faced. Bailey giggled as she grasped the wall for support with her right hand while using her other to keep the sunglasses from sliding down the bridge of her nose. The three rows of beads dangling from her neck swayed with her uneven steps, and my favorite “Got Wine?” cap sat cockeyed on her tiny head. Her golden curly hair peeked out from the sides of the cap and curled over the rim.

  Another misstep and her foot came out of the shoes prematurely. She stopped and held onto the wood molding to regain composure while pushing her tiny toes deep inside the shoe, and then continued dragging her heels until she reached me.

  I heard Renee click her tongue against the roof of her mouth, clearly agitated by my parenting skills, or lack thereof. I purposely ignored her, but not for long because she sailed into me.

  “Aren’t you going to put her in time-out for getting into your things and not staying in bed for her na
p?” she asked.

  I shot Renee an irritated look until I felt the warmth of Bailey’s mouth kissing my knee. “I love you, pretty girl,” I said, leaning down to kiss her head, “but those are my shoes.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Bailey pretty like Ann Amie.”

  And so I ask you, how do you argue with that comment?

  “I show Mommy.”

  I swallowed hard before reminding her of our previous conversation. “Remember we had this talk before. You know where Mommy is, right?”

  She nodded. “Hebin with Daddy.”

  “Right. And I know she’s looking down at you right now and smiling because you’re such a cutie. Let’s wave to Mommy.”

  Bailey leaned her head back and looked up at the ceiling, her tiny hand waving regal-like. “Hi, Mommy.” She turned to me. “Bailey, cookie?”

  “Yes, you can, but you have to take my shoes off first, okay?” Bailey nodded and stepped out of the shoes and carried them over to the side. I gave Renee a surprised glance. “Bailey’s a good girl.”

  “Mommy.” She pointed.

  “Mommy taught you to put your shoes aside?”

  She nodded again and totally melted my heart, and I was ready to give the kid anything she wanted.

  “Such a good girl.” When I stood to get the cookie, Renee mumbled something under her breath. “Now what, Renee?” I said, my hand flying to my hip.

  She straightened her shoulders and said, “That’s it…reward her for bad behavior.”

  “Renee, you know…” I didn’t finish what I really wanted to say, but I figured she’d read between the lines. She huffed and sat back in her chair while Bailey and I walked to the counter to the cookie jar. I pulled out two cookies and placed one in each of her hands. “Here’s a twofer.”

  “Twofer?”

  “Two cookies for my sweet Bailey girl.”

  She took a bite of the cookie and held it up to me. “Want some?”

  “No, sweetheart. Aunt Jamie made those special for you.” She was nodding her head up and down in between bites. “Want to watch the Mickey Mouse Clubhouse?” I asked.

  “Mickey.” She giggled and jiggled in place.

  “Aunt Nene,” I said trying to drag Renee into the conversation, “will you turn on the television for Bailey and put on the Disney Channel while I wash this makeup off her face?”