Jessica Conant-Park: Cook the Books

I did have Josh’s e-mail address, so technically I could get in touch with him. But it didn’t seem right to have ignored all of his attempts to contact me and then suddenly write him a note to beg for a recipe. What could I say? You broke my heart, and I’ve had to force myself out of bed every day, and I’m so mad at you and so hurt, and why did you leave me? And by the way, I need to know how to make your spring rolls. Fat chance.

“A guy named Digger replaced Josh briefly before they closed, but I’m sure we can do something with the material you already have, Kyle.” I tried to sound reassuring. “There’s probably a lot more here in your folder than you think, and we’ll get some more recipes before your father comes. He won’t even notice that Josh’s recipe isn’t included.”

Kyle managed a smile. “Believe me, he’ll notice. He notices everything. Well, what about this Digger person that you said took over after Josh left? Do you know where he is?”

Ade shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Digger might have been and maybe still was Josh’s good friend, but the details of how he’d taken over Josh’s job had been a little sketchy. The sequence of his accepting the job and Josh’s quitting was open to question, and even if Josh had resigned first, there was an unwritten rule in the restaurant world that banned moving in on another chef’s territory the way Digger had. Josh had spent months complaining about how he was being treated at Simmer, and for Digger to move there with no hesitation suggested callousness about how beaten up Josh had been. But Josh had let it go. He and Digger had gone to culinary school together and had been close friends ever since. I was much more bothered by Digger’s behavior than Josh was.

I hadn’t seen Digger since Josh had taken off, but I had his phone number. As reluctant as I was to contact someone so close to Josh, I desperately needed a job, and this one was really perfect for me. “Yes, I know Digger. I’m sure he’d contribute some recipes for the cookbook. I’m not sure what restaurant he’s at now, but he’s a very skilled chef-excellent-so it’s probably someplace you’ll be glad to include.”

Kyle brightened. “Do you think he’d have any recipes from Simmer?”

I shrugged. “Possibly. He wasn’t there that long, but he might.” As pissed as I was at Josh, I would never ask Digger for Josh’s recipes, which belonged to Josh and not to Digger. Besides, chefs kept some recipes secret, so Josh might not have told even his good friend how to make some of his specialties. There was also Digger’s pride to consider: although I hadn’t quite forgiven him for taking Josh’s job, I could hardly show more eagerness for Josh’s recipes than for his own. When I talked to him, I’d need to be tactful.

“That would be fantastic! I’ll e-mail my father and let him know that we’re working on a lead. It’ll be better if he thinks this book is well underway, and I ought to be able to catch up before he gets to Boston.”

“What’s he doing in France?” I asked.

“Oh, supposedly he’s traveling the country for research purposes. Learning new regional cuisines and all that. But mostly he’s just showing off his latest trophy wife, Miranda. This is his fourth wife in the past eleven years. Once this most recent young wife shows the first sign of losing her looks, my father will drop her and move on. But for now, Dad is enjoying showing Miranda off, and I’m sure she’s been paraded around at every possible European event.” Kyle shook his head. “I couldn’t tell you anything about this wife. I’ve given up trying to get to know any of them. They come and go so quickly that they’ve all blurred into one image for me. He’s got a prototype that he fills every few years, so there’s no point in my learning who’s who. I don’t know why he doesn’t just pick one and stick with her.”

When our entrées arrived, my mouth watered at the sight of my lamb. It smelled heavenly! The grilled lamb was served with cannellini beans and a rich salsa verde. The server who’d brought our main courses had pushed a rolling cart with preparations for Kyle’s steak au poivre near our table. A sous-chef appeared and set a pan over an open flame. He then dropped a thick pepper- covered steak into the pan, causing billows of smoke to erupt.

“I love anything prepared tableside, don’t you?” Kyle asked us as he stared happily at the sous-chef. “Wait until he lights the pan on fire. It’s gorgeous!”

When the steak was done, the sous-chef removed it and poured in a generous amount of pungent cognac. He tilted the pan and lit the cognac on fire, and the three of us almost involuntarily clapped our hands. It was like watching a show! When the fire subsided, the sous-chef added heavy cream to the sauce and then poured the rich concoction over Kyle’s steak.

“That’s great, isn’t it? I go to those Japanese restaurants sometimes, the ones with the group tables where they do the hibachi cooking. I love it when the chefs make the onion volcanoes and fire shoots up from the onion rings. My father would probably faint if he knew I went to those kinds of restaurants, but I enjoy them.” He sounded like an excited child talking about Disney World.

Ade nearly choked on her food, and I laughed. “We shouldn’t talk about hibachis in front of her right now. Her husband is at home grilling on a small hibachi on their wooden fire escape.”

“Yes, my idiot husband is probably going to burn our apartment down tonight. We don’t have the money to buy a new grill, never mind to pay for rebuilding our apartment!” Ade flipped her blonde hair behind her shoulder and took a deep breath. “What am I going to do with him, huh?”

“Aw, it could be worse,” I said. “Besides grilling outside, he could be trying to flambé things in the kitchen. Could you imagine him igniting cognac in the apartment?”

“Don’t even suggest that!” she said. “If he hears about this steak tonight, then you know he’ll want to replicate it at home. I’ll have to keep the details of this delicious dinner a secret.” She winked conspiratorially at us.

I worked my way through a plate of succulent lamb, and by the time dessert arrived, Kyle and I had agreed that I’d keep his folder of notes so that his father, the famous Hank Boucher, wouldn’t have the opportunity to see the mess of recipes and crumpled papers. Chef Boucher wouldn’t see anything about the book until I had at least turned Kyle’s notes into neat, tidy pages. Boy, did I have work ahead of me. I felt less guilty about accepting such a generous hourly rate now that I knew about the late nights that lay ahead of me.

I sampled the tiramisu and smiled. “Maybe we should get this recipe.” I groaned. “It’s sinful!” Tiramisu was one of those desserts that could be either outstanding or totally mediocre. This one, with its layers of mascarpone, liquor-soaked ladyfingers, and cocoa, was rich and decadent.

“So, Chloe, not to rush you too much, but do you think you could contact this Digger character tomorrow and see what Simmer recipes you can get your hands on?”

“Sure. No problem.”

“It’s just that with my father coming into town tomorrow, I’d really like to do what I can to avoid a fight. I know I can get this book together and really impress him, but I think it’d be best to make a strong first presentation.”

“Absolutely. I’ll get in touch with you as soon as I speak to Digger,” I assured my new boss.

After we had thoroughly gorged ourselves on dinner, Kyle paid the bill and left a substantial cash tip. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to ingratiate myself with the chef and see if I can finagle a recipe or two and an interview from him. Thank you so much, Chloe, for taking this on. And, Adrianna, it was a delight to meet you. I hope to see you both again soon.” He shook our hands and headed off toward the rear of the restaurant.