Diane Davidson - Chopping Spree

“To think,” I murmured sympathetically.

She ignored me. “Making matters even worse, Ellie McNeely wants the double pearl strand with the aquamarine, which I’ve had my eye on forever to go with a dinner I’m giving in May that I was hoping you’d cater, if you’re not dead. Wait a minute, there’s someone at the door.”

I mm-hmmed and continued dipping. Ellie McNeely, whom I’d done fund-raising with over a decade ago in the Episcopal Church Women, was an old friend from my rich-doctor’s-wife years, one of the few old friends who’d remained a pal in my postdivorce, service-industry years. Page Stockham was the wife of Shane Stockham, Arch’s lacrosse coach, and I knew her not at all. But the key fact from a caterer’s perspective was that Page, Ellie, and Marla all had money to burn.

Waiting for Marla to return to the phone, I kept on with the truffles. Six to go. Roll, bathe, set aside. What had I been thinking about? Oh, yes, money to burn. I wasn’t resentful, though, because moneyed folks were my best clients. And anyway, who was I to judge anyone else’s shopping?

My eyes traveled to the carved wooden cupboard hanging over our kitchen table. I truly did not want to look down on folks who engaged in retail therapy. The reason was that during my divorce from The Jerk, and despite near-dire financial straits, I’d been a shop-to-feel-better gal myself. On weekends when it was John Richard’s turn to have Arch, I’d visited every shopping center I could find. I’d strolled through perfume-scented air, by gorgeously stacked goods, past gaggle after gaggle of smiling, prosperous people. I’d loitered in front of brightly lit displays of embroidered baby clothes, rainbow-hued designer sheets, sleek copper pots and pans, even sugared, sparkling cinnamon rolls. I’d allowed myself to feel rich, even if my bank account said otherwise.

Come to think of it, maybe that was what Arch had been doing the previous day: shopping. Still, there weren’t any luxury shops on East Colfax.

I retucked the silent phone against my ear, rolled another truffle, but stopped again to ponder the cupboard shelves. On each of those long-ago shopping trips, I’d bought myself a little something from the “Drastically Reduced” tables. My white porcelain demitasse cup and saucer, a tiny crystal mouse, a miniature wooden car laden with painted wooden gifts—all these had made me uncommonly happy. At home, I’d placed my minuscule treasures on the old cupboard’s shelves. Without the stores’ strong overhead lights, the little crystal mouse had not looked quite so brilliant; the cheap china cup had lost its translucence. But I’d never cared. Each piece had been mine , something for me , a small token of an inner voice, too long silenced, saying, “I love you.” So who was I to judge Marla or her friends, Page Stockham and Ellie McNeely? They all wanted someone, even if it was themselves, to say, I really, really care about you! And to prove it, have this!

Marla came back to the phone and said Ellie had arrived, and she had to go. Before the event, she, Ellie, and Page, who was driving down separately with husband Shane, would be getting the mud soak, the coconut-milk bath, and the vegetable-and-fruit wrap at Westside Spa.

“I’ll watch for a moving luau.”

“I’ll catch you at the party,” Marla retorted, undaunted, and signed off.

I rolled the fifty-eighth truffle. Then, lowering the scoop of ganache into the melted chocolate and setting it aside to dry, I made another espresso. To the far west, just visible out our back windows, a bright mist cloaked the mountains of the Aspen Meadow Wildlife Preserve. On the nearer hills, white-barked aspens nestled between dark expanses of fir, spruce, and pine. I peered at our thermometer. The red line was stubbornly stuck at twenty-nine degrees. So this is Springtime in the Rockies? newcomers always asked. This is it , I invariably replied. In June, you can take off your snow tires.

I slugged down what I vowed would be my last coffee. Once again, worry surfaced. Where had Arch been yesterday? The rumor was that the rookies on the lacrosse team had been told their initiation would not be complete until they shoplifted something worth more than fifty dollars. Thinking about that possibility, my heart plummeted.

I disciplined myself to roll the next-to-last truffle. It broke into two pieces when I dunked it in the dark chocolate. Oh, darn! Guess I’ll have to eat it, maybe with a fifth espresso! I pulled out the chocolate chunks swimming in the dark coating, placed them on the rack, then refilled the espresso doser. I rinsed the old porcelain demitasse cup and closed my eyes. Worry for Arch nagged at me. I balanced on one foot. I was so tired…. And then my much-loved cup slipped from my fingers. It shattered on the floor with a heartbreaking crash. Shards raced across the wood; bits of china smashed into the molding and sent reverberating tinkles throughout the kitchen.

My best shopping treasure was gone. Later, I tried not to think of it as an omen.

Spice-of-Life Cookies

2 cups all-purpose flour

2 teaspoons baking soda

¼ teaspoon salt

1½ teaspoons ground cinnamon

2 teaspoons ground ginger

1½ teaspoons ground cloves

⅛ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg

¼ cup solid vegetable shortening

¼ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter

1 cup sugar

1 large egg

¼ cup molasses

¼ teaspoon very finely minced lemon zestPreheat the oven to 375°F. Butter 2 cookie sheets.Sift together the flour, soda, salt, cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg. Set aside.In a large mixing bowl, cream the shortening, butter, and sugar until very light and fluffy, about 4 minutes. Beat in the egg, molasses, and zest until well combined. Stir in the flour mixture until well combined, with no traces of flour visible.Using a 1 tablespoon scoop, measure the cookies onto the cookie sheets, keeping them 2 inches apart. Do not attempt to make more than one dozen per sheet. Bake the batches one at a time, just until the cookies have puffed and flattened and have a crinkly surface, 9 to 12 minutes per batch. Cool the cookies for 1 minute before removing to racks.Cool the cookies completely on racks. Makes 32 cookies

Shoppers’ Chocolate Truffles Ganache:

½ cup heavy cream

1 tablespoon Grand Marnier liqueur

¼ teaspoon vanilla extract

11 ounces best-quality bittersweet chocolate, very finely chopped (recommended brand: Valrhona)

2 tablespoons (¼ stick) unsalted butter, softened

Cocoa powder for rolling (recommended brand: Hershey’s Premium European-Style) Coating:

6 ounces best-quality bittersweet chocolate (recommended brand: Godiva Dark)

1 to 2 tablespoons clarified butter or solid vegetable shorteningPour the cream into a heavy 1-quart or larger saucepan. Add the liqueur and vanilla and heat over medium to medium-high heat until the mixture reaches 190°F. Remove the mixture from the heat, add the chopped chocolate, and stir vigorously until the chocolate melts and the mixture is shiny. If all the chocolate does not melt, you can briefly return the pan to the burner over low heat, stirring constantly just until the chocolate melts, when the pan needs to be immediately removed from the heat. Scrape the ganache into a bowl and allow it to cool at room temperature. (Do not attempt to hasten the cooling in any way.) When the ganache reaches 90°F, beat in the butter. Allow the ganache to cool until it is firm.Using a 1 tablespoon ice-cream scoop, measure out the firm ganache into balls and place them on a cookie sheet lined with a silicone (Sil-Pat) sheet. Cover loosely with plastic wrap. Chill overnight in the refrigerator.Remove the chocolate from the refrigerator and dust your hands with cocoa powder. Roll each mound into a smooth ball, then place it back on the cookie sheet. When all the ganache mounds have been rolled, return the cookie sheet to the refrigerator.In a double boiler, melt the chocolate used for the coating with a tablespoon of the clarified butter or shortening. Whisk it well until thoroughly combined and melted. Line another cookie sheet with aluminum foil. Working one at a time, drop a chilled ball of ganache into the coating chocolate, roll it around gently with a fork until it is completely covered, then lift it out of the pan, scrape off the excess chocolate on the side of the pan, and place the truffle on the aluminum foil. Work in this way until all the truffles are coated. If the coating chocolate begins to seize and become recalcitrant, add a bit more clarified butter to it and stir and melt as before. Work until all the truffles are coated. Allow the coating to set up and cool on the truffles. (This usually takes over an hour.) Serve. Makes between 12 and 15 truffles