Diane Davidson - Tough Cookie

Platter of Strawberries, Kiwi, Pineapple, Raspberries, and Blueberries

Skiers’ Swiss Cereal

Grilled Canadian Bacon

Toasted Thick-Sliced Five-Grain Bread

Butter, Jams

Champagne, Coffee

“You have to put that it’s Julian Teller’s five-grain bread.”

“This is public TV,” Arthur replied stiffly. “No advertising.” Before I could protest, he added: “Are you going to tell me what Rorry Bullock was really doing up here today?”

Startled, I answered, “She was seeing how the other half lives, Arthur.” When he hrumph ed, I tapped the menu. “Make it ‘Julian’s Five-Grain Bread,’ and it won’t be an advertisement because you’re not using his last name. If you don’t, I’m not going to talk about the champagne. It’s too dry to serve with this sweet food, anyway.”

Arthur’s groan of protest attracted stares. Then he grunted assent and whisked morosely away. Fifteen minutes until showtime: I concentrated on transporting ingredients. The crowd grew more boisterous with each minute. A tech handed me the mike wire and I threaded it through my jacket. I’m almost done , I thought with an unexpected pang of regret. As challenging as Arthur and the whole TV gig had been, the thought of jumping into the abyss of no work after the New Year brought a lump to my throat.

And so I did the show. Without a single calamity or disaster. I realized I hadn’t thought of a single sexy thing to say about the food except that molasses was reputed as an aphrodisiac, and oats were widely used in the diet of the British Isles, and didn’t the Brits, after all, know lusty, ribsticking food? Finally, after nibbling on the bread, swishing my hips about, and taking an eye-rolling bite of the oatmeal, I beamed at the camera and crooned, “That’s comfort food for you. And doesn’t everyone want to be comforted and loved at this time of year?”

To my astonishment, and to Arthur’s consternation, the audience broke into spontaneous applause. Tears welled in my eyes as I smiled at the camera and Arthur made his wild Cut motion. The taping was over. The audience divided into those leaving and those staying for treats. I hustled out to the kitchen, eager to be on my way back to Rorry’s for a hot shower and a glass of some wine that Arthur would no doubt disdain.

The kitchen staff was clustered around a problem with the oven. I barely noticed them as I made my way to the clothing closet by the broken refrigerator. Feeling triumphant, I took off my apron and hung it up, then bent to unbutton my jacket. Then I sensed a movement behind me and my blood ran cold. Always have somebody with you .

Skiers’ Swiss Cereal

1 cup rolled oats

1 teaspoon very finely chopped orange zest

½ teaspoon cinnamon

2 tablespoons dried tart cherries

2 cups skim milk

Brown or granulated sugar

Cream, butter, or milk

The night before you plan to serve the dish, in a glass bowl, combine the oats, zest, cinnamon, and cherries. Stir well, then stir in the milk. Cover with plastic wrap and refrigerate.

The next morning, place the mixture in a medium-sized saucepan and bring it to a simmer. Lower the heat and cook, stirring frequently, for 4 to 6 minutes, or until the oats are tender and the mixture is thick. Serve immediately, either as it is or with brown or granulated sugar, and cream, butter, or milk.

Makes 4 one-half cup servings

Julian’s Five-Grain Bread

2 cups five-grain cereal (available either in the cereal or the health-food section of the grocery store) or rolled oats

2⅓ cups water

2 tablespoons unsalted butter

¾ cup dark molasses

¾ cup milk

1 teaspoon dark brown sugar

5 teaspoons (2 packages) active dry yeast

2 tablespoons bread-dough enhancer (optional) (recommended brand: Lora Brody’s, available at Williams-Sonoma)

4 cups bread flour (or all-purpose flour), plus up to 1 cup more flour for kneading (if required)

2 cups whole wheat flour

Butter two 9 x 5-inch loaf pans.

Place the cereal in a large bowl. Bring the water, butter, and molasses to a boil. Pour this mixture over the cereal and set aside to cool to 100°F.

Heat milk and dark brown sugar to 100°F. Pour into a large bowl and stir in the yeast. Allow to proof, about 10 to 15 minutes.

Mix the cooled grain mixture into the yeast mixture. Combine the optional bread dough enhancer with the first cup of bread flour and stir into the yeast mixture. Beat the other 3 cups of bread flour and the whole wheat flour into the mixture, beating well to combine. Place the dough in an oiled bowl, turn dough to oil the top, cover with a clean kitchen towel, and let rise in a draft-free spot, at room temperature, until doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.

Add as much of the additional bread flour to the dough as needed to make a dough that is not too sticky to knead. Knead on a floured surface until the dough is smooth and satiny, about 10 minutes.

Divide the dough into 2 pieces and place them into the pans. Cover with a towel and allow to rise until almost doubled.

Preheat the oven to 375°F. Bake for 50 to 60 minutes, or until the loaves are deep brown and sound hollow when knocked. Remove the loaves from the pans and allow them to cool completely on racks.

Makes 2 loaves

Something hard and heavy hit my skull with such force that black lightning formed in front of my eyes. Startled, I opened my mouth to cry out. The heavy object crashed down on my head again. My knees buckled and I hit the floor. Something sticky was slapped over my mouth. Duct tape? By the time powerful arms dragged me into the refrigerator, I could see nothing. Understand nothing. The hard, cold floor of the walk-in rose up to slap my cheek. I remember unholy anger, intense, sudden grief for Arch and Tom, then nothing.

CHAPTER 22

An echoing storm of pain was my first indication I had regained consciousness. A scarlet fog covered my eyes. When a cough convulsed my chest, I gagged. My mouth was taped hard and tight. I was painfully cold, chilled to the core, lying on my side on an icy floor. Another cough snagged in my throat. I felt myself choking and beat down panic.

“Where is it?” demanded a husky voice close to my ear.

The tight duct tape mangled any response I could make. Suddenly, without warning, the cold, dense darkness lifted; a door beside me opened. Far above, a tiny fluorescent light made my eyes ache. I moaned. Strong hands hitched under my armpits and roughly hauled me out of the dark space. I struggled to get to my knees; my hands were taped together. I was in the bistro kitchen. Out the window, the sky was black. It was late at night. The lodge would be deserted.

Out of nowhere, a hand slapped me hard across the face. I reeled. It was the kind of hit I used to take from John Richard. One hand pulled my hair hard to tilt my head back, while another hand yanked the duct tape off so roughly I knew my cheeks were bleeding.

I blew a mouthful of vomit all over Jack Gilkey. He cried out and swung at me again. I dodged—one thing I’d learned in my years with The Jerk.

His glossy dark brown hair was loose and wild, his handsome face menacing, gray with shadow. He grabbed me in a choke-hold around the neck. His mouth brushed my ear. “Where’s the tape, bitch?”

My brain thumped and throbbed. The building seemed to echo the vibrations in my head. “The videotape,” Jack snarled.

“If I tell you,” I managed to say, “will you let me go?”

In answer, he tightened his grip around my throat and shook me hard. Black spots danced in front of my eyes. I made a squeaking, submissive sound.