Author: Sandra Lee
Category: Cook books
Go to read content：https://onlinereadfreenovel.com/sandra-lee/page,11,434257-the_recipe_box.html
Flag, cherry, gumdrop.
Grace’s hands flew as she frantically added decorations to the last trays of the Fourth of July cupcakes: mini American flags on toothpicks, red candied cherries, and blue gumdrops. She felt like she was guest-starring in the famous I Love Lucy candy assembly-line episode. Emma had found a recipe in the recipe box, and the Cupcake Brigade had adapted it, baking so many cupcakes that racks covered every surface in the house. Still, it was impossible to keep up with demand.
INDEPENDENCE CUPCAKES
Makes 36 cupcakes
FOR THE CAKE:
1 cup softened butter
1½ cups plus ½ cup sugar
3½ cups cake flour
1 tablespoon baking powder
½ teaspoon salt
1 cup milk
2 teaspoons vanilla
9 large egg whites
FOR THE FROSTING:
2 sticks softened butter
4 cups powdered sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla
Pinch salt
4 to 5 tablespoons half-and-half
TO DECORATE:
Red, white, and blue jimmies
Red, white, and blue jelly beans
Red, white, and blue sugars
Raspberries and blueberries
Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line cupcake pans with 36 paper liners.
MAKE THE CUPCAKES: Cream butter and 1½ cups sugar. In a separate bowl whisk together flour, baking powder, and salt. Mix milk and vanilla. Alternate adding flour mixture and milk to batter in 3 parts, ending with the milk. Scrape down sides of bowl and mix for 30 seconds or until well incorporated. In a separate bowl whip the egg whites until frothy, slowly stream in the remaining ½ cup sugar, and continue to whip until soft peaks form. Gently fold egg whites into batter in 3 parts. Fill cupcake liners ¾ of the way to the top. Bake for 20 minutes, rotating pans halfway through the baking time. Cupcakes will be lightly golden on top when done and a toothpick inserted will have moist crumbs. Let cool.
MAKE THE FROSTING: Whisk together the butter and sugar. Add the vanilla and salt and whisk again. Add the half-and-half, a tablespoon at a time, until you get the spreading consistency you like.
She was racing against the clock. The first round of cupcakes had disappeared even before the parade had begun. The second and third vanished when, following the patriotically decorated stroller, wagon, and tricycle section of the parade, the stroller moms stormed the porch and spread the word. Nobody spreads the buzz like moms, Grace knew. They were a social network unto themselves. Within minutes of their onslaught of the Book Nook, the shop was awash in crumbs and smears of red, white, and blue frosting. Then there were the tourists, following a mob that must have looked, from the park across the street, like Brad Pitt had dropped into the bookstore. Emma sat on the floor with Sara on her lap and Halo on her shoulder, reading stories to a spellbound group of kids. Halo became an instant tourist attraction and minor celebrity. People were snapping his picture like paparazzi. Spotty was a big hit too, and clearly loved the attention. Ken was burning rubber at the cash register, Mike and a few other firemen were hauling in jugs of pink lemonade, and Tim was in heaven. Suddenly, the Book Nook was the place to be. The problem was, they were running out of cupcakes. Ken had called up the emergency reserve, and Grace had sped around the neighborhood collecting the final trays—only to discover that they had forgotten to decorate them. The flags and gumdrops were a little crooked, but the product would probably last about thirty seconds, so Grace figured perfection was not a priority.
By the time the precision parachute team had landed in the town square, the last cupcake had been eaten. But, as Tim declared triumphantly, they had set a sales record. “Probably for all time,” Tim said. “This is going to be hard to top.”
Following an epic cleanup, for which Grace seriously considered asking Mike to just aim the fire hose into the shop and be done with it, the Cupcake Brigade adjourned to the ice cream parlor, followed by the fireworks. Emma was parked on a blanket with her new friends, Grace noticed, and she’d been invited to a party. Grace crossed her fingers. This just might work out. With a unanimous vote, it was decided that this was the template for success for the Book Nook. “We need another pop-up café at the 3F,” said Grace, using Ken’s nickname for the Fall Family Fest. “That’ll be even bigger crowds. Ken and I will come in for it, won’t we?”
Ken agreed. “Yes. Start baking now, everybody.” He winked at Tim and looked at his watch. “Let’s synchronize. Go!”
As they closed up the shop, Mike insisted on asking Lorraine to join them for a few beers at O’Malley’s Irish Pub. “Tell me all about the food pantry,” he said, genuinely interested, as they settled into one of the big wooden booths at the back. He squeezed Grace’s hand as she sat beside him in the booth across from Ken, Tim, and her mother. Mike thinks we’re this typical American family. Little does he know. Little does he know me. If he knew everything, would he still care? Grace wondered.
The Fourth of July had broken the ice, and as of July fifth the Book Nook seemed to be the anointed “in” spot for the young moms of New London. While the moms had coffee, browsed books, and gossiped on the comfy couch, Emma and Halo led a story-reading circle for the little kids. Emma had found a purpose, something she loved, and, Grace noted, she stepped up to it. On Friday night, instead of going out with her friends, Emma had a couple of the girls over to help her bake cupcakes for the weekend crowd at the shop. On their way to a movie, Grace and Mike walked into the kitchen to find Emma demonstrating a basket-weave piping technique that Grace didn’t even know Emma knew. Two teenaged girls leaned over the counter, watching closely.
“Wow! Where did you learn to do that, Emma?” Grace asked, amazed by her daughter’s talent.
Emma expertly maneuvered a pastry bag full of icing into a crisscross pattern.
“I saw it online,” Emma said without looking up, her spiky black hair bobbing along with the movements of the pastry bag. “There was a video. I figured, how hard can it be? And Grandma has the pastry tips and tubes for decorating with frosting.”
“This is so cool,” said Maura, one of Emma’s friends.
Later, as they waited in line for their movie tickets, Grace asked Mike if he’d noticed the change in Emma. “I wish I could take credit for this. I’d be Mother of the Year. But she’s doing it all herself.”
“She’s invested in something,” said Mike as he swiped his charge card through the scanner. “So she cares.”
“She’s already a better baker than I ever was,” said Grace. “She’s got a feel for it.”
After the movie, Grace sat on Emma’s bed.
“You’re doing a great job, Em. I am so proud of you.”
For once, Emma didn’t squirm away. Instead, she asked, “Do you think I could be a teacher one day?”
“That would be wonderful. You’d be very good at it.”
“Maybe a nursery school teacher,” Emma said. “Really little kids. Like Sara, or the kids at the Book Nook.” She twirled a strand of dark hair thoughtfully. “Or, I’ve been thinking, kids like my stories so much—maybe I could write an online children’s book. I have an idea about a hip-hop cockatoo who saves the rain forest. Named Halo, of course. I have some drawings for the pictures for the first book, it’s called Hello, Halo. You have to keep the words simple, then they get it.” She pulled up some drawings saved on her iPad.
Grace could barely believe what she was seeing. The drawings were adorable cartoons, and showed a lot of discipline. Emma, who never stuck to one thing for more than five minutes, must have been working on them for days. She had always doodled little figures on the edges of her notebooks, but this was something else, an idea with real potential. It almost looked professional. “What a great idea! The cockatoo in the sunglasses is crazy; kids will love him. You know, Mike thinks you’re a really good writer, and so do I. And you can draw this well! Why don’t you bounce the book idea off of him?”
Emma’s phone buzzed and
she jumped to grab it. The moment was over, but it was a start. More than a start. It was a miracle. Grace was thankful for this time in Wisconsin, and while it was still only July, The Lost Ones was set to go back into production August 8 and she and Ken were expected on set. Emma would be starting school two weeks later, after they returned. Yes, before they knew it it would be time for them all to return to LA.
“I swear to God I’m going to kill Artie right here and right now,” Ken fumed. If he were a cartoon character, Grace thought, smoke would have been coming out of the top of Ken’s head. “Our esteemed, Emmy-winning director can join the undead because I’m gonna put a stake through his nonexistent heart.”
Grace was busy making notes in the production book, synchronizing it with the script changes. It was her job to make sure that the set notes were up to date and complete, including any last-minute changes. “What now?”
“I’ll tell you what’s now. Give me that script,” Ken said. “You see these three pages? Scene six? The one we spent all morning setting up?”
Grace nodded.
Ken grabbed the pages and ripped them out of the script.
“Ken! My notes!”
He tossed the pages into a garbage can. “Won’t matter. Artie just called for an on-set rewrite of the entire scene. He’s changing everything. He’s decided the season premiere of The Lost Ones has to have more edge for the ratings. The writers are going nuts. They’re threatening to call the union. Well, we’re going to have to redo everything. He has this idea that the door opens, and as the vamps walk in, a freeze suddenly coats everything with a layer of ice. So we have like an hour to turn this entire set into the North Pole. What I wouldn’t give to be back in New London working on the Book Nook with Tim—something meaningful rather than this silly show.”
Grace knew Ken missed Tim and for the first time hadn’t looked forward to returning to LA. Artie’s outbursts weren’t helping Ken feel better about being home. Grace sighed. “And where do we find the prop ice?”
“That, Grace, is why I have an assistant—namely you. I’m going to deal with the A.D. You are going to create ice. Call Dairy Queen, for all I care. Just figure it out. Oh, and he wants a vulture. A white vulture, mind you, to sit on the Queen’s shoulder. Call that bird wrangler; he’s on my speed-dial. Do vultures even come in white? Oh my God, I’m going to kill him!” Ken continued to rant as he jumped into a golf cart and sped off across the set with Roberto at the wheel.
Instant ice. White vulture. Another day at the office. Grace located an acrylic ice source fairly quickly. The white vulture was another matter.
“You’re talking the Egyptian vulture here,” the bird wrangler said over the phone. “Check ’em out online. They’re indigenous to Egypt and Sri Lanka. They’re practically endangered. I have other vultures, but they’re turkey vultures. Turkey vultures are gray.”
“Can you spray paint them white?”
“You’ve got to be kidding. And by the way, they have a six-foot wingspan; they’re not going to sit on somebody’s shoulder.”
“Just asking, thanks.” Grace dreaded telling Artie she couldn’t find what he wanted. He never took that sort of thing well. Then she had an idea. She grabbed her iPad and pulled up some pictures to show him.
“Artie, look at this. Your idea of the bird on Carrie’s shoulder is brilliant. But vultures are so large, she’s going to say the bird is stealing her scene. What about a white cockatoo? They have this gorgeous crest on their heads; it would show up in the shot.”
Artie adjusted his glasses and scrutinized the screen. “Hmm. You may have something there, actually. The crest is sculptural. It’s more—organic. Let’s do it. People!” he commanded, although only Grace and the A.D. were standing there. “Go with the white cockatoo.”
Grace ran to call Emma. “Get over here with Halo,” she said. “You guys have a job!”
Yes, they were back in LA, a place where stars shone and pigs flew.
Grace thought Emma would be glad to get back to her life in Venice, but in fact, she was upset at leaving her new friends in Wisconsin. The Book Nook had become a refuge for Emma, Grace realized. Working with little kids, Emma had come into her own. It was the first time in years Emma seemed to really care about anything. Once more, Grace was responsible for Emma’s latest round of discontent, but school was fast approaching. The reading list had been e-mailed and preseason sports tryouts were coming up. Emma would be in high school shortly. Grace could hardly believe it.
Telling Mike they were going back to LA had been the hardest part about leaving. Grace knew she’d miss him, but there was no point, really, in letting things get serious. His life was in Wisconsin and her life was in LA. She’d miss Mike, but she just didn’t know saying good-bye to him would feel quite this painful.
“I’ve never been to California,” Mike had said as they went for one last walk along the Wolf River Trail. He’d brought a picnic, tossing together his own recipe for BLT salad, packed in Mason jars, and a firehouse blanket. “Ant-proof, and everyone knows bacon is a food group.”
It was a perfect July day, and the water shimmered as they wandered after their picnic along the myriad of beautiful, shaded paths that New London was famous for. The rainy spring had painted a lushness across the summer greenery, and butterflies danced above the flowers. There was a peacefulness that Grace had to admit she’d never experienced anywhere else.
“LA is a crazy place,” she said. “The weather in winter is definitely an improvement to Wisconsin’s, but you spend most of your time in the car.”
“I could come and visit in a couple of weeks, as soon as you’re settled again. Once school starts, it’s a little harder, but there are vacations. Do you want to make a plan?”
“Let’s see how things go.” Grace was being vague.
MIKE’S MASON JAR BLT SALAD
Makes 4 servings
FOR THE SALAD:
2 avocados, sliced
2 heads Bibb lettuce, coarsely chopped
1 pint cherry tomatoes, halved
8 slices cooked bacon, chopped
16 basil leaves, sliced
FOR THE PARMESAN TOASTS:
12¼-inch slices from a baguette
4 tablespoons butter, softened
4 tablespoons grated parmesan
Freshly ground black pepper
FOR THE VINAIGRETTE:
¾ cup champagne vinegar
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 small shallot, finely chopped
Salt and pepper
Pinch sugar
¾ cup extra virgin olive oil
PARMESAN TOASTS: Preheat the oven to 350°F. Place the bread slices onto a cookie sheet and cook them until lightly browned, turning once. Turn on the broiler. Stir together the butter, parmesan, and black pepper. When the toasts are cool enough to handle, spread each with some of the butter mixture. Put under the broiler until melted and lightly browned. Set aside to cool.
VINAIGRETTE: In a pint mason jar, shake together the vinegar, mustard, shallot, salt, pepper, and sugar. Add the olive oil and shake again. Refrigerate until ready to use.
SALAD: Toss the avocados gently in a little vinaigrette to preserve the color. In 4 wide-mouth quart Mason jars, make a layer in the bottom of each with ¼ of the lettuce. Add a layer of tomatoes on top, then a layer of avocado, then a layer of bacon. Top with basil, cover, and refrigerate until ready to serve.
To serve, pour some dressing into each jar, put the top on, and give it a shake. Serve with long forks and the parmesan toasts.
NOTE:
• If you are pressed for time, use a prepared salad dressing of your choice.
• Try a different vinegar for the vinaigrette: apple cider, sherry, or red wine.
• Use romaine or iceberg lettuce in place of Bibb.
Mike stopped and stared at her. “Whoa.” He shook his head. “Grace, I really care about you and Emma. If you need to be in LA, that’s fine, I understand. But what are you saying?
”
“I’m not saying anything.” Why can’t you just say it, Grace?
“Well, then what are you not saying? I need to know—is there a way forward for us?”
Grace wasn’t used to such a direct approach. “I don’t know, Mike. It’s too soon to be definite about anything.”
“What’s really going on, Grace? You’re like these butterflies, landing here, flying there, taking a little bit from everywhere you set yourself down, but never settling for long. You’re so beautiful, inside and out, and there’s so much to you, but you won’t let yourself make a life. I’m not criticizing you. I just want to understand where we are. I like you, and I don’t want to be left on the outside, looking in. Can we talk about this?”
“You know the show is starting production—”
“Not the show. You.”
Grace was used to her focus being everywhere but on herself. There was Emma, Brian, Leeza… Mike was putting her at the top of the list. And, if he knew the truth, she probably wouldn’t even be on his list. She felt worse than ever. She’d twisted herself into some hideously complicated knot that there was no way to untangle. Grace knew, rationally, that wherever she was on the planet would not be far enough away to escape from her past. She needed space to think through what she was doing this time. She leaned into Mike and put her head on his shoulder.
“Mike, it’s not that I don’t want you to come.”
“What then? Is it Emma?”
“No. She’s doing great, thanks to you. It’s me.”
“There’s no answer I can have for that, you know, Grace.”
Mike exhaled a long, slow breath, like the wind being taken out of their relationship. “ ‘It’s not you, it’s me—’ That sounds like a hack line from one of those dating reality shows. Can’t you do better than that?”