A Miracle at Macy’s: There’s only one dog who can save Christmas. Lynn Hulsman Marie
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Geek Squad rep all my details, and hang up.
I can’t shake the itching feeling of needing to do something other than wait. I consider calling Craig to check on the police department’s progress, but I don’t want to slow him and Scrivello down. I know they’ll get in touch if they have news. Calling the shelters this early in the morning could backfire. If I interrupt while they’re getting to their desks and setting up for the day, they’re more likely to blow me off. I’ll call after the lunch hour, when people are in a good mood and more willing to go the extra mile. I can’t make flyers until my printer is fixed. I can’t go search on foot since I have to wait for tech support. There’s nothing to do but distract myself.
I head to the kitchen and pull out the homemade pie-crust dough that’s been chilling since my Christmas Mince Pie operation got thwarted.
Out of habit, I turn my vintage chrome-and-laquered radio’s dial to “on” to listen WNYC to listen to National Public Radio. Maybe it’ll take my mind off things.
“…And if you’re just joining us today here on ‘Last Chance Foods,’ we’re talking with frequent guest food writer, blogger, and chef Melissa Clark. Today on the show, we’re discussing one-dish meals and holiday tables. Welcome, Melissa.”
“Glad to be here, Amy.”
Even though she’s decades her junior, Melissa Clark reminds me of Bridget, my parents’ cook. They both delight in all aspects of food: The sensual feel of it in the hands during preparation, the libertine delight of allowing something delicious to melt in the mouth, and the warmth and pride of sharing good food made well with delighted guests. When I was in cooking school, my favorite teacher said that I must have cooking in my blood. I remember nodding, unable to answer because of the knot in my throat. Bridget may not have been blood, but she was more family than my own kin in many ways.
For a while, I’m able to push away the fear of never seeing Hudson again, and get lost in the rolling and pinching of my pie dough. Melissa Clark shares her secrets for simple, crowd-pleasing holiday hors d’oeuvres while I scoop spoonsful of the now-integrated mincemeat mixture into tiny, prepared tins.
“Don’t be afraid to offer simple crudité,” Melissa encourages. “During the holidays, people are overwhelmed with rich, complicated meals. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy them, too. I’m just advising you to let yourself off the hook so you’ll have time and energy to enjoy your guests.”
“So not every dish has to come from the Cordon Bleu cookbook, am I right, Melissa?”
“Absolutely.”
While I listen, I’m soothed by the familiar actions of baking. A kind of zen rolls over me. When thoughts of Hudson push their way into my brain, I feel positive. I’ll have him back soon, I’m sure of it. This Christmas, I’ll make him a special savory pie made with chopped steak. He goes nuts for steak.
I check the clock; there’s half an hour left until The Geek Squad is due.
Since I have pie crust at the ready (Insider tip: I make and freeze enormous batches, storing the dough in patties suitable for single-crust and double-crust pies. When it comes to pie crust, very cold butter is the secret to flakiness.), and leftover roasted vegetables from testing a Sunday Lunch recipe from the cookbook, I roll out what I need to make a Deep Dish Winter Veggie-and-Egg Pie. My stomach is starting to growl, and this delicious recipe is the closest thing to ‘slow’ fast food that I can think of, apart from an omelet.
I spend a chunk of time listening to Melissa Clark’s take on canapés and skewered meats while I assemble the pie and pop it into the oven along with the tartlets.
The voice of the radio presenter interrupts my zen.
“Cuisine innovator and owner of highly rated restaurants such as Four Chairs and East Fourth, James Keyes, is here today to share his recipe for Sweet Green Pea Guacamole. Welcome, James.”
“Thank you, Amy. Happy to be here.”
I dive to turn off the damned radio. And just as I was starting to feel calmer.
I’d managed not to hear his voice for nearly four years now, the last time being when he left that voicemail before I’d gotten my number changed. Now, the last thing on earth I needed today of all days was to be transported back to James-land. No thank you. Feel free to live your celebrity life, but do it far from me. Besides, putting peas in guacamole is just stupid. It’s just like James to do something over-the-top just to get attention. Sure, it’s nutritious, but they’re peas! In guacamole! It’s the most unholy union I can think aside from James and me. I wipe my hands, and set a timer. No time like the present to move on.
I check the clock again. Where was the Geek Squad, anyway? What did they launch? A skateboard?
I survey my mutinous computer and realize I never actually looked in on my blog. According to my schedule, I always post and reply to comments three times daily, and often once more before bed. Firing up the site, I can see that my negligence has caused a backlog. Charlotte’s Chefs are in a tizzy wondering where I’ve been. Martha26 writes, Dear Charlotte. I’m still waiting for your answer about substituting mint for rosemary in my Christmas Compote. It’s a bit worrying that you’ve disappeared. I hope you’re off on a grand adventure, or better yet, a romantic weekend ;)
There must be twenty or more inquiries about where I’ve been and whether I’m all right. I debate telling my online friends how horrible the situation is, but they all know Hudson. There will be an outpouring of concern and pity. While I ponder my next move, blog-wise, I check the mince pies to see if they’re done. As I open the oven door, I’m wrapped in a blanket of steaming, fragrant winter spices. The tops of the tartlets are a perfect golden brown, so I hustle to de-pan them to cooling racks.
No, I think, heading back to my desk. I’m going to keep the whole Hudson situation to myself for the time being. I can’t handle reassuring everyone when I’m on shaky ground myself. I’ll just act as though everything is hunky-dory. Where on earth was the Geek Squad?
Dear Martha,’ I answer. Either seasoning will do! Fruit loves herbs, and doesn’t differentiate. Keep on baking, and please post a photo when you’ve made the recipe. Cheers! Charlotte.
I’m just about to dig into GrillDadNJ’s question about marinades, when the buzzer goes. Oh, thank God! I run to press the button by the door. “Who is it?”
“It’s BrrRR-UUUUumph.” I hear nothing but the Doppler effect of a motorcycle speeding across what is supposed to be my quiet Upper West Side street. I push the button, and it emits the sizzling-sounding electric noise that opens the outer safety door down at the top of the stoop. I rush over to tidy up my desk in preparation. First, I want to get my printer rolling so I can make flyers. Then, I’ll ask them to help me hook up the scanner I bought last month, and promptly chucked back in the box. Sure, the Geek Squad guy might think I’m an idiot, but I deal with food, not electronics.
Ding-dong.
I race across the room, my chunky knitted socks skidding on the bare parts of the floor as I go, and fling open the door.
“Oh! It’s you.” Standing in front of me is not a uniformed Geek Squad representative, as I’d expected. It’s Henry Wentworth, all six-foot-three of him, dressed casually in jeans and a Sherpa-lined suede peacoat. His face is like thunder.
“You say that a lot. Now, please step aside so I can come in and help you find your dog.”
*****
I’ll be honest with you. I’m a peaceful person, but I can get ugly when I’m backed into a corner. Ask Penelope Granger. If Lulu Wong hadn’t stepped in when she did, not only would Penelope’s art final have been ripped to shreds, she’d have had a fat lip as well. I’ll bet it’s the last time she ever tried to extort money from an underclassman at boarding school.
It’s only by the grace of God, and Henry Wentworth’s lucky stars, that the sweet-faced, mild-mannered Geek Squad