Read Online Anastasia on Her Own by Lois Lowry - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lois Lowry
Tags: Ages 9 & Up
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and read the notes. "The notes say that if your meat is boneless you should tie some chopped veal marrow and knucklebones in cheesecloth and simmer them with the meat," she told the grocer.
"So you want veal marrow and knucklebones?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess so. Do you have cheesecloth?"
"Nope."
"Well, I'll find some around the house. Okay; let me go back to the recipe. Salt, pepper, flour: I have all of that. I need olive oil."
"Okay. Olive oil. What else?"
"Dry white wine."
"This is quite a meal you're planning, Anastasia," commented Mr. Fortunato.
"It's called Ragout de Veau aux Champignons. I probably didn't pronounce it right. Also, Mr. Fortunato, just so you won't get in trouble with the law or anything—I'm not going to drink that wine. I'm only thirteen. It goes in with the veal, to cook."
"Fine. I've got some nice dry wines here. What else?"
"Tarragon, basil, oregano, bay leaf, garlic, and two tomatoes."
"Hold it," said Mr. Fortunato, "I can't write that fast." Anastasia waited.
"Okay," the grocer said. "What else?"
"Eight ounces of fresh mushrooms, and some parsley, and some heavy cream."
"Is that it?" he asked.
"Almost. I also want—let me think a minute." Anastasia calculated in her head. If Sam had de-itching baths three times a day, and if his chicken pox lasted, as the doctor had said it would, a week or more..."I want twenty-one boxes of baking soda."
"TWENTY-ONE BOXES OF BAKING SODA?"
"Yes. And a bottle of purple dye."
There was a moment of silence. "That's going to be a very interesting dinner you're having, Anastasia," Mr. Fortunato said. "The boy'll bring everything over in a couple of hours. And I'll just add it to your mama's bill."
"Thanks," said Anastasia, and she hung up. She grinned. It was
neat,
she thought happily, being in charge of a house—especially if you had a romantic dinner to prepare.
Sam came down the stairs, naked. "I dried myself," he said. "And I don't itch anymore. And look—I did all my green lines over, in purple."
"You look grotesque, Sam," Anastasia said. "But at least you'll match my color scheme."
By late afternoon, Anastasia had put all of the groceries away except the bottle of purple dye. She was reading the directions on the bottle when there was a knock at the back door.
"Hi, you guys!" she said in delight when she opened the door and saw Sonya and Meredith standing there.
"We brought you your homework assignments and your books," Sonya announced, "but we can't come in.
I
could come in, because I've had chicken pox, but Meredith's mom can't remember if she's had chicken pox, so she can't come in, and I promised I wouldn't leave her standing out here all alone."
"I think I had it," Meredith explained, "because I remember itching a lot, but my mother thinks maybe what I remember is poison ivy."
Anastasia took the books and made a face. "I'm not going to have time to do homework," she said. "I don't know how my mom ever finds time to do her illustrating. It takes all day just to take care of a house. Keep that in mind, you guys, when you start thinking about getting married. Look for a rich husband so you can have servants."
"Speaking of getting married," Sonya said, giggling, "tell us more about your date with Steve."
"Well, he wanted to take me to the mov—ah, to the theater," Anastasia explained. "But I decided it would be better to have a romantic dinner date. So he's coming here, and I'm fixing a gourmet dinner, with candles and everything."
She had already decided not to tell anyone—even her best friends—about Annie.
"But Anastasia," Meredith said in her very practical voice, "you don't know how to cook a gourmet dinner. You even burned the English muffins that time you slept over at my house."
"That's what
books
are for, Meredith," Anastasia pointed out. "I have this book—actually, it's my mom's—called
Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
I've been reading it practically all day. Anyway, that time at your house? I
"So you want veal marrow and knucklebones?" he asked.
"Yeah, I guess so. Do you have cheesecloth?"
"Nope."
"Well, I'll find some around the house. Okay; let me go back to the recipe. Salt, pepper, flour: I have all of that. I need olive oil."
"Okay. Olive oil. What else?"
"Dry white wine."
"This is quite a meal you're planning, Anastasia," commented Mr. Fortunato.
"It's called Ragout de Veau aux Champignons. I probably didn't pronounce it right. Also, Mr. Fortunato, just so you won't get in trouble with the law or anything—I'm not going to drink that wine. I'm only thirteen. It goes in with the veal, to cook."
"Fine. I've got some nice dry wines here. What else?"
"Tarragon, basil, oregano, bay leaf, garlic, and two tomatoes."
"Hold it," said Mr. Fortunato, "I can't write that fast." Anastasia waited.
"Okay," the grocer said. "What else?"
"Eight ounces of fresh mushrooms, and some parsley, and some heavy cream."
"Is that it?" he asked.
"Almost. I also want—let me think a minute." Anastasia calculated in her head. If Sam had de-itching baths three times a day, and if his chicken pox lasted, as the doctor had said it would, a week or more..."I want twenty-one boxes of baking soda."
"TWENTY-ONE BOXES OF BAKING SODA?"
"Yes. And a bottle of purple dye."
There was a moment of silence. "That's going to be a very interesting dinner you're having, Anastasia," Mr. Fortunato said. "The boy'll bring everything over in a couple of hours. And I'll just add it to your mama's bill."
"Thanks," said Anastasia, and she hung up. She grinned. It was
neat,
she thought happily, being in charge of a house—especially if you had a romantic dinner to prepare.
Sam came down the stairs, naked. "I dried myself," he said. "And I don't itch anymore. And look—I did all my green lines over, in purple."
"You look grotesque, Sam," Anastasia said. "But at least you'll match my color scheme."
By late afternoon, Anastasia had put all of the groceries away except the bottle of purple dye. She was reading the directions on the bottle when there was a knock at the back door.
"Hi, you guys!" she said in delight when she opened the door and saw Sonya and Meredith standing there.
"We brought you your homework assignments and your books," Sonya announced, "but we can't come in.
I
could come in, because I've had chicken pox, but Meredith's mom can't remember if she's had chicken pox, so she can't come in, and I promised I wouldn't leave her standing out here all alone."
"I think I had it," Meredith explained, "because I remember itching a lot, but my mother thinks maybe what I remember is poison ivy."
Anastasia took the books and made a face. "I'm not going to have time to do homework," she said. "I don't know how my mom ever finds time to do her illustrating. It takes all day just to take care of a house. Keep that in mind, you guys, when you start thinking about getting married. Look for a rich husband so you can have servants."
"Speaking of getting married," Sonya said, giggling, "tell us more about your date with Steve."
"Well, he wanted to take me to the mov—ah, to the theater," Anastasia explained. "But I decided it would be better to have a romantic dinner date. So he's coming here, and I'm fixing a gourmet dinner, with candles and everything."
She had already decided not to tell anyone—even her best friends—about Annie.
"But Anastasia," Meredith said in her very practical voice, "you don't know how to cook a gourmet dinner. You even burned the English muffins that time you slept over at my house."
"That's what
books
are for, Meredith," Anastasia pointed out. "I have this book—actually, it's my mom's—called
Mastering the Art of French Cooking.
I've been reading it practically all day. Anyway, that time at your house? I
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