Read Online Just Wanna Testify by Pearl Cleage - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pearl Cleage
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a fortune in accoutrements before hiring Louie, who was a traditionalist, preferring to chop his onions by hand and gauge the doneness of the meat by examining the clarity of the juice that trickled out when the meat was pierced with a clean toothpick. Peachy didn’t care. It didn’t make any difference to him
how
Louie cooked as long as he cooked. How could it? The food that Sweet Abbie’s customers enjoyed was so good that once they tasted it, they were hooked.
When she peeked through the round, portal-like window in one of the two swinging silver doors, she could see the kitchen staff already at work. Louie, in his chef’s whites from head to toe, was standing at a huge butcher-block chopping board calmly dictating the evening’s menu to his assistant, also in white, who took it all down with great seriousness. There was no printed menu at Sweet Abbie’s. Each night’s offerings depended solely on the catch of the day, the bounty of the harvest, and the mood of the chef, who was, as in every well-run kitchen, the king.
She watched as the assistant read the menu back to Louie’s satisfaction and then headed over to a quiet corner to transfer it to the small chalkboards that the waitstaff carried until they memorizedthe night’s offerings. Abbie took a deep breath and fixed her face into a neutral smile. Of course, she was worrying about the sudden appearance of vampires in her life, but Louie didn’t have to know it. Not yet, anyway.
“Hey, everybody,” she called, pushing open the door. “I’m looking for a good chef. Anybody around here know where I can find one?”
General laughter all around as Louie turned around so fast, his chef’s hat trembled like a half-set bowl of Jell-O. His smile was so genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes in such a delighted, friendly way, that she was grateful as always for his presence in her life.
“Not one who’s for sale.” He laughed, crossing the room in three giant steps to enfold her in a big bear hug, as the kitchen staff waved and greeted her. Peachy treated his employees with respect and fairness and there was rarely any turnover. She knew them all by name.
“Well, then,” she said, returning Louie’s hug and kissing his warm, smooth cheek. “I guess I’ll just have to keep looking.”
He leaned back and grinned at her as his staff went back to work like the well-oiled machine they were. “Miss Abbie, you are a sight for sore eyes. Where you been keeping yourself?”
“Didn’t Peachy tell you? I had two big projects to finish up in town.”
“He told me, but you stayed away so long, I started thinking maybe you had decided to brighten up some other parlors.”
“Not a chance,” she said, laughing. “You two are stuck with me.”
“Good thing, too,” he said, leading her over to his small cubicle in a sunny corner of the kitchen and taking a seat beside her. He had a small desk, two chairs, and a tiny shelf crammed with notebooks full of his father’s recipes. Katrina had destroyed the restaurant that had been in his family for three generations and scattered his loyal clientele to the four winds, but nothing could diminish his joy in the loving preparation of food. He learned to cook almost as soon as he could stand on a chair beside his father at the kitchen table. One of his first jobs was to carefully stir together whatever ingredients his father tossed into a big wooden bowl without the aid of anymeasuring cup or set of spoons. Louie’s father cooked with
handfuls
of cornmeal and
pinches
of salt. His roux, every Louisiana cook’s magic ingredient, was the stuff of legend, as was his gumbo, made from a secret recipe that he passed on as a sacred trust to his son only once Louie had proven himself worthy, well into his twenties.
“Without you, we’d have to change the name of this place, like it or not, and you know how that can confuse people,” Louie was still teasing. “Not to mention the effect your departure would have
how
Louie cooked as long as he cooked. How could it? The food that Sweet Abbie’s customers enjoyed was so good that once they tasted it, they were hooked.
When she peeked through the round, portal-like window in one of the two swinging silver doors, she could see the kitchen staff already at work. Louie, in his chef’s whites from head to toe, was standing at a huge butcher-block chopping board calmly dictating the evening’s menu to his assistant, also in white, who took it all down with great seriousness. There was no printed menu at Sweet Abbie’s. Each night’s offerings depended solely on the catch of the day, the bounty of the harvest, and the mood of the chef, who was, as in every well-run kitchen, the king.
She watched as the assistant read the menu back to Louie’s satisfaction and then headed over to a quiet corner to transfer it to the small chalkboards that the waitstaff carried until they memorizedthe night’s offerings. Abbie took a deep breath and fixed her face into a neutral smile. Of course, she was worrying about the sudden appearance of vampires in her life, but Louie didn’t have to know it. Not yet, anyway.
“Hey, everybody,” she called, pushing open the door. “I’m looking for a good chef. Anybody around here know where I can find one?”
General laughter all around as Louie turned around so fast, his chef’s hat trembled like a half-set bowl of Jell-O. His smile was so genuine, crinkling the corners of his eyes in such a delighted, friendly way, that she was grateful as always for his presence in her life.
“Not one who’s for sale.” He laughed, crossing the room in three giant steps to enfold her in a big bear hug, as the kitchen staff waved and greeted her. Peachy treated his employees with respect and fairness and there was rarely any turnover. She knew them all by name.
“Well, then,” she said, returning Louie’s hug and kissing his warm, smooth cheek. “I guess I’ll just have to keep looking.”
He leaned back and grinned at her as his staff went back to work like the well-oiled machine they were. “Miss Abbie, you are a sight for sore eyes. Where you been keeping yourself?”
“Didn’t Peachy tell you? I had two big projects to finish up in town.”
“He told me, but you stayed away so long, I started thinking maybe you had decided to brighten up some other parlors.”
“Not a chance,” she said, laughing. “You two are stuck with me.”
“Good thing, too,” he said, leading her over to his small cubicle in a sunny corner of the kitchen and taking a seat beside her. He had a small desk, two chairs, and a tiny shelf crammed with notebooks full of his father’s recipes. Katrina had destroyed the restaurant that had been in his family for three generations and scattered his loyal clientele to the four winds, but nothing could diminish his joy in the loving preparation of food. He learned to cook almost as soon as he could stand on a chair beside his father at the kitchen table. One of his first jobs was to carefully stir together whatever ingredients his father tossed into a big wooden bowl without the aid of anymeasuring cup or set of spoons. Louie’s father cooked with
handfuls
of cornmeal and
pinches
of salt. His roux, every Louisiana cook’s magic ingredient, was the stuff of legend, as was his gumbo, made from a secret recipe that he passed on as a sacred trust to his son only once Louie had proven himself worthy, well into his twenties.
“Without you, we’d have to change the name of this place, like it or not, and you know how that can confuse people,” Louie was still teasing. “Not to mention the effect your departure would have
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