Read Online Mistletoe Man - China Bayles 09 by Susan Wittig Albert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Susan Wittig Albert
Tags: Mystery
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Texans must enjoy a bit of
civilized dining now and then, given the opportunity."
Stung, I opened my
mouth to retort, but Ruby interrupted. "Why don't we ask Mrs. Kendall, to
make some suggestions about the menu," she said tactfully. "We can
study them and decide whether we think they'd work." Her reproving look
told me to stop behaving like a barbarian.
"Whatever you want," I said, shrugging.
I glanced at the woman. "You've got references, I suppose."
'To be sure," Mrs. Kendall replied
graciously. "But I expect you'd rather sample my culinary skills than read
my recommendations. I should be delighted to prepare luncheon for you. At no
charge, of course."
"Luncheon!"
Ruby exclaimed. "What a perfectiy delightful idea." She looked at
me. "Isn't it, China?"
"Well,
sure," I said. I waved my hand carelessly. "Be our guest. Show us
your stuff."
"My ... stuff?" The woman frowned.
"China means
that we would love to sample your dishes," Ruby explained.
"Well, then,
I'll just have a look around." Mrs. Kendall turned and went into the
kitchen, and we could hear the sound of doors opening and pots rattling. In a
few moments, she was back. "It seems that you have most of the necessary
equipment. I'll pop round to the market and pick up a few things. And if you
have a moment, you might just step out to that lovely little garden and pick a
few fresh herbs—basil and dill, please, and a bit of lemon thyme and parsley
would be splendid." A watch was pinned to her sweater and she took it off
for a look, exactly as Mary Poppins might have done. I almost expected her to
click her heels and twirl an umbrella. "You may expect luncheon in ... shall we say, ninety minutes." She
turned and marched out the door.
"A spoonful of
sugar makes the medicine go down," I said.
Ruby
rolled her eyes. "Pinch me. I think I'm dreaming."
I grinned. "If
she can't cook, maybe Sheila could use her on the police force."
"She certainly
has a managerial personality," Ruby agreed. "She'd take a bit of
getting used to. But we need somebody experienced in the kitchen. If she can
cook, she'd be the answer to our prayers. An angel from heaven, so to
speak."
"Rather,"
I said dryly.
Exactly an hour and a half later, Ruby and I were
sitting at a table in our tearoom, our lunches arranged attractively before us.
I tucked into a savory sausage roll, creamy tomato soup with basil, and a
dilled-cucumber salad. Ruby had soup and a garden salad, plus a shepherd's pie,
made with ground beef, onions, and vegetables and topped with garlic mashed
potatoes. We hardly spoke except to trade remarks like "Delicious"
and "Superb" and (once, surreptitiously)
"Supercaufragilisticexpialidocious." When we were finished, Mrs.
Kendall, wearing a neat green apron over her tweed skirt, brought in a plate of
cheese and fruit and three cups of Earl Grey tea. She sat down and spread two
sheets of paper, neatly lettered, on the table in front of us.
"For luncheon," she said, "I
propose that we begin by offering Shepherd's Pie, served with soup and salad
and crusty bread. We might also offer a sausage roll, also with soup and salad
and bread. After a few weeks, I recommend the addition of a Quiche of the Day,
smoked salmon on a roll, and a Ploughman's Lunch. Your kitchen is a bit small and
will limit the menu, but these dishes are quite within its capabilities."
"A Ploughman's Lunch?" Ruby asked.
"What's that?"
Over the tops of her gold-rimmed glasses, Mrs.
Kendall gave Ruby a pitying look. "A Ploughman's Lunch traditionally
consists of a hot roll, three slices of a good Stilton, mustard, a pickle, a
pickled onion, and a salad."
"I don't know about the pickled onion,"
Ruby muttered, but I could tell she was blown away by the woman's skill and
experience. I was too.
"And what about afternoon tea?" I asked,
trying not to show how impressed I was.
Mrs. Kendall referred to the other sheet of paper.
"At tea," she said, "one can be quite creative without risking a
great many resources. You're
civilized dining now and then, given the opportunity."
Stung, I opened my
mouth to retort, but Ruby interrupted. "Why don't we ask Mrs. Kendall, to
make some suggestions about the menu," she said tactfully. "We can
study them and decide whether we think they'd work." Her reproving look
told me to stop behaving like a barbarian.
"Whatever you want," I said, shrugging.
I glanced at the woman. "You've got references, I suppose."
'To be sure," Mrs. Kendall replied
graciously. "But I expect you'd rather sample my culinary skills than read
my recommendations. I should be delighted to prepare luncheon for you. At no
charge, of course."
"Luncheon!"
Ruby exclaimed. "What a perfectiy delightful idea." She looked at
me. "Isn't it, China?"
"Well,
sure," I said. I waved my hand carelessly. "Be our guest. Show us
your stuff."
"My ... stuff?" The woman frowned.
"China means
that we would love to sample your dishes," Ruby explained.
"Well, then,
I'll just have a look around." Mrs. Kendall turned and went into the
kitchen, and we could hear the sound of doors opening and pots rattling. In a
few moments, she was back. "It seems that you have most of the necessary
equipment. I'll pop round to the market and pick up a few things. And if you
have a moment, you might just step out to that lovely little garden and pick a
few fresh herbs—basil and dill, please, and a bit of lemon thyme and parsley
would be splendid." A watch was pinned to her sweater and she took it off
for a look, exactly as Mary Poppins might have done. I almost expected her to
click her heels and twirl an umbrella. "You may expect luncheon in ... shall we say, ninety minutes." She
turned and marched out the door.
"A spoonful of
sugar makes the medicine go down," I said.
Ruby
rolled her eyes. "Pinch me. I think I'm dreaming."
I grinned. "If
she can't cook, maybe Sheila could use her on the police force."
"She certainly
has a managerial personality," Ruby agreed. "She'd take a bit of
getting used to. But we need somebody experienced in the kitchen. If she can
cook, she'd be the answer to our prayers. An angel from heaven, so to
speak."
"Rather,"
I said dryly.
Exactly an hour and a half later, Ruby and I were
sitting at a table in our tearoom, our lunches arranged attractively before us.
I tucked into a savory sausage roll, creamy tomato soup with basil, and a
dilled-cucumber salad. Ruby had soup and a garden salad, plus a shepherd's pie,
made with ground beef, onions, and vegetables and topped with garlic mashed
potatoes. We hardly spoke except to trade remarks like "Delicious"
and "Superb" and (once, surreptitiously)
"Supercaufragilisticexpialidocious." When we were finished, Mrs.
Kendall, wearing a neat green apron over her tweed skirt, brought in a plate of
cheese and fruit and three cups of Earl Grey tea. She sat down and spread two
sheets of paper, neatly lettered, on the table in front of us.
"For luncheon," she said, "I
propose that we begin by offering Shepherd's Pie, served with soup and salad
and crusty bread. We might also offer a sausage roll, also with soup and salad
and bread. After a few weeks, I recommend the addition of a Quiche of the Day,
smoked salmon on a roll, and a Ploughman's Lunch. Your kitchen is a bit small and
will limit the menu, but these dishes are quite within its capabilities."
"A Ploughman's Lunch?" Ruby asked.
"What's that?"
Over the tops of her gold-rimmed glasses, Mrs.
Kendall gave Ruby a pitying look. "A Ploughman's Lunch traditionally
consists of a hot roll, three slices of a good Stilton, mustard, a pickle, a
pickled onion, and a salad."
"I don't know about the pickled onion,"
Ruby muttered, but I could tell she was blown away by the woman's skill and
experience. I was too.
"And what about afternoon tea?" I asked,
trying not to show how impressed I was.
Mrs. Kendall referred to the other sheet of paper.
"At tea," she said, "one can be quite creative without risking a
great many resources. You're
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