Chapter 15

It turns out she was. Available, I mean.

“How many?”

“Count on thirty. Most are employees, business partners, with a few old friends thrown in. Not to put pressure on you, but my three grandmothers and my mother will be there, and their opinions carry a lot of weight.”

“I’d ask how it’s possible for you to have three grandmothers, but I think I’ll wait until you can tell me in person. There’s a problem. No way can I fit that many people in my apartment.”

I had an answer. “Not a problem. If you can do it on a Sunday, the pastry shop is available. It may not be set up the way you’re used to, but it’s still a commercial kitchen.”

“I’ll need help for that much cooking.”

“You sound like you don’t want to do this. If you’re going to run your own place you’ll have to learn to deal with things that come up unexpectedly.”

I think I offended her. She was a little short in her answer. “Two weeks. I’ll handle everything. I’ll serve at one. If anyone is late you will start without them. I want to have the food served promptly for maximum effect and flavor. I’ll talk to Mrs. Wilmington so I can have access to the kitchen on Saturday night for the prep work. Goodbye.”

I looked at the phone after she disconnected. Bit of a temper on that one. Then again, all chefs seemed a little flighty, to me.

I got one more call the next week. “Any of your group Jewish? Or Muslim? If they are I’ll have to adjust the menu.”

“Ms. Chen and her husband are Jewish, and Michael’s girlfriend follows Islam. With the exception of those two the rest of us will eat most anything in front of us.”

“Thank you. See you next Sunday.” The phone went dead.

Wow, she must still be pissed.

My family showed up on time, renting three vans to hold everyone. Sandra unlocked the door at 12:30 and I introduced everyone as they came in. I saved the grandmothers for last.

“This is my Grandmother Tina Vasquez, my Grandmother Celia Greely, my mother Veronica Chen, and my Grandmother Sarah Moore.”

She was a bit surprised when they all hugged her, telling her how delicious everything smelled.

She’d hired two young girls, pastry shop employees who could use the extra money, and had the meal set up buffet style, making sure there were placards designating the foods that were kosher and acceptable to Muslims. The beverages were sweetened tea, lemonade, coffee, and water, no sodas.

There was shrimp and grits, blackened chicken, paella festooned with mussels and clams, Southern fried chicken, a dish with chickpeas and ham I never caught the name of, flank steak in a mushroom and brandy sauce, deep-fried catfish, and pulled pork.

She had pinto beans cooked with a ham hock, collards, corn on the cob roasted on a grill, green beans, tiny potatoes that were microwaved and then deep-fried, potato salad, coleslaw, some kind of layered salad, heirloom tomatoes she had chopped into rough chunks in a vinegar oil dressing with fresh basil served in parfait glasses, fried cornbread pancakes, a big chunk of baked cornbread, and yeast rolls made from scratch.

For dessert there were fried apple and peach pies, four layer chocolate cake, banana pudding, and fresh churned ice cream, banana and vanilla. Basic, simple, home style and as common as dirt, but in my opinion just as necessary to the survival of the world.

Everyone ate until they couldn’t hold another bite. The meal took hours because no one was in a hurry and wanted to sample everything. I liked everything but the blackened chicken, which was way too spicy for my stomach. I particularly liked her fried chicken and the tiny potatoes. The fried pies were great but not as good as Grandma Greely’s, but that might be personal bias. The banana pudding, though, was so good I was almost in tears. It was a huge bowl that disappeared in minutes.

There was still a lot left, and Alice slipped down to the store and bought every plastic bowl and a bunch of baggies. For some reason Sandra kept me tied up and by the time I got loose there was nothing left. I think she was smirking when she thought I wasn’t looking, as well as the Grandmas. She pretty much shoved us out at four, saying she had to clean up so the shop would be ready by morning.

I deliberately didn’t call her. She made it to the next Thursday before she came blasting through the door of the market, coming straight to my office. I was reviewing tapes from the night before of the first robbery attempt since we opened. The cashiers had done as we’d drilled into them, opening the cash registers and stepping back. Our new registers were state of the art with a built in panic button. You hit it when you opened up the till and the police were notified immediately.