Every once
in a while, I like to mess around in the kitchen. Usually I can throw together salads or some
eggs (I do make a mean omelet) and I enjoy flipping through cookbooks to
discover something new. My wife tolerates this and on occasion is pleased with
what I come up with.
So the other
night I had the opportunity to put together a favorite, which consists of
shrimp, veggies and pasta. The original
recipe comes from a Paul Newman cookbook and it always seems to work well. I rarely take pictures of any meal,
let alone one I created, but this looked pretty good.
In an effort to make my characters believable and realistic, some of them are
comfortable in the kitchen. Others are not.
Hey, it’s not for everybody. I can think of one person who considers
making toast cooking. Another whose
response to ‘what did you make for dinner’ inevitably says ‘reservations’. Everyone likes to eat. But not everyone
cooks.
Including
these traits, whether good or bad, can bring a character to life. In my latest story, “Don’t Mess with the Gods”
Michael has no culinary skill whatsoever. He even tries to blame the kitchen
for his burnt toast. That doesn’t make him a bad guy. We all have different
strengths and weaknesses. So should our characters.
Sticking
with the culinary theme, here’s a bit from “Your Turn to Die” the second book
in the Jefferson Chene series. In this
scene, Chene returns home following the first day of the homicide investigation. He is on unfamiliar ground, as being in a relationship is a new experience for him.
Simone’s car was in the driveway. She
was in the tiny backyard, relaxing on one of the wooden deck chairs that I keep
meaning to paint. Simone was facing west, enjoying the sunshine. Her eyes were
hidden behind large oval sunglasses. There was a mischievous smile playing
across her face.
“I hope it’s okay that I stayed. I
wasn’t sure if you’d be back early or not, but it’s more peaceful here than at
the apartment.”
“I don’t mind at all.”
She was wearing a gold tank top and
a pair of denim shorts. Her slender legs were bare. I settled into the chair
beside her.
“You have some very friendly
neighbors.”
“I do?”
Her laughter was light and musical.
“Yes, you do. A lot of people going out on their boats, up and down the canal.
Everyone waves and toots the horn.”
“Two things you need to understand.
One, when a boat is leaving a canal like this and entering the lake, they are
supposed to sound the horn to alert other boaters. There’s only one more house
at the end of the street, which puts us pretty close to the lake. So they may
not have been blowing the horn at you.”
A smirk crossed her face. She
pushed up out of the chair and came over, settling onto my lap and sliding one
arm around my neck.
“And two?”
“Two is I’ll bet most of people
waving were guys admiring a beautiful woman.”
The kiss that followed was slow and
tender. “Good answer.”
Without getting into too much
detail, I told her about the investigation. There was a flicker of concern when
she noticed the bandage on my arm. That faded when I assured her it was nothing
serious. We talked in generalities. Simone could find out most of the
information from the media. After a while we moved into the kitchen. She
boosted herself up onto the counter as I began putting things together for
dinner.
“Have I ever mentioned how much I
enjoy it when you cook for me?”
“No, but I don’t remember any
complaints. Hungry?”
“Starved. I was going to give you
one more hour. If you hadn’t called, I was going to head home and pick up a hot
dog along the way.”
“A hot dog?” Skepticism filled my
voice. “Are you telling me I could get away with feeding you hot dogs?”
She swung a foot at me. “No, you
can’t. I’d eat a hot dog from Lafayette’s if we were going to a baseball game
or downtown for something. But if you’re cooking, I expect great fare. So what
are you making anyway?”
“It’s shrimp with some fresh
veggies on angel hair pasta.”
She groaned in anticipation. “What
can I do to help?”
While I put the dinner together,
she took half a loaf of French bread, split it and sprinkled olive oil and
herbs down the center and put it in the oven on high heat. Then she cleaned
some fresh berries and grapes to accompany the meal. When the pasta was ready,
I put it on two plates and garnished it with quarters of fresh avocado. Simone
handed me a bottle of Reisling to complete the meal. We ate quietly, enjoying
the fresh air from the lake.
“I have to go to work tomorrow,”
Simone said softly as we cleaned up the kitchen. I noticed how comfortable we’d
become, moving together.
“Traffic can be rough in the
morning.” I knew it would take her about an hour to get to her office from
here.
She dried her hands on a towel as
the last pan was put away. “I’ll need a good night’s sleep. It’s going to be a
busy week.”
Twilight arrived. We didn’t have
the lights on in the house. Shadows were quickly filling up the rooms.
“You could spend the night. I have
to be at the post early for a briefing.”
“I don’t have clothes here. I’d
have to swing by the apartment anyway to get dressed. I can’t show up for work
in shorts and a tank top.”
“I could wake you before I leave,
so you’d have plenty of time.”
“Do you want me to stay?” Her voice
was even softer now. She was right beside me, her eyes on the floor. I was
straining to catch every word.
I turned her to me and tilted her
chin up. “Yes, I want you to stay.”
“Then why didn’t you just say so?”
“Stay the night.”
“But I want to get a good night’s
sleep.”
“Then I guess it’s time for bed.”
A picture of what Simone would look like.
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Music this week comes from Jesse Cook.
