Copyright © 2014 by Ruth Reichl All rights reserved The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system without the prior written consent of the publisher—or in the case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, license from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency—is an infringement of the copyright law Appetite by Random House® and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House of Canada Limited Library and Archives of Canada Cataloguing in Publication is available upon request eISBN: 978-0-449-01651-0 Delicious! is a work of fiction All incidents, dialogue, and characters with the exception of some public figures are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real Where public figures appear, the situations, incidents, and dialogues concerning those persons are entirely fictional and are not intended to depict actual events or to change the entirely fictional nature of the work In all other respects, any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental Cover design: Kimberly Glyder Cover photograph: Grant Faint/Photographer’s Choice/Getty Images Published in Canada by Appetite by Random House®, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, a Penguin Random House Company www.randomhouse.ca v3.1 Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Gingerbread Book One Eleven Years Later Spring Cheese Guaranteed Nowhere Seizing Opportunities Thanksgiving The Mania of the Moment Book Two Magic Moments Library Ladies In the Nightmare Kitchen Under Milkweed Dancing Horse Feast of the Seven Fishes A Terrible Symphony Dripping Pudding Anzio Cake Sisters April Fool Vintage Cookbooks Mad Bee Jars I Love to Eat Some Pickles Between Triborough Bridge and Union Square Member of the Club Human Resources Book Three Appetites A Trick of the Mind Akron A Whole Lot of Medicine Strudel Truth and Consequences Gingerbread Girl The Last Letter Billie’s Gingerbread Author’s Note Dedication Acknowledgments Other Books by This Author About the Author Gingerbread “Y OU SHOULD HAVE USED FRESH GINGER!” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them I glanced at Aunt Melba to see if she was upset, but she was looking at me with undisguised admiration “Why didn’t I think of that!” “And orange peel.” I wanted her to look at me that way again “Any other ideas?” Aunt Melba was rooting around in the vegetable bin She emerged holding a large knob of ginger triumphantly over her head, then went to the counter and began to grate it, sending the mysterious tingly scent into the air “How come you didn’t say something last year?” “Would you have believed me?” She swiped at the thick red curl that had fallen across her right eye and grinned ruefully “Ask advice from a nine-year-old?” She reached out and tousled my hair “Now that you’re ten, of course, everything’s changed.” “You make this stupid cake every year.” My sister was annoyed “It’s never very good Why don’t you just give up?” “Because it’s the only kind of cake your father likes.” Aunt Melba reached for one of the beautiful ceramic bowls on the shelf above her “And your mother always used to make it for his birthday I’m trying to keep tradition alive.” “You should have asked Mom for the recipe.” Genie was a year and a half older than me, and she had opinions “I did But she would never give it to me My sister was funny that way And then it was too late.” “We’re going to get it right!” They both turned to stare at me; I wasn’t exactly known for self-confidence, but I could taste the cake in my mind Strong Earthy Fragrant I remembered the nose-prickling aroma of cinnamon when it comes in fragile curls, and the startling power of crushed cloves I imagined them into the batter Aunt Melba was grating the orange rind now, and the clean, friendly smell filled her airy kitchen The place was a mess; eggshells were everywhere, the counter was covered with splotches of sticky batter, and bags of flour spilled onto the floor Ashtrays filled with half-smoked cigarettes were scattered among the ceramic plates and bowls Aunt Melba had made; she was famous for them In the middle of it all sat a couple of forlorn cakes, each missing a tiny sliver Aunt Melba put the new cake in the oven and we began to clean up The scent of gingerbread whirled through the room and out the window into the Montecito hills Down below, the Pacific sparkled “It smells pretty good,” said Genie hopefully Alas, this cake was doomed to join those abandoned on the counter “What now?” Aunt Melba sounded discouraged, but she searched my face as if I had the answer I liked the feeling “Cardamom!” I said, mustering all the authority I could “Cardamom? How you even know about cardamom?” “She practices,” replied Genie, a slight edge to her voice Smart and beautiful, she was used to taking charge “You should see her.” “Practices?” asked Aunt Melba “Yeah,” said Genie “She’s always sniffing the bottles in the spice cabinet.” I didn’t know she’d even noticed At first it was just curiosity; why did fennel and cumin, identical twins, have such opposing personalities? I had crushed the seeds beneath my fingertips, where the scents lingered for hours Another day I’d opened a bottle of nutmeg, startled when the little spheres came rattling out in a mothball-scented cloud How could something so delicate have such a ferocious smell? And I watched, fascinated, as the supple, plump, purple vanilla beans withered into brittle brown pods and surrendered their perfume to the air The spices were all so interesting; it was impossible to walk through the kitchen without opening the cupboard to find out what was going on in there Aunt Melba gave me the oddest look “And you remember them?” She was crushing cardamom pods, and the deep, musky scent zipped around the kitchen “More,” I said, “use more.” How could you ever forget the smell of cardamom? Or cinnamon? Or clove? I don’t remember how many times we made that cake Each time Aunt Melba thought it was good enough, I insisted that she try again I had made a discovery: Having the flavors in my head meant I could re-imagine them, put them together in entirely new ways I wanted to keep doing it forever The kitchen was in chaos, but now each cake was better than the last Late in the afternoon, Aunt Melba mixed the sixth or seventh batch of batter; this one had crushed peppercorns, sour cream, and orange zest I greased the pans, Genie put them in the oven, and Aunt Melba set the timer Just then the room began to shake It was one of the earthquakes that I like—the rollercoaster kind that feel as if the earth is merely shrugging off the blues None of Aunt Melba’s precious plates broke, but when we opened the oven, we found that our cake had crashed The next day, we tried the recipe again “No earthquakes now,” Genie whispered as she put the pans into the oven This time the cake was high and brown, the spices so delicately balanced that each bite made you want another It was rich, moist, tender We brushed it with bourbon, added a fragrant orange glaze, and it was perfect “This is even better than your mother’s.” Aunt Melba reached to caress my cheek; her palm was so soft “It’s a gift, you know Like an ear for music You got it from her She used to that thing you do, sniffing spices Did you know that?” I didn’t Everyone was always telling my sister how much she resembled our late mother Not only was Genie brilliant and beautiful, she was also artistic, popular, and most likely to succeed at almost everything I was the shy one, sitting in my room, writing little stories No one had ever said I was like Mom in any way But I had inherited her gift Now that I knew it, I hugged the knowledge close Book One Eleven Years Later W “Something wrong?” He swept a strand of silver hair out of his eyes and gave me his famous cool blue stare “I’m not applying for a position in the test kitchen.” I tried to keep the disappointment from my voice; the job had sounded so perfect “I thought you were looking for a new executive assistant.” “I am.” Then he added, “Didn’t anybody tell you I ask every candidate to cook for me?” How had I missed that? Jake reached down and patted the big yellow dog at his feet; the dog wriggled with pleasure, and I found that oddly reassuring “Look, Billie.” Jake offered an encouraging smile “You seem like a good fit for Delicious! You worked on The Daily Cal It sounds like you know your way around a kitchen And you’re even willing to leave school to take the job I like that; it shows how much you want it.” I’d spent hours working on an explanation for dropping out; it had never crossed my mind that he’d consider it a plus “You’ve said all the right things.” He looked down at the pile of manuscripts on his desk, and when he looked up again, his smile was crooked “You Googled me, right?” “Would you want an assistant who didn’t?” “Good answer But that just proves my point I don’t find interviews all that revealing.” Every article I’d read about Jake mentioned that he was a noncorporate guy, which was one of the reasons I’d applied for the job Working at Delicious! sounded like joining a club, entering a little world of its own, and that’s exactly what I wanted Needed I’d spent hours preparing for this interview, studying Jake, chasing down every detail Now it appeared that hadn’t been enough “What’s wrong with interviews?” I was playing for time I really didn’t HEN JAKE NEWBERRY ASKED ME TO COOK FOR HIM, I FROZE gone If I were a good person, I’d give her a call.” “That would be very kind.” Then came a smile so full of mischief, it was as if the Lulu of the letters had finally decided to join us “Someday, when the urge to play Good Samaritan strikes, I’ll invite that poor soul to supper But for the moment I’ve used up all my Good Samaritan points On you.” Her playfulness emboldened me “Did you ever see James Beard again?” “Just once, after that first trip.” “How did that happen?” “I can see that getting rid of you is not going to be so easy I don’t have time for more questions now, but I’ll make you a proposition: You come back tonight for that dinner we planned By then I’ll have figured out a way to fob you off.” Dad cleared his throat “Would you be very upset if I declined your kind invitation? I’ve been in Cleveland longer than I’d intended It’s time I went home.” “Just us girls, then,” said Lulu Gingerbread Girl L “Sorry”—she handed it to me—“I was giving a foraging class and I got a late start If we’re to eat at a reasonable hour, I’m going to need your help.” “I’ll try,” I said, following her down the hall “But I’m a little nervous about cooking for you.” “Why does everybody always say that?” Lulu swept me into the kitchen “It’s so ridiculous!” Lulu’s kitchen was calm, the cheerful disorder reminding me a bit of Aunt Melba’s style A bookshelf took up one entire wall; the jumble of books was so dense that half the volumes were in danger of tumbling to the floor Pots of herbs waved gaily from the windows, and an Aga stove sat in one corner, filling the room with gentle heat A long, well-worn wooden table stood in the center of the room, and Lulu went over and began gently shoving at the big orange cat stretched luxuriously across it “Get down, Stanley.” She pushed at him again “Billie will think we have no manners.” The cat gave her a baleful yellow look before slowly deigning to abandon his perch I watched him leap from the table, and then a wave of dizziness came over me I reached out, trying to steady myself; I could feel my body begin to sway “Billie! Are you all right?” Lulu’s voice seemed to be coming from a great distance “You’ve gone stark white You’d better sit down You look like you’re about to faint.” She pulled out a chair “Try putting your head between your legs.” The panic attack was so sudden, so unexpected; I’d thought I was beyond them For a moment I forgot how to breathe naturally, and I concentrated on pulling air in and out of my lungs Lulu watched me with concern “I’ll be okay,” I said “Sorry.” “Nothing to be sorry about,” she replied, calmly reaching for a glass She filled it with water from the tap and handed it to me I drank slowly, centering ULU OPENED THE DOOR, LOOKING HARRIED AND HOLDING A WHISK all my energy on the sensation of the cool liquid sliding down my throat Lulu took the glass, and the water splashed in, loud, as she refilled it Lulu put her hand out and felt my forehead “They say this new flu comes on fast, but you don’t have a fever.” “It’s a panic attack.” I said it a little too quickly Lulu was completely calm “Have you always had them?” “No Only since my sister died That was almost two years ago, and I thought I’d gotten past them It’s just when I go into a kitchen … I miss her so much.” “Tell me about it.” She pulled out a chair and sat down facing me, then took both my hands in hers Looking into her earnest gray eyes, I saw Lulu, my Lulu, and I began to talk I told her about Cake Sisters, about Genie, about the Jaguar And then, finally, about the cocaine Lulu kept her eyes on me, nodding her head now and then as I spoke, saying nothing “I always knew that car was meant for me,” I ended “But now that I know about the drugs, it’s worse I was so stupid I should have known! I should have stopped her!” Lulu’s face was full of sympathy “That’s the most terrible thing about being a child: you’re convinced that it’s all your fault.” “Did you feel that way?” She nodded “I was certain that if I’d been a better daughter, Father would have come home The young feel omnipotent All through the war, I was sure that as long as I kept Father in my mind he would be safe I felt so guilty whenever I forgot and went on with my life And when he didn’t come back … well, I knew it was my fault I tortured myself with every single time I’d disappointed him I was convinced he would have come home to us if only I’d been better, nicer, more generous.” “But it wasn’t your fault!” “Of course it wasn’t!” She brought her palm down on the table; the noise made me jump “But until you know that, really know it, you can never let it go I thought I’d done that, but when Lucette’s letter came, I understood that deep inside I’d been clinging to the guilt Going to France was what made the difference; I finally understood that nothing I could’ve done would have brought my father home Nothing It was not my fault I was free.” “So why protect him? If you’re truly free, what difference does it make what the world thinks of your father?” “Oh, Lord! I set myself up for that, didn’t I?” Lulu stood up I looked around the kitchen The dizziness was gone “Genie will never get to know you.” I said it out loud “No.” She seemed to understand “She never will.” I closed my eyes, and for just a moment I was back at Cake Sisters Genie was at the table, drawing a new cake, and I watched her pencil move across the paper as I conjured the recipe in my head I opened my eyes and the vision evaporated Lulu was watching me, sympathy etched across her face “There are many kinds of crime.” Her voice was gentle “I’ve always thought the most unforgivable is to have a gift and turn your back on it.” Had she hit me, it would have hurt less People had said the words before —Sammy, Diana, even Thursday—but I hadn’t been ready to hear them Now I took them in, knowing it was finally time to stop running from the best in me Cooking was my gift, and Genie’s death didn’t change that I got to my feet and looked at Lulu “Got any ginger?” “What else will you need?” “An orange Butter Flour Eggs.” Lulu pointed to the cupboard, and I reached in for cardamom, cinnamon, and clove Lulu went to look for bourbon and I took in the kitchen, trying to memorize this room I wanted to store this peaceful place away so the next time the panic came, I could remember how I was feeling now I picked up the orange and grated the peel, enjoying the lovely citric scent filling the air I squashed the ginger, feeling the quiet explosion beneath my knife I sifted flour, watching the patterns drift onto the wax paper Dusk was falling, the fading light making the kitchen glow Somewhere, off in the distance, Lulu had turned a radio on, and gentle music wafted into the room I creamed the sugar into the butter, watching two substances become one I cracked the first egg, mesmerized by the deep marigold color of the yolk As I began to stir in the spices, Stanley leapt back onto the table and stuck his nose inquisitively into the bowl “You know you’re not supposed to that.” Lulu handed me the bourbon Stanley gave her a disdainful stare and walked away, tail held proudly in the air I buttered the cake pans, dusted them with flour, and filled them with batter I smoothed the tops and set the pans, very carefully, into the oven As I closed the oven door, I whispered, “No earthquakes now,” knowing that I was, at last, on solid ground The Last Letter Dear Genie, It’s been a year, exactly, since Dad and Aunt Melba tied the knot It was no big deal, just the four of us at the house, but it felt right I missed you, but, then, I always What’s different is that whole hours go by now when you’re not with me What I’m trying to say is, I’m still in mourning, but it’s become bearable Here’s the worst thing: You’ll never know Mitch I think you’d love him almost as much as I (He’d love you too, but that doesn’t scare me anymore Those days are over.) And here’s the best: Every day brings a moment when I know that I am happy Lulu’s here a lot; she can’t get enough of New York Now that she and Sammy have become so close, she says it would be a shame to waste the opportunity She sometimes stays with us, but she’d rather be with him I think they stay up all night talking He’s still trying to argue her into doing the book Good luck with that If there is a book, it will be Sammy’s I’m way too busy When I got back from Ohio, Sal had a proposition for me: He wanted to start Fontanari’s Bakery, and he wanted me to it What he said was, “Rosie thinks this is what you were meant to And she’s never wrong Stop wasting your talent.” For the first few months the bakery did really well Then MJ’s opened, Jake asked me to supply their pastries, and all hell broke loose Maggie’s in the kitchen, Jake’s out front, and the place is so crazy successful I’m having a hard time keeping up Next month Diana’s moving back to New York to help me out Ned might come too, but Diana says if it comes to a choice between Ned and getting her hands on the gingerbread recipe … Mitch and I will probably get married Someday He gets cold feet every time he thinks about inviting his family And I’ll never go to another big wedding (Fontanari’s Bakery doesn’t wedding cakes Not for any amount of money.) There’s some sad news too Anne Milton passed away last month, just after she finished cataloging the Delicious! letters It happened the way I always knew it would: She went to sleep and didn’t wake up Whenever I miss her, I think about time being a trick of the mind, and I know that she’s here somewhere, walking down another street And when I think that, I know you’re there with her xxb Billie’s Gingerbread I have so many memories wrapped up in this cake All I have to is start grating ginger and I’m ten years old again, in the kitchen with Genie and Aunt Melba learning how much I love to cook As I pick up the oranges I think back to that first day at Delicious! when Jake asked me to bake for him, grateful that I’m no longer frightened By the time the cake is in the oven, sending its rich, spicy aroma into the air, I’m thinking about Lulu, and how lucky I was to find her This cake is great when it’s just been glazed, but it’s even better the next day: spicier, richer, more forceful When I put a little sliver into my mouth, its friendly intensity reminds me how much I like my life now, and I turn to offer Mitch the second bite Is my gingerbread as good as the one my mother made? How could I possibly know? But I know this: it’s good enough CAKE whole black peppercorns whole cloves whole cardamom cinnamon stick cups flour teaspoon baking powder teaspoon baking soda ½ teaspoon salt large eggs large egg yolk cup sour cream 1½ sticks (6 ounces) unsalted butter, at room temperature cup sugar large pieces fresh ginger root (¼ cup, tightly packed, when finely grated) zest from to oranges (1½ teaspoons finely grated) Preheat oven to 350°F Butter and flour a 6-cup Bundt pan Grind your peppercorns, cloves, and cardamom and measure out ¼ teaspoon of each (You can use pre-ground spices, but the cake won’t taste as good.) Grind your cinnamon stick and measure out teaspoon (Again, you can use ground cinnamon if you must.) Whisk the flour with the baking powder, baking soda, spices, and salt in a small bowl In another small bowl, whisk the eggs and egg yolk into the sour cream Set aside Cream the butter and sugar in a stand mixer until the mixture is light, fluffy, and almost white This should take about minutes Grate the ginger root—this is a lot of ginger—and the orange zest Add them to the butter/sugar mixture Beat the flour mixture and the egg mixture, alternating between the two, into the butter until each addition is incorporated The batter should be as luxurious as mousse Spoon batter into the prepared pan and bake for about 40 minutes, until cake is golden and a wooden skewer comes out clean Remove to a rack and cool in the pan for 10 minutes SOAK ½ cup bourbon 1½ tablespoons sugar While the cake cools in its pan, simmer the bourbon and the sugar in a small pot for about minutes It should reduce to about ⅓ cup While the cake is still in the pan, brush half the bourbon mixture onto its exposed surface (the bottom of the cake) with a pastry brush Let the syrup soak in for a few minutes, then turn the cake out onto a rack Gently brush the remaining mixture all over the cake GLAZE ¾ cup powdered sugar, sifted or put through a strainer teaspoons orange juice Once the cake is cooled, mix the sugar with the orange juice and either drizzle the glaze randomly over the cake or put it into a squeeze bottle and a controlled drizzle AUTHOR’S NOTE This is a work of fiction Although James Beard wrote for many magazines, he never worked for Pickwick Publications I like to think that if Lulu Swan had written to him, he would have written back (he was extremely generous to many, many correspondents) Mr Beard did, indeed, say that the only thing that will make a soufflé fall is if it knows you’re afraid of it, and the particulars of his life during World War II are all accurate But if he ever wrote to Lulu, those letters have not been found To the memory of Marion Cunningham I miss her every day ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Writing, for me, is a waiting game I go out to my little studio, light a fire in the wood-burning stove, turn on my computer, and stare at the screen I switch the radio on I switch it off I fidget in my seat And then, on the good days, I vanish for a while The writing happens, and I am in it I’ve never written fiction before, and I have no way to explain the process But my first thanks go to the characters—to Billie and Lulu, Sammy, Mitch, and Jake—who simply gave themselves to me My next thanks go to Susan Kamil She has the extremely rare quality of the born editor: the ability to be simultaneously critical and encouraging She falls in love with your characters She is thinking about them even when you’re not And she won’t let you stop until the book is as good as it can be I couldn’t have written this book without her I also owe a deep debt of gratitude to my agent, Kathy Robbins When I found myself abruptly out of work she said, “You’ve always said you wanted to write a novel Now’s the time.” Then she took my hand and held it through the process, reading endless drafts Thanks to my husband, Michael Singer, and our son Nick They endured endless dinners when I was not really with them, but wandering through the Timbers Mansion in my head The incomparable Ann Patchett read a draft and gave me thoughtful notes I will never again forget the Rule of Chekhov I hope the day we spent talking about the background of the book was as much fun for her as it was for me The MacDowell Colony offered me the perfect place to work on this book, and I am deeply grateful for the peace, time, support, and friendship that I always find when I am there I also want to thank: My assistant, Francesca Gilberti, who keeps track of my projects Robin McKay and Maggie Ruggiero, gingerbread experts, who consulted on the cake All the people at The Robbins Office—David Halpern, Louise Quayle, and especially Arielle Asher, who is always cheerful, enthusiastic, hopeful, and helpful The wonderful team at Random House, starting with Gina Centrello, who named the book before it was even written Sam Nicholson, Molly Turpin, Avideh Bashirrad Thanks to Barbara Bachman, who did the lovely design And I am indebted to the extraordinary copy editors, Loren Noveck and Kathy Lord, who pored over every word, untangling the chronology Finally, I want to thank the many food people who were the inspiration for this book I’ve learned so much from the talented butchers, bakers, farmers, chocolatiers, and cheesemongers I’ve been fortunate enough to meet And, of course, endless thanks to all the cooks Feeding people is an act of generosity —I don’t think it is possible for a great cook to have a stingy soul—and I have done my best to honor that Also by Ruth Reichl Comfort Me with Apples Endless Feasts For You, Mom Finally Garlic and Sapphires Tender at the Bone ABOUT THE AUTHOR R R was born and raised in Greenwich Village She wrote her first cookbook at twenty-one, and went on to be the restaurant critic of both the Los Angeles Times and The New York Times She was editor-in-chief of Gourmet magazine for ten years She now lives with her husband in upstate New York UTH EICHL ...Copyright © 2014 by Ruth Reichl All rights reserved The use of any part of this publication, reproduced, transmitted in... Archives of Canada Cataloguing in Publication is available upon request eISBN: 978-0-449-01651-0 Delicious! is a work of fiction All incidents, dialogue, and characters with the exception of some... Human Resources Book Three Appetites A Trick of the Mind Akron A Whole Lot of Medicine Strudel Truth and Consequences Gingerbread Girl The Last Letter Billie’s Gingerbread Author’s Note Dedication