Flamenco, Flan, and Fatalities (A Happy Hoofers Mystery) Page 8
“Transparent,” Mary Louise said.
“Si, transparent,” the chef said, kissing Mary Louise on the cheek. People are always kissing Mary Louise. She’s so—kissable. “Then you add the mussels and a little white wine, around half a cup or more if you want to.” He looked up and twinkled his eyes at his listeners. “I always want to.”
He stirred the mixture for a couple of minutes and then added a chopped-up boiled egg, some salt, and tomato sauce. “You can buy the tomato sauce in your supermarket,” he said. When he saw the look on Mary Louise’s face, he chuckled. “Ah, a purist. Very well, my little American Julia Child, cook up your own tomato sauce if you want.”
We applauded. Some of us were applauding Mary Louise’s insistence on perfection. Some were applauding going to the supermarket for the tomato sauce.
The chef beamed. “You fill the mussel shells with this excelente mixture and then—”
“There’s more?” a thin woman in our crowd said. “I thought this was supposed to be fast and easy.”
“Compared to a paella, it is fast and easy,” the chef said. “But you must be prepared to take a little time and trouble for something as delicious as this. Have you ever tried them?”
“Yes, I have,” she said. “I ate a lot of them with my margarita yesterday. You’re right. They’re worth the trouble.”
The chef looked happy again. “All right, ladies and gentlemen. The next step is a béchamel sauce, which I have already prepared. How many of you have made a béchamel sauce at home?
A few brave souls raised their hands.
“You are gourmets, no?” the chef said.
There was a mumbled “No,” from those who had raised their hands. Mark and Sam were too modest to say that they made béchamel sauce every day at the restaurant.
“If you have made it before, you know that you heat some olive oil,” the chef continued, “around four tablespoons. Add about three or four tablespoons of flour. Stir until it is smooth and add the cooking liquid from the mussels.”
“You didn’t tell us to save the cooking liquid,” the annoying lady said.
“Mea culpa,” the chef said, crossing himself. This guy was one-quarter chef, three-quarters comedian. I loved him.
“Well, just save it,” he said. “Because you have to pour it into the flour and oil, and when it starts to get thick, you put in around a quarter of a cup of milk. Stir it all up, but don’t let it get too thick. Got that?” He looked up at the snippy lady. She meekly nodded.
“Very good. Add some ground pepper and your béchamel is done. Spoon it over the mussels right away while it’s still warm. Sprinkle some bread crumbs—or panko if you prefer a lighter crust—on top of the mussels. Now, you’re ready for our final step.” He looked mock sternly at the whiney lady. “Do you think you can stand one more step in this recipe?”
“If I must,” she said.
“Is that what you say to your husband?” the chef, our comedian, said.
Some giggling was heard in the crowd.
“Simmer down,” he said. “And concentrate. We are going to dip our stuffed mussels first in eggs and then in bread crumbs. Next, we turn our lovely mussels upside down and fry them in an inch and a half of olive oil. When your tigres are beautiful and golden brown, you take them out with forceps, drain them on paper towels. Then serve them to your guests, who will love you forever.”
He passed them around to us to savor. The first one, of course, went to Mary Louise, who pretended to swoon at the first taste. “These are so good I think I’ll take you home with me,” she said.
“My bags are packed,” the chef said.
Everyone chuckled as Mary Louise blushed.
“I will make something even better for you tomorrow,” he said. “If you would like. Chicken paella?”
We all talked over each other promising to come back for the next lesson and wandered away from the bar savoring our tigres.
“Can I have a bite?” Mike said to Mary Louise as she left the cooking lesson.
“Help yourself,” Mary Louise said.
Mike took a large bite and closed his eyes. “Are you really going to make these when you get back home?” he asked.
“But, of course,” she said.
“Save a few dozen for me, will you?” he asked her.
I wondered if these two would meet again when they got back home. Was their attraction to each other just for the duration of the train trip or was there something more between them?
As if she had read my mind (happens all the time), Mary Louise said to him, “Mike, I’m so sick of this train.” He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I wish we could leave—just for a short time. I need to get some fresh air.”
“I might be able to do something about that,” Mike said in a low voice. He motioned to the three of us to follow him. Janice and Mary Louise and I hurried to catch up with him. When we were out of earshot, Mike said, “Don’t tell anybody, but Javier asked me to have lunch with him at a great restaurant he knows. We have to take a boat to get there—it’s in Asturias. He said I could bring you hoofers along if you want to go. Where’s the rest of you? Are you guys up for this?”
“Of course!” Mary Louise said, practically dancing away. “I’ll go get Pat and Tina. Don’t go without me.”
“Just Pat and Tina,” Mike said. “We’re the only ones allowed off the train.”
“Did Javier say anything about—about any of us?” Janice asked, trying to pretend she didn’t care.
“Yes, he said he was looking forward to seeing you again.”
“Me? Or all of us?” she said, inspecting her nails.
“Well, what he actually said was, ‘That tall, beautiful blond dancer, you know, I think her name is Señora Rogers. Oh, and her friends, too, of course.”
Janice smiled. “Fantastico. Is that a word?”
“It is now,” I said.
Mary Louise came running back. “They both said they just want to read and will see us later.”
“Let’s go,” Mike said, and we sneaked off the train without anyone seeing us.
MARY LOUISE’S ADAPTATION OF THE RECIPE FOR TIGRES
Tigres
30 steamed mussels in their shells
2 tbsp olive oil
1 leek, chopped
1 onion, chopped
½ green pepper, chopped
2 hard-boiled eggs, chopped
½ cup white wine
2 tbsps. tomato sauce
Béchamel sauce:
4 tbsp olive oil
4 tbsp flour
½ cup milk
1 tsp black ground pepper
Breading:
2 cups panko
2 large eggs
1½ inches olive oil for deep frying
1. Chop mussels and save shells.
2. Saute leek, onion, and green pepper in 2 tbsp olive oil until soft.
3. Add mussels and white wine and stir for three minutes.
4. Add chopped eggs, and tomato sauce, and salt and mix in. Remove from heat.
5. Fill mussel shells with mixture
6. For béchamel sauce, heat olive oil in saucepan. Add flour and stir until flour is fried. Stir with whisk until smooth. While stirring, add reserved liquid from steaming mussels. Pour in milk, a little at a time until sauce is smooth and not too thick. Add ground pepper. Pour béchamel sauce over the mussel mixture in their shells.
7. Sprinkle filled shells with panko.
8. Dip the filled shells first into the beaten eggs and then into the panko.
9. Fill frying pan with olive oil and heat until medium hot.
10. Deep-fry shells until golden brown.
11. Drain on paper towel.
Enjoy!!!
Recipe for Chicken Paella
1 lb. spicy Italian sausage
3 tbsp. olive oil
½ cup sliced onion
½ cup sliced green pepper
½ cup sliced red pepper
4 large chicken thighs
¾ cup white wine
2 cloves minced garlic
4 cup chicken broth
½ tsp. saffron
1 tsp. paprika
½ tsp. coriander
1 bay leaf
½ tsp. thyme
½ tsp. oregano
Salt and pepper
1½ cup rice
¾ lb. raw shrimp, peeled
6 plum tomatoes, chopped
1½ cup green peas (frozen are fine)
¾ cup chick peas (you can use canned)
½ cup black pitted Kalamata olives
1 lemon quartered
Parsley for garnish
1. Simmer sausages in half an inch of water in a paella or deep frying pan for five minutes. Drain.
2. Slice the sausages and cook them in the oil until brown.
3. Stir in the onion, red pepper, and green pepper and cook until they are tender.
4. Take the sausages and vegetables out of the pan.
5. Brown the chicken thighs in the oil left in the pan.
6. Put the sausages and vegetables back in the pan with the chicken.
7. Add the next eleven ingredients listed above.
8. Cover and simmer for about half an hour.
9. Take the cover off the pan and bring all the ingredients to a rapid boil and add the rice. Don’t stir it, just push it down with the back of a spoon.
10. When the rice rises to the surface and is about half cooked, add the next five ingredients. Reduce heat and simmer for about fifteen minutes until most of the liquid has been absorbed and the rice has finished cooking.
11. Garnish with lemon quarters and parsley.
Serves four very hungry people.
Gini’s photography tip: Take pictures of people
doing something, not just staring into the camera
with fake smiles on their faces.
Chapter 6
Monkfish And Suspects
Javier was waiting for us in a van nearby. He was obviously looking for Janice and was clearly relieved when he saw her. Mary Louise, Mike, and I might as well have been invisible.
“This is so good of you, Inspector,” Janice said. “It’s a relief to get off that train for a little while. Thank you.”
“My pleasure, señora.”
He helped her into the passenger seat next to him. The rest of us scrambled into the back of the car.
“Don’t you have a driver?” Mike asked.
“I’m not telling anyone about this trip,” Javier said. “It might get back to the other passengers. I really shouldn’t be doing this, but—” He looked at Janice again. “I hope you will forgive me, señora, but I didn’t want you to miss this restaurant. It’s just across this inlet in a place called Castropol in Asturias. The food is the best in Spain. I know the owner very well.”
“You’re forgiven,” Janice said. “It sounds wonderful.”
Javier was under her spell. She was especially beautiful that day. The gentle breeze ruffled the blond curls around her face, making her look about eighteen years old. He sat there without starting the car, just gazing at Janice, until Mike cleared his throat.
“Um, Javier, shouldn’t we get going before anyone sees us,” he said.
Javier pulled himself together, shifted gears, and started the van. We left the station and wound through the narrow streets into the little town of Ribadeo. Many of the buildings were white. They seemed to give the village a glow, a kind of purity. It was a Sunday morning and we could hear music coming from the church in the center of the square.
“Oh, Inspector, could we stop in that church for a minute?” Mary Louise asked. “I’d love to hear the music. I’m used to going to church on Sundays at home.”
“They’re expecting us at the restaurant, señora,” he said. “I can’t be away from the train for very long. I’d like to, but . . .”
“Inspector,” Mike said in his usual calm, logical, quiet way, “it would only take about five minutes, and it would give these ladies a real feeling for the importance of the church, of religion, in Spain. It’s not just a Sunday morning thing here. It’s every day. It’s deeply ingrained in people. Couldn’t we just take a couple of minutes? I think it would mean a lot to Señora Rogers too. Right, Janice?”
Janice, who probably couldn’t care less whether we went in the church or not, took one look at Mary Louise’s face, and said to the inspector, “It would be such a great favor if you could do this. I don’t mean to disrupt your plans, but . . .”
The inspector’s face softened. I think Janice could have persuaded him to turn cartwheels in the middle of the plaza if she asked. He said, “Well, I don’t see how a few minutes could hurt.”
He parked the car near the church and we all got out.
“Be very quiet and follow me,” he said.
He opened the door of the little church. The full beauty of the hymn sung by the choir embraced us as we entered. We stood in the back, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. I hardly breathed as I admired the sculptures of saints around the sides of the church, the exquisitely carved crucifix at the front, the red-robed choir singing from the depths of their soul about their love of God, their faith in Him.
I’m not a very religious person. I was brought up Catholic but abandoned the organized part of my faith somewhere along the way. I talk to God when I need His help or when I’m grateful for the blessings in my life, but I haven’t gone to mass for a long time. Standing there in this little church in Spain brought back all those Sunday mornings when I was a child, still an unquestioning believer, still sure that all I was taught was true. Now I question everything. I closed my eyes and let the music enter my soul, my heart, my whole body.
I could have stood there forever, but a gentle hand on my shoulder brought me back to this Sunday morning. “Time to go, Gini,” Mike whispered. I started to follow him and the others out of the church, when I noticed a dark-haired woman kneeling in one of the pews. I could only see her back, but she didn’t look like the other people around her. There was something different about her. Something American. She turned her face to the side for a second. I recognized her.
“Mike,” I whispered to him, “Isn’t that Denise Morgan over there in that pew?”
“Oh, it couldn’t be, Gini,” he said. “She couldn’t have left the train without the inspector’s permission. Must be somebody else.”
I looked again. I was not convinced, but I let Mike lead me out of the church.
“Inspector,” I said when we were outside again, “did you give anybody else permission to leave the train?”
“No one except you four were allowed to leave,” he said. “Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I must be wrong,” I said. “I thought I saw one of the passengers from the train inside.”
“Not possible,” the inspector said. I was sure it was Denise, but I let it go.
We got back in the van and Javier drove to the Eo River where a small boat was waiting for us.
“Buenos días, Hector,” Javier called to the man on the boat. Como estas?”
“Muy bien gracias, Inspector Cruz,” the man said. He was around sixty years old, his face weathered and lined by years of working outdoors. He reached out to help us climb aboard. Javier introduced us and asked Hector to take us to Castropol.
“We’re going to Pena Mar for lunch,” he said.
“The best food anywhere,” Hector said.
“How far is it?” Janice asked.
“It’s just across the river from Ribadeo,” Javier said. “It will only take us about ten minutes. You can see it from here. Look straight ahead, señora.” He put his arm lightly around her shoulders. “Do you see that little town perched on the hill—the one with all the white buildings and the white chapel at the top? That’s Castropol.”
Janice leaned back against him. “It’s beautiful. I love all the white houses in this part of Spain.”
The minute I stepped aboard that boat, I felt at home. I’m c
razy about boats. Something about the water and the sound of gulls, the breeze cooling my face, the feeling of being away from real life for a little while was completely soothing.
“You are happy here, Señora Miller?” Javier asked, seeing the contentment on my face.
“I wish the trip were longer,” I said.
I took out my camera and got some beautiful shots of the water and the gulls flying near us, the town as we approached it, of Ribadeo behind us.
In less than ten minutes, the boat pulled up to the pier. Hector helped us off and pointed to the winding road that led to the restaurant.
“Enjoy,” he said.
“Gracias, Hector,” Javier said.
We walked to the Hotel Pena Mar, stark white against the blue sky. The dining room was bright and sunny with a view of the beach and sea through the windows lining one side of the restaurant. The contrast of the blue sky against the white sand was so startling, I pulled out my camera again and took a quick shot of the view framed by the white curtained window.
“This is so beautiful, Javier,” I said.
The owner greeted Javier with a welcoming handshake.
“Inspector, what a pleasure to see you again. Bienvenido.”
“Thank you, Enrique. I wanted these friends from America to taste your food. In fact, I couldn’t let them leave Spain without eating here.”
“I am honored you came to my restaurant,” Enrique said. “I was afraid you would not come today because I heard there was some kind of disturbance on the train last night. What happened?”
“One of the passengers died under suspicious circumstances. He is a famous television star in the United States, so it’s on the news everywhere.”
“And you’re here in my restaurant?” Enrique said. “How did you get away?”
“Nobody knows. I’ll be back there soon enough. What do you have that’s special today, my friend?”
“We have our salad of potatoes and tuna, one of your favorites. And for our main dish we have monkfish, just caught, fresh, white and flaky in our famous brown sauce. For dessert we have our creamy cheese mixed with honey.”