Aftertaste - Meredith Mileti [81]
“Hey, didn’t you say your mother would kill you if she found out you bought matzo ball soup? Now you’re telling me she made things with Campbell’s Cream of Mushroom?”
“Of course. All the time. Lipton’s onion soup mix, too, the powdered kind. The matzo ball soup is definitely an exception. That’s because it’s basically part of the religion. Seriously, I learned to make it in Hebrew School,” she says, when I give her a doubtful look. “That’s how my mother cooked. Her famous brisket recipe calls for dry onion soup mix and a bottle of Coke.” She laughs when I shudder. “Snob. Actually, it’s delicious.”
She gives the recipe a surreptitious rip. The paper belongs to the Coffee Tree. “I think I’m going to make this,” she says, pocketing the recipe.
That night, about ten, Ruth calls me in desperation. “Did you know that crock pots have two settings?” she asks me.
“Well, yeah,” I tell her. “Why?”
“Because I didn’t. I put it on low, and the meat still isn’t done, and it’s late and I’m starving. Besides, I’m not sure I want to eat it. Is the meat supposed to be gray?”
“No, gray meat isn’t usually a good sign. But I don’t know. I’ve never cooked with cream of mushroom soup. It’s kind of gray, so maybe that’s the way it’s supposed to be,” I tell her.
“Are you sure you’re a real chef?” Ruth says, obviously cranky and hungry.
“Well, does it look like what your mother made?”
“No. Definitely not.”
“Did you brown the meat first?”
“No, the recipe didn’t say to.”
“Okay, it’s just that browning the meat first allows a nice crust to form on the meat, which lends a certain depth of flavor, not to mention color, to the dish. It’s probably gray because you didn’t brown it first.” So much for not sounding like a chef.
“It didn’t say to,” Ruth stubbornly repeats.
“Well, I don’t know, then. Call up your mother and ask her if she browned her meat. I’ll bet she did.”
“No, forget it. I’d just get a lecture on how I should have paid attention to her cooking and that if I had, I’d be married now. Who needs that?”
After hanging up with Ruth, I rummage around in the den for today’s newspaper, looking for the recipe that Ruth has obviously mucked up. I find the Food section and, sure enough, Ruth was right—the recipe didn’t call for browning the meat. I end up reading the entire section cover to cover, including the restaurant review that I had avoided reading at the Coffee Tree, which I could tell from the first sentence was going to be a bad one.
The restaurant being reviewed is Koko’s Caribbean Bistro, which right away the reviewer had pounced upon as evoking an alarming image. Bistros were French, and the notion of a Caribbean bistro obviously troubled the reviewer, who had apparently forgotten that part of the Caribbean was, in fact, settled by the French. In addition, he griped that too many of the dishes served were overly sweet and used too many exotic ingredients. The sweet dishes might not have been to his taste, but the cuisine of the Caribbean is heavily dependent on sugar cane, as well as several indigenous starchy vegetables that, when cooked, release their latent sugars. Alligator was on the menu, as was conch, both of which the reviewer said he had tried (they both tasted like chicken), but I’m not sure I believe him.
In the hallway I hear Dad and Fiona saying good night. Their voices fall silent after a minute. Maybe they are kissing. A few minutes later, I hear my father climb the stairs to bed.
I always thought that restaurant reviewers had cushy jobs, but in