with the handle of the chopping knife to help separate the skin from the meat. He stirred well, too. But he’d be checking his watch every few minutes and wondering when she’d be finished. Good cooking was not something to be accomplished with a stopwatch.
All in all, she decided, she’d be better off without him underfoot. Besides, she was still trying to stay angry at him. Her and Julio? Honestly!
“Did the storm last night bother either of you very much?” she asked Jones and Brown, who stood by, mutely watching her.
“It was all I could do not to fall out of bed,” Jones replied. “I was sick as a dog.”
“It scared me,” said the soft-spoken Brown, hovering behind her.
“How did you do?” Jones asked her.
Angie decided not to tell them about the wall bed incident. “It kept me awake,” was all she offered.
She found some fish fillets. “Oh, Mike, are these fillets Pacific petrale sole, by any chance? Or are they plain old flounder?”
“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.
What kind of cook didn’t know the type of fish in his own kitchen? These boys needed her help even more than she’d thought.
She went to the larder and began loading her arms with onion, garlic, and spices. “Let me help you with that,” Jones said, running to her assistance. Brown shyly hung back, doing only what Jones asked him to.
Together, making several trips, they carried the vegetables, vermicelli, vinegar, butter, and potatoes, as Angie directed, into the work area of the galley. She noticed Jones pick up her tote bag and begin to walk toward the door with it.
“Where are you going with that?” she asked.
He spun around. “1 was just going to…put it on the counter so that it doesn’t get stepped on.”
“You can leave it on the floor by the wall over there. It won’t get hurt. I need all the counter space possible.”
“Whatever you say.” He flashed her one of his deep-dimpled smiles.
Ignoring him for the moment. Angie plannedher meal. She’d start with soupe au pistou , a Provençal vegetable soup with carrots, leeks, green beans, zucchini, tomato, and vermicelli, flavored by the pistou , which was made by crushing basil and garlic with a mortar and pestle, then adding Parmesan cheese and olive oil. Next she’d serve a spinach salad with a vinaigrette dressing. The main course would be poached fish fillets in white wine with mushrooms, served with parsley potatoes. For dessert, she decided on a simple chocolate pot de crême . Due to the ship’s limited provisions, the ingredients of this meal wouldn’t be remarkable, but what she did with them would be.
They needed to prepare the soup first, then the pot de crême and the potatoes, and last of all, just before time to serve, she would poach the fish. All afternoon, with Jones’s assistance and Brown acting as silent backup in the pantry, chopping and dicing, she worked on the meal. Despite the time it took, she looked forward to seeing the expressions on the passengers’ faces when they discovered what it was like to have a meal by a real cook.
She suspected more than one of them thought she was just blowing smoke when she’d talked about being a restaurant reviewer and knowing a bit about gourmet cooking.
There were times when she loved showing off.
She was turning the flame under the potatoes to a low boil when she heard a thud and sawMike Jones stumble. “Oops, just kicked your tote,” he said. “We’ve really got to do something about it.” He picked it up and handed it to Brown, who’d just emerged from the pantry. “I don’t want anything to get crushed. You have sunglasses in it, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—”
Just then Paavo entered the room.
“Here to help, are you?” she asked with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“I’d like to talk to you before dinner, if you’ve got a minute,” Paavo said.
“Excuse me.” Brown started to move toward the door.
“Wait.” Angie walked over to him and took her
All in all, she decided, she’d be better off without him underfoot. Besides, she was still trying to stay angry at him. Her and Julio? Honestly!
“Did the storm last night bother either of you very much?” she asked Jones and Brown, who stood by, mutely watching her.
“It was all I could do not to fall out of bed,” Jones replied. “I was sick as a dog.”
“It scared me,” said the soft-spoken Brown, hovering behind her.
“How did you do?” Jones asked her.
Angie decided not to tell them about the wall bed incident. “It kept me awake,” was all she offered.
She found some fish fillets. “Oh, Mike, are these fillets Pacific petrale sole, by any chance? Or are they plain old flounder?”
“I don’t know,” he said truthfully.
What kind of cook didn’t know the type of fish in his own kitchen? These boys needed her help even more than she’d thought.
She went to the larder and began loading her arms with onion, garlic, and spices. “Let me help you with that,” Jones said, running to her assistance. Brown shyly hung back, doing only what Jones asked him to.
Together, making several trips, they carried the vegetables, vermicelli, vinegar, butter, and potatoes, as Angie directed, into the work area of the galley. She noticed Jones pick up her tote bag and begin to walk toward the door with it.
“Where are you going with that?” she asked.
He spun around. “1 was just going to…put it on the counter so that it doesn’t get stepped on.”
“You can leave it on the floor by the wall over there. It won’t get hurt. I need all the counter space possible.”
“Whatever you say.” He flashed her one of his deep-dimpled smiles.
Ignoring him for the moment. Angie plannedher meal. She’d start with soupe au pistou , a Provençal vegetable soup with carrots, leeks, green beans, zucchini, tomato, and vermicelli, flavored by the pistou , which was made by crushing basil and garlic with a mortar and pestle, then adding Parmesan cheese and olive oil. Next she’d serve a spinach salad with a vinaigrette dressing. The main course would be poached fish fillets in white wine with mushrooms, served with parsley potatoes. For dessert, she decided on a simple chocolate pot de crême . Due to the ship’s limited provisions, the ingredients of this meal wouldn’t be remarkable, but what she did with them would be.
They needed to prepare the soup first, then the pot de crême and the potatoes, and last of all, just before time to serve, she would poach the fish. All afternoon, with Jones’s assistance and Brown acting as silent backup in the pantry, chopping and dicing, she worked on the meal. Despite the time it took, she looked forward to seeing the expressions on the passengers’ faces when they discovered what it was like to have a meal by a real cook.
She suspected more than one of them thought she was just blowing smoke when she’d talked about being a restaurant reviewer and knowing a bit about gourmet cooking.
There were times when she loved showing off.
She was turning the flame under the potatoes to a low boil when she heard a thud and sawMike Jones stumble. “Oops, just kicked your tote,” he said. “We’ve really got to do something about it.” He picked it up and handed it to Brown, who’d just emerged from the pantry. “I don’t want anything to get crushed. You have sunglasses in it, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—”
Just then Paavo entered the room.
“Here to help, are you?” she asked with more than a hint of sarcasm.
“I’d like to talk to you before dinner, if you’ve got a minute,” Paavo said.
“Excuse me.” Brown started to move toward the door.
“Wait.” Angie walked over to him and took her
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