that remark sounded incredibly prissy, it’s because when I was sixteen somebody made me take an etiquette class at the YWCA.”
Gwen chuckled. “Your comment may have been prissy, but the recommendation is good. I think a short note to Timothy Hart will fulfill any obligation I have.”
Carol, Gwen, and I all left, and I went straight to Aunt Nettie. Not for comfort, but for advice. After all, I’m only an adopted citizen of Warner Pier. I needed to consult her about local funeral etiquette. Joe and I knew Tim pretty well. Was a note enough? Should we go to see him? Or was it better to let the family have its privacy?
I was a bit surprised when she came out in favor of a visit to Tim’s home.
“Considering your rather close acquaintance with Tim,” she said, “you probably should drop by.”
“Oh, dear. Should I take food?”
“I don’t think you need to cook anything. I’ll go with you, and we’ll take a box of chocolates. Is now a good time? I need to finish enrobing.”
“Enrobing” always sounds to me as if the chocolatier is dressing up for a ball. Actually, the word describes giving bonbons, and sometimes truffles, a chocolate shower bath. Chocolate makers have special machines to do this.
The first step in making a bonbon is forming a shell, a hard chocolate case of the desired size and shape. These are made in utensils that look a bit like ice-cube trays. Melted chocolate is poured into them, then poured out, so that only the walls and floors are covered.
These shells are filled with fondant in the desired flavor. (My favorite is a soft, gooey Dutch caramel. It has almost no resemblance to those chewy caramels that come wrapped in cellophane.) A solid chocolate lid then is used to close each shell. Ah, but the bonbon is upside down at that point. So after the lid has cooled and become solid, the chocolate maker flips it over, places it on a conveyer belt, then runs it through the enrober. The bonbon moves along a conveyer belt while melted chocolate—either white, milk, or dark—showers gently over it.
Excess chocolate falls into a receptacle underneath and is scooped up to be melted for another use; we don’t waste it.
To complete the process, the bonbon is sent on a trip through the cooling tunnel, then hand decorating is added, and a bonbon has been born.
Yum.
It took Aunt Nettie about half an hour to get the enrobing process to a stopping place, then change from her white uniform into a casual pantsuit she had hanging in her locker for just such an emergency. It was five thirty when we pulled into Timothy Hart’s driveway.
A uniformed security guard greeted us, so I guess Hart and his uncle were trying to avoid strangers, particularly reporters. Timothy Hart, the guard said, was receiving guests at Mrs. Montgomery’s house. He pointed out where other guests had parked, and told us to join them.
The Hart compound on Lake Shore Drive is a large piece of property overlooking Lake Michigan. Tim told me once that his grandfather picked it up by paying the back taxes during the 1920s. The value of just the land today would be close to a million dollars. The houses and storage buildings would quadruple that figure.
There are four houses and a large storage barn on the land, and they almost provide a history of the property, maybe of Warner Pier as well.
Nearest the road is a small white farmhouse, probably built in the 1890s. Tim lives there. Behind it is a Craftsman bungalow. I’ve always assumed that Tim’s grandparents built that in the twenties, soon after they acquired the property. Overlooking the lake are a brick house and a stone house. Both have low roofs and a 1970s look.
The stone house was built by Olivia VanHorn and her husband. Olivia was, of course, Tim’s sister and Hart VanHorn’s mother. It’s been closed up since Olivia’s death.
The brick house was built as a vacation place by Abigail Montgomery and her husband, and Abigail had lived there year-round since
Gwen chuckled. “Your comment may have been prissy, but the recommendation is good. I think a short note to Timothy Hart will fulfill any obligation I have.”
Carol, Gwen, and I all left, and I went straight to Aunt Nettie. Not for comfort, but for advice. After all, I’m only an adopted citizen of Warner Pier. I needed to consult her about local funeral etiquette. Joe and I knew Tim pretty well. Was a note enough? Should we go to see him? Or was it better to let the family have its privacy?
I was a bit surprised when she came out in favor of a visit to Tim’s home.
“Considering your rather close acquaintance with Tim,” she said, “you probably should drop by.”
“Oh, dear. Should I take food?”
“I don’t think you need to cook anything. I’ll go with you, and we’ll take a box of chocolates. Is now a good time? I need to finish enrobing.”
“Enrobing” always sounds to me as if the chocolatier is dressing up for a ball. Actually, the word describes giving bonbons, and sometimes truffles, a chocolate shower bath. Chocolate makers have special machines to do this.
The first step in making a bonbon is forming a shell, a hard chocolate case of the desired size and shape. These are made in utensils that look a bit like ice-cube trays. Melted chocolate is poured into them, then poured out, so that only the walls and floors are covered.
These shells are filled with fondant in the desired flavor. (My favorite is a soft, gooey Dutch caramel. It has almost no resemblance to those chewy caramels that come wrapped in cellophane.) A solid chocolate lid then is used to close each shell. Ah, but the bonbon is upside down at that point. So after the lid has cooled and become solid, the chocolate maker flips it over, places it on a conveyer belt, then runs it through the enrober. The bonbon moves along a conveyer belt while melted chocolate—either white, milk, or dark—showers gently over it.
Excess chocolate falls into a receptacle underneath and is scooped up to be melted for another use; we don’t waste it.
To complete the process, the bonbon is sent on a trip through the cooling tunnel, then hand decorating is added, and a bonbon has been born.
Yum.
It took Aunt Nettie about half an hour to get the enrobing process to a stopping place, then change from her white uniform into a casual pantsuit she had hanging in her locker for just such an emergency. It was five thirty when we pulled into Timothy Hart’s driveway.
A uniformed security guard greeted us, so I guess Hart and his uncle were trying to avoid strangers, particularly reporters. Timothy Hart, the guard said, was receiving guests at Mrs. Montgomery’s house. He pointed out where other guests had parked, and told us to join them.
The Hart compound on Lake Shore Drive is a large piece of property overlooking Lake Michigan. Tim told me once that his grandfather picked it up by paying the back taxes during the 1920s. The value of just the land today would be close to a million dollars. The houses and storage buildings would quadruple that figure.
There are four houses and a large storage barn on the land, and they almost provide a history of the property, maybe of Warner Pier as well.
Nearest the road is a small white farmhouse, probably built in the 1890s. Tim lives there. Behind it is a Craftsman bungalow. I’ve always assumed that Tim’s grandparents built that in the twenties, soon after they acquired the property. Overlooking the lake are a brick house and a stone house. Both have low roofs and a 1970s look.
The stone house was built by Olivia VanHorn and her husband. Olivia was, of course, Tim’s sister and Hart VanHorn’s mother. It’s been closed up since Olivia’s death.
The brick house was built as a vacation place by Abigail Montgomery and her husband, and Abigail had lived there year-round since
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