Happy May Day

vintage May Dayvintage May Day 3

Happy May Day

Since it’s actually still April (here anyway) forgive me for being early.

For a moment I deluded myself that I could do a mid-week episode of our 1920’s serial (and I might add that it’s coming along nicely, if I do say so myself).  However, that was more than I can manage on a work night.

So I hope to keep you in a “vintage” mood with some lovely May Day images from yesteryear.

May Day animals

Wishing you a wondrous season of freshly bloomed happiness.

I proclaim you all queens or kings of the May.

vintage May Day 2

Hugs,

teagan

 

All images from Pinterest

 

 

 

Three Ingredients – 21: Lettuce, Beet, Stew

Rabbit_Episode 21I hope everyone had a wonderful week.  The characters in our 1920’s story might have been worried though.  The “ingredients cupboards” are bare!  The main idea behind this serial is to involve you readers, via the food-related things (the ingredients) you send.  Now, you wouldn’t want Granny Fanny to worry, or Cracker to stop getting into trouble would you?  So I hope you’ll send ingredients.  Anyone is welcome to leave three ingredients in a comment.

Also, you can do catch-up reading at the serial’s homepage. Just click on the button at the top of this page.

You might be expecting the fancy shindig Granny is catering to be the climax of this storyline.  So am I — but I’m depending on the ingredients you all send to take us there.  We’re closing in on it, but this episode reveals an unexpected layer to the culinary mystery.  I hope you enjoy it.  Bon appétit!

21.  Lettuce, Beet, Stew

Cinnamon Bun nibbled at a piece of lettuce.  I wondered absently where the huge bunny had gotten it. lantern-press-joker-playing-card Granny Fanny looked over my shoulder at the Joker playing card in my trembling hand and read the warning aloud.

“Be ready.”

Just then Alastair and Hank stepped up to the porch, having loaded the ice filled tubs of dandelion and burdock onto the young restaurateur’s truck.  One of Alastair’s eyebrows climbed nearly to his hairline.  He knew about the warning card that was found on me back at Wetson’s Mill.

Hank still looked uncomfortable with his henna treated red hair.  He took the card from me, murmuring something about evidence.  I reached to take it back and the sleeve of my white jacket tore free at the shoulder.  Granny took the card from Hank and discretely put it away.  Then she looked at my brand new uniform.

“Humph… That seam wasn’t properly sewed.  It was only basted.  Paisley, there’s still time if you’re quick about it.  Take my Model-T and get whoever is at Eunice’s Uniforms to stitch that back up, and check all the other seams while they’re at it,” she said.  Then she glanced at the black crepe trousers and said, “Make sure they check the pants too.”1914_Ford_Model_T_Speedster

My cheeks turned beet red at the thought of my trousers coming apart in the middle of the ritzy event we were about to cater. Without any hesitation, I hurried to the cherished automobile with its brightly painted yellow spoke wheels.  The fact that Granny was willing to trust me with her car was proof that she was determined to do her first big catering job well.  Or maybe it was confirmation that she still meant to carryout the sting operation that originated with Marshal Moses Myrick.  If I were to be truthful with myself I’d have to admit that I was more than a little worried about the dangers involved in busting a bootlegger kingpin who was already behind the killing of the marshal’s men and God knew how many other people.

Life October 1929As I got into the immaculate little car Granny called after me.  “You know the address and what time we’re supposed to be there to set up everything,” she said and it was only half a question.

I said that I did, and waived cheerily as the Model-T puttered onto the road.

Moments later I pulled up in front of a little shop in an historic part of Savannah, not far from River Street.  I knocked on the door but no one answered.  Maybe Eunice, or whoever was minding the shop for her, had gone out for a quick errand.  I bounced on the toes of my feet, feeling anxious and rushed.  Granny would skin me if I didn’t get that jacket fixed.  Well, okay, maybe not, but she’d surely be upset at the situation.

An unexpected cold breeze ruffled my bobbed hair.  When the chill went down my back, I almost wished I still had my long hair.  I shaded my eyes from the glare on the shop window and tried to see inside, wondering if I was being rude to peep into it like that.

While I didn’t exactly see anybody I did see movement inside the shop.  I knocked again, and still no one came.  I was sure someone was there.  Maybe they had moved to the back of the shop and didn’t hear my knock.  I placed my hand on the brass doorknob and it gave before I even turned it, as if the door had not been pulled all the way closed.

Leaning into the front room I called out, “Anyone here?”

Margaret Mitchell

Margaret Mitchell

In a jiffy, a girl who looked about my age came from the back of the shop.  She had a bright bandana died around her hair, and she was dressed in men’s clothes.  It was called the tomboy look.  Even Margaret Mitchell was doing it, but Granny got upset if I wore menswear for anything but gardening.  That’s why I had been so pleasantly surprised by her modern choice of uniforms for the catering business.  Though I realized their design was modified and cut for a woman, unlike the rather sloppy looking tomboy style.

“Can I help you miss?” she asked with a warm smile.

I introduced myself and she said she was called Daisy.  Then I explained about the uniform.

“It might be a little while before Miss Eunice gets back.  I’d be pleased to help you if that’s alright? Being as you’re pressed for time,” Daisy said glancing down shyly.

That was a great relief to me and I told her I’d be delighted to have her help.  So Daisy led me to the back of the shop.  She handed me a robe and motioned to a hand painted silk screen that I could change behind.  She made a quick but thorough inspection of the seams in the trousers, pronouncing them to be of fine workmanship.  Then she went about stitching the sleeve back onto the white tuxedo jacket.  By the Hand crank sewing machinetime I got changed back into the pants, she was already half finished with her work.  The hand cranked Singer sewing machine hummed as she worked.  The needle and thread moved so quickly that it was an amazing thing to watch.  In a moment she helped me into the jacket.

As Daisy carefully inspected the fit of the shoulder seams, her smile got even brighter.  I could tell she liked the uniform.  I commented on my amazement that Granny chose the style.  Daisy nodded her understanding.  A sad expression shadowed her eyes, though the smile didn’t falter.

“Yes, Miss.  It’s dangerous to be a girl out and about.  Too many men think you’re a dainty dish free for the taking.  I feel a lot safer when I wear men’s clothes,” Daisy confided as the clock in the front room chimed the quarter hour.

“A dainty dish?” I echoed, surprised to hear the phrase Cracker the parrot had squawked on more than one occasion.  I thought it must be a local expression.1920s Woman Parrot

“Yes, Miss.  But I’m no woman of easy virtue,” she added looking suddenly fearful.

I hastened to reassure her that no one would ever think such a thing of her.  It would have been nice to sit and talk with another girl — someone my own age, but the sound of the clock reminded me that I had to hurry.  I thanked Daisy and regretfully said goodbye.

As I got back into the Model-T, Eunice called out to me.  She quickened her step on the sidewalk.  “Hold your horses!  I’m back now,” she said looking a little annoyed.

“It’s okay,” I told her.  “A seam broke in my jacket but Daisy took care of it,” I said as I put the automobile into gear.  I didn’t mean to be abrupt, but I really had to hurry, so I wasn’t paying much attention to what she said.

“Who?” Eunice asked, looking confused.

“No worries,” I said pulling out onto the street.  “She did a fine job!” I called, and a backward glance showed Eunice standing with a fist on her hip and her head tilted in consternation.

1920s Flapper DrivingMinutes later I was taking the Model-T up a long and winding drive. Far below I could see the Savannah River glitter in the afternoon sun.  What a view those big wigs must have!  I forced my mind back to business and kept driving.  Granny Fanny met me at the side entrance of 420 Kingston Lane.  As she led me inside the grand home she admired the workmanship of the tuxedo jacket.  She asked if Eunice made any complaint, commenting on the occasional grumpiness of the seamstress.

“I only saw Eunice as I was leaving.  Her assistant, Daisy, took care of the repair,” I informed Granny.

“Daisy?” she commented in surprise.  “I wonder when Eunice got an assistant,” she said and then rattled off the list of things I was supposed to do.1920s Life parachute

“Paisley,” she began with my given name again.  That told me she was feeling stressed.  “There’s something sticking out of your pocket.  Make sure it’s tucked away.”

“But I don’t have anything in my pocket,” I said with a sudden sense of déjà vu as my fingers touched a folded slip of paper.  I removed it from my jacket and was relieved to see that it was only a receipt from Eunice’s Uniforms.  However, when I unfolded the paper I recognized the handwriting as a match for the warnings on the playing cards.  The front of the receipt said “No charge.”

Could the young seamstress be the person leaving the warning cards?  It was beginning to seem impossible for one person to have been in all the places where the playing cards had been left.  If Daisy was doing it, then maybe she wasn’t working alone.  How else could she manage to be in so many places?

I turned the receipt to look at the reverse side of the paper.  The words on the back made me gasp.

“Beware!”terror tales

Suddenly I felt dizzy.  I must have looked frightful too, because Granny took my elbow and pulled me into the next room.  The next thing I knew, Granny had put me in a big leather chair and pushed my head down between my knees.  A moment later I looked up to see Hank and Alastair staring down at me in concern.

We were in a big office room, or maybe rich people would call it a library.  French doors opened onto a terrace and a view of the Savannah River.  I looked around at the beautifully appointed room.  One wall was covered with book shelves from the floor to the high ceiling.  The other walls were paneled with expensive burled wood.  A massive desk dominated the room.  It was polished so well that the gas lamps reflected on the surface.1920s Arrow tux

Behind the desk hung a tall painting of a regal looking man with a touch of gray at his temples.  There was something familiar about his face, but he couldn’t be anyone I had met because the style of his elegant clothes told me the painting was about a hundred years old.  I stared at the picture, trying to figure out what was so familiar about the face.

Alastair quietly moved behind my chair and it startled me when he spoke.  “I remember my great-grandfather saying they called him ‘the king.’ He controlled most of Savannah at one point.”

I got up so I could take a closer look at the painting.  Hank pushed past Alastair and took my elbow as if he was afraid I might fall over or something.  Ordinarily that would have annoyed me, but I was too preoccupied by the painting and the half remembered thoughts that I was trying super hard to pull together.  It was as if I could almost touch a memory, but it kept slipping through my grasp.  I wondered again just how much I had forgotten when I was attacked and drugged back at Wetson’s Mill.

Several other paintings and photographs adorned the walls.  Another portrait caught my eye. I pulled free of Hank’s grasp.  He made a surprised, indignant noise.  Let him stew about that if he wanted.  Colors of grass and sky were worked into the background of the painting.  The artist showed a beautiful dark haired young woman with a simple white daisy in her hand.  Her eyes held a sad expression.  I alphonse mucha 1moved closer to the portrait.

“Daisy…” I whispered in awe, reading aloud the name on a brass plaque beneath the portrait.

Alastair shouldered Hank aside and continued his account of the paintings.  “Yes,” Alastair said.  “Nobody was dumb enough to say it in front of ‘the King’ but she was known as ‘the dainty dish.’  Rumors said she was given to him as a payment for a gambling debt, but he fell madly in love with her. Daisy died mysteriously.  There must be half a dozen stories about how she died, and none of them match or make much sense.”

No wonder there was such sadness in her eyes, I thought.  To be given as a payment?  Like property? I couldn’t imagine what that had been like for her, even if the rich man had fallen in love with her. The eyes in the portrait held mine in an almost hypnotic way.  I forced myself to look away.

I had thought Cracker the parrot was calling me “dainty dish,” but I started to wonder what the extraordinary bird had on her mind.  The headache that plagued me on and off ever since the attack, came back with a vengeance.  I put my fingers to my throbbing temples.SingSong6dcaldecott

“What’s the old nursery rhyme?” I asked, causing everyone to think I’d lost my marbles with that apparently sudden and incomprehensible subject change.

“Sing a song of sixpence. A pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds. Baked in a pie. When the pie was opened. The birds began to sing. Wasn’t that a dainty dish. To set before the king?”

I looked at the bewildered faces surrounding me.  I plunged ahead with the rhyme.

“The king was in his counting house. Counting out his money. The queen was in the parlor. Eating bread and honey. The maid was in the garden. Hanging out the clothes. When down came a blackbird. And pecked off her nose.”

I’d probably be lucky if they didn’t lock me up in the lunatic asylum, judging by their expressions.  But they probably forgot all about me acting oddly when the mean faced major domo walked in, acting like he might huff and puff and blow us all out into the river.

Black Butler 1He demanded to know what we were doing in that room.  His tone and manner were enough to make the boys and me jump and start babbling.  However, Granny Fanny looked up at the gruff man and tilted her head slightly to one side as if studying an insect.  Then she spoke in a tone every bit as chilly as his.

“My granddaughter became faint.  Sit back down, dear before you knees buckle again,” she told me sharply before turning back to the major domo.  “Would you kindly bring some smelling salts,” she said in a firm statement, not a question.  Then she turned to Hank and Alastair and told them to get back to work.

“There are salts in the kitchen.  You can ask the housekeeper for them,” he said in a haughty voice that more than implied that he would not take orders from her.  Then he turned on his heel and walked out with his nose in the air.  He turned back just long enough to snap at us.  “I suggest you regain your composure quickly, young woman, and do not go into this room again.”

Granny wriggled her eyebrows at his back and then winked at me.  My eyes strayed back to the portrait of Daisy, “the dainty dish.”  Then my thoughts went to something that had been troubling me, one of those gaps in my memory.

“Granny,” I whispered. “Just what did the marshal intend to do here?  I mean, he couldn’t have meant to Speakeasy_Stories-Julystart a shootout with a house full of party guests.  What was he after?”

“Evidence,” Granny summed it up in one word.  “He said ‘the King of Clubs’ keeps meticulous records and he was sure they were hidden somewhere in this house. Probably in a safe,” she said.

I moved wordlessly to the portrait of the young woman.  Heaven knows how I could feel so sure, but I was.  My fingers traveled along just beneath the edges of the intricately carved frame.  I felt something and pressed.  The picture moved slightly I was sure it would swing back on hinges if I pushed.

However I pushed it back into place when I heard a noise just outside the room.  It sounded like a bit of a scuffle.  I heard Hank’s voice making a profuse apology and the gruff voice of the major domo who muttered something like, “Red headed buffoon!” I could see my friend through the partially opened door, and he gave me a significant look.  Whatever had happened, Hank had done it on purpose to warn us.

Granny Fanny whispered.  “Fake a swoon.  Now!” she hissed insistently, and I obediently sagged to the sumptuous Persian rug on which we stood.

“For pity’s sake!” the man snapped.  “Are you still in here?  Haven’t you revived your girl yet?  Do I have to do everything myself?”1920s Faint

With caution I cracked one eye open, just a hair.  He haughtily strutted to the big desk and picked up a house phone.  Even his breath sounded impatient and domineering as he waited for someone to answer.  Then I heard a woman’s voice from the other end.  He told her to bring some smelling salts, pronto.  “Yes Mr. Farceur. Right away sir,” the voice said.

I saw Granny’s expression shift as if in sudden comprehension. But I had to close my eyes because he turned toward me.  Mr. Farceur bent over me with a distasteful expression on his face.  Yes, my eyes were shut, just like I said.  But I knew what look was on his face, just the same.  You could practically hear the look on his face.  He sniffed disdainfully.1920s Judge Hourglass

My mind worked furiously.  There was something about his name.  It was French.  I had some French lessons when I was younger, but I didn’t learn the language very well.  Farceur…  Applesauce!  Didn’t that mean joker?  As in “Joker’s wild?”

The memory of Cracker excitedly repeating that phrase rattled me so badly that I nearly sat up and opened my eyes.  I managed to control myself except for one little twitch.  Fortunately that spasm seemed to convince the major domo of the honesty of my faint and he strode out of the room.

As I sat up, I suddenly felt icily cold.  I shivered and wondered if maybe something really was wrong with me.

***

Video:  Greek Yogurt Beet & Feta Dip

 

Copyright © 2014 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted mater

 

 

Three Ingredients – 20: Beef Drippings, Dandelion & Burdock, Salmon

Cat_menu_Episode-20Hello everyone.  My heartfelt thanks to all of you for coming back.  You supply the “ingredients” that built the mysteries in our 1920’s story — that’s what makes the serial interactive.  Now our story is drawing closer to revealing some of the answers to those questions and mysteries.

Without further ado, here is Episode-20.  Bon appétit!

20.  Beef Drippings, Dandelion & Burdock, Salmon

Bell phone ad copyRather than the bun she often wore, Granny Phanny had rolled and tucked her long hair into a style that at first glance looked a lot like a bob.  The wide legged black crepe trousers and white tuxedo jacket fit her perfectly.  She looked every inch the modern woman; and… younger too.  Eunice’s Uniforms had done a great job.  I straightened my own waiters’ uniform and Granny smiled.

The telephone rang and Granny hurried to answer it.  I knew she was still more than a little bit worried about Moses Myrick.  There was a tightness around her eyes that had not been there before the marshal was shot.

“Yes, Doc. Is that you?” I could hear the concern in her voice as she spoke into the receiver.  The ear piece was pressed tightly against her head.  Then she exhaled and her shoulders relaxed.  “You don’t really think so?  Considering the way she’s the-chinese-parrot adbeen acting I’m surprised,” she said but paused to listen.  “Yes Doc.  We’ll keep an eye out,” Granny said and hung up the telephone.

“Doctor Veronica says that parrot flew the coop.  Darnedest thing I’ve ever heard.  That nasty bird nearly took my finger off when I tried to pry her away from Moses.  But Veronica said she let herself out the window a few minutes ago.  The last time she saw Cracker, the parrot was headed in this direction,” Granny said shaking her head in wonder at the bird’s unpredictable behavior.  “I find it hard to believe that she’d suddenly give up her equally sudden devotion to Moses.  Be a dear and keep an eye out for Cracker just the same.”

I murmured my promise.  I found the parrot’s antics unexpected, but when I thought about it, we should probably expect the unexpected from Cracker.  However I didn’t give it that much thought because the aroma of the huge beef roast Granny had been cooking all day wafted to my nostrils.  My stomach gave a loud growl.  Granny chuckled and told me to go get a snack – but to Red-Headed-League-Sherlock-Holmes-Doyletake off the white jacket first.  Just then Hank Hertz walked in eating a yeast roll that was sopping with beef drippings.  It was a good thing he had removed his jacket, else Granny might have skinned him when a big drop of au jus went down his chest.

I barely recognized Hank, and it wasn’t because of the partial amnesia I’d experienced since my unknown attacker had left me in a root cellar at the Queen of Clubs Herb Farm out at Wetson’s Mill.  No, Granny had told Hank that if he was going to participate in the night’s “catering event” he’d have to let her treat his hair with henna.  Now his hair was bright red, and he had a little red mustache too.

Granny said she was concerned about Hank’s safety, since too many people knew he was quickly on theWeMustGrowAMustache scene after the villains had ambushed Marshal Moses Myrick and his men.  I’m sure that was true; Granny wouldn’t put anybody in harm’s way.  But I suspected that she planned to carryout Myrick’s original “sting” plan, with or without the injured marshal’s help.  So that was another reason for disguising Savannah’s youngest police officer.

Hank scratched at the mustache.  I quipped that I’d always wondered if those things itched.  He nodded and spoke quietly.  “I feel ridiculous with this red hair,” he confided.  “But Miss Fanny says it will fade away with washing.”

I thought Granny might have exaggerated about the “fading away” part of the henna, but I didn’t want to make Hank feel any more uncomfortable than he already was.  I gently poked his ribs with my elbow.  “I think it looks rather dashing,” I reassured him and he stood a little straighter.

1928 green kitchen adMy grandmother took Hank’s elbow and led us both to the kitchen.  She fixed snack plates for the three of us with roast beef, rolls, and candied carrots.  I gave a wistful glance at the za’atar she’d so carefully prepared, but I knew she was worried about having enough, so I didn’t say anything.

She glanced at the clock and took out a fourth plate and sat it on the green and white gingham tablecloth.  Then she turned to one of several tubs of ice that contained cobalt blue bottles with attached cork flip tops, and pulled out a few bottles.

“What is this anyway?” I asked and sniffed the liquid that reminded me of sarsaparilla.

I had been wondering what was inside the bottles, because I had heard Granny tell her client that he’d have to supply any alcohol, being as it was illegal.  I had not met the rich man who was hosting the reception Granny had agreed to cater.  But I overheard part of their telephone conversation — whether I wanted to or not.  He was one of those people who felt they had to shout into the telephone since he was talking to someone across town.  He sounded nice enough, but there was just something about him that rubbed me the wrong way, despite the fact I had never even seen him.hagues dandelion-burdock

Hank Hertz took a swig from the blue bottle.  “Umm.  It’s dandelion and burdock,” he said to my unspoken question.  “Dr. Veronica gave me some before.  She said it was kind of medicinal.”

“It’s also mildly alcoholic,” Granny interjected.  “Not enough to cause trouble for me, but that seemed to mollify tonight’s host.  He was… well… irritated that I wouldn’t bring any champagne because of the prohibition.  He was being pretty hard headed about that,” she said with a slightly annoyed twist to her mouth.  Granny didn’t like anybody trying to boss her around.

The putter of an engine sent me to the kitchen window.  I pushed back the eyelet curtain and saw Alastair Wong pull his delivery truck up beside the cottage.  Alastair had offered to help. He said he expected a slow night at his restaurant, and besides there was plenty of family to help there.  I saw that he had even temporarily covered his pride and joy slogan, “You’re always right with Wong’s” with a sign proclaiming Granny’s Goodies.  My grandmother quickly fixed the fourth plate with a snack for Alastair.1920s delivery truck

Moments later Hank and Alastair loaded the heavy galvanized steel tubs, filled with ice and cobalt blue bottles of dandelion and burdock onto the delivery truck.  Then they covered them with a tarp to help keep the ice from melting as fast.

I was surprised to see Cinnamon Bun, the Flemish Giant rabbit, thump up the back porch stairs.  He vintage bunnyhad been hiding from all the activity.  As usual, Granny went gaga over the oversized bunny and praised him for coming out to be sociable.  Cinnamon liked getting his ears stroked, but he sat up on his haunches as if looking for something in the distance.

A blur of brilliant color streaked down from the sky and Cracker the parrot alighted next to the rabbit.  She nibbled at his fur and cooed, “Good bird… good bird.”

My amazement at the bond between bird and bunny had no end.  My grandmother and I watched the two in fascination.  Then she got back to business.

“Sweet-pea,” she spoke to me.  “Would you get that poached salmon?  Just wrap it up tight.  I won’t plate it until after we get there.”1920s Peoples home journal girl parrot

“Exactly where is this shindig anyway,” I asked.  I knew it was at one of the fanciest homes in Savannah, but I didn’t know much more than that.  I wondered if I had known more before I was attacked and drugged.

“Umm… what was that address?” Granny Fanny said half to herself.  “Oh.  It’s at 420 Kingston Lane.”

Immediately Cracker flew into the air, making circles around Granny and me.  The parrot squawked excitedly, “Fourandtwenty, Fourandtwenty! Dainty dish to set before the king!  Dainty dish!” she repeated as she alighted on my shoulder and pulled my hair with her beak.  “Dainty dish. SingSong6dcaldecottFourandtwenty!

Cinnamon Bun sat up on his haunches inquiringly at the bird’s outburst.  He made a snorting sound that drew my eyes to him.  Then I noticed a small rectangle on the porch next to the rabbit.  I stooped to retrieve it.

Another playing card, I thought.  I knew I needed to turn it over, but I was afraid to look.  Cracker must have brought it with her, and dropped it when she started grooming the bunny.  But where had the parrot gotten the card?  Did she pick it up at the Vale residence?  Or did she find it somewhere along the way?  What if she didn’t bring the card at all?  What if an anonymous person had left it there on the porch as another warning?

I was shivering, though it was not cold.  I felt Granny step closer.  She was looking over my shoulder at the card.  Cautionary words were written across the back of the card in a familiar hand.

“Be ready!”

My hands were shaking so badly that I almost dropped the card.  Reluctantly I turned over the rectangle to reveal the sinister looking Joker on the face of the playing card.  Cracker fluttered off my shoulder and landed on the porch banister.  “Jokerswild!” the parrot shrieked and shook her foot.

lantern-press-joker-playing-card

I had a hazy memory of Cracker making that motion before.  I remembered thinking it seemed disdainful.  Whoever the Joker was, Cracker did not like him… or maybe her.  I reminded myself to think like a modern woman.  The villain might just as well be a woman as a man.

Turning the card face down once again I repeated the words “Be ready!” and felt the pit of my stomach freeze.

***

Recipe

French Dip Sandwiches

French dip sandwiches

Recipe and photo courtesy Rachael Ray

Total Time:  15 min            Prep:  5 min          Cook:  10 min

Yield:  4 servings                  Level:  Easy

Ingredients

2 tablespoons butter

1 shallot, chopped

1 tablespoon all-purpose flour

1 jigger dry sherry, optional

2 cans beef consommé, found on broth and soups aisle or beef broth

1 1/2 pounds deli sliced roast beef

Grill seasoning blend spices for steak, such as Montreal Steak Seasoning Blend, or, coarse salt and pepper

4 torpedo sandwich rolls, split

Directions

In a large, shallow skillet over moderate heat, melt butter. Add shallots to butter and sauté 2 minutes. Add flour to butter and shallot and cook a minute longer. Whisk in sherry and cook liquid out. Whisk in consommé in a slow stream. Bring sauce to a bubble and allow to simmer over low heat until ready to serve sandwiches.

Pile meat loosely across your cutting board or a large work surface. Season meat with grill seasoning or salt and black pepper. Set out 4 ramekins or small soup cups for dipping sauce, 4 dinner plates and 4 split torpedo rolls. To assemble, using a pair of kitchen tongs, dip meat into loose au jus sauce and pile into rolls. Set ramekins or cups with extra dipping sauce alongside the sandwiches.

 ***

 

Copyright © 2014 by Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.  Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights.

Except where otherwise noted, all photos and illustrations are from Pinterest.

 

The Colors of the Writing Rainbow

Mike Fedison had a wonderful teacher for ninth grade English. I hope you will share the pleasure I took in reading his post about a writer’s lesson learned.

Eye-Dancers

As time pushes on, as the months and years pass by and life navigates its twists and turns, the things we learned in school sometimes blur into the trees and promontories of the background.

windingpath

We might remember our first date, our best friend from school, we may recall, painfully, feelings of rejection and loneliness, moments of ridicule.

But how many in-class lessons do we remember?  Can we remember anything pertinent our 8th-grade algebra teacher taught us?  (Well, surely, Marc Kuslanski can!)  How about 10th-grade history or chemistry?  Sadly, so much is lost, often irretrievably so.  But some lessons endure.  Some remain vibrant and alive, decades later.

lessonslearned

For me, one such lesson occurred one sunny spring day in English class when I was a freshman in high school.  The teacher, a large, balding man with a soft voice, was a writer at heart, and sometimes, seemingly at random, he would…

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Three Ingredients – ?, ?, ?

? ? ?

Lucille Ball teenaged 1Hello everyone — Pip here!  Say, has anybody seen the Writer?  I’ve got to tell you that I’m pretty miffed… She’s left me hanging around for the past couple of weeks with only half of my memory.  Worse, when she should be dreaming of things to make my life interesting, she is busy with her “real job.”  Really? Her “real job” should be me, and Granny Fanny, and the dozens of other characters that live in her mind.

I finally wriggled my way out of her subconscious and told her she needed to think about the Three Ingredients serial. Granted she was half asleep at the time, but she muttered that nobody had sent any “ingredients” to drive the story.  Peapod truck

Why couldn’t she just write it without reader input, I asked.  Then I tried to push her into a dream of taking that odd looking automobile that she calls “Max” down to Gilley’s Grocery. If none of you readers sent “ingredients” then she should just go and get her own ingredients.  Right? Honestly, do I have to think of everything?

However, she muttered something about PeaPod delivery, shutting down my grocery idea.  Then she actually drifted off and started dreaming a truly bizarre dream.

(I can tell you, the Writer has some strange dreams, and that’s the honest truth…) Anyhow, I added a handsome blonde man to her dream, hoping that maybe it would encourage her to at least get a little shut-eye.

The trouble is — now I can’t find the Writer!  Once she turned over and murmured the unthinkable H-word, hiatus!  But she wouldn’t do that to me… would she?  I haven’t gotten to wear that waiter’s uniform, and it’s really the bee’s knees.  And we don’t know who the King of Clubs is. And I still don’t have all my memory back!

She can’t just abandon me.  Can she…?

A Cloudy Day