Pip & Pancakes with Dan

Great news everyone — we have another guest! Dan Antion at No Facilities agreed to be my next co-conspirator collaborator. This post is already live at his blog for his One-Liner Wednesday feature. So I’m handing things over to Dan to explain. (I also think he should consider a career change to TV announcer. He gave me such a nice introduction, I’m still blushing.)

A One and Three Twofer

It’s One-Liner Wednesday, the series brought to us by Linda G. Hill, and many of you will be surprised by how close to one line I am going to come. That’s because I am joined today by Teagan R. Geneviene who will soon release her 1920’s novel. If you’re not familiar with Teagan and her three-things stories, you’re in for a treat. If you are familiar with Teagan’s work, you know exactly what kind of treat you’re in for.

My one-liner is all about a treat too. A few weeks ago, when I woke up in Florida with the task making, changing and cancelling flights on a day the airlines were struggling with a blizzard in the Northeast, I wasn’t eager to get out of bed. I talked myself into action with the following thought:

“When you know you’re going to have a bad day, make it better by starting with pancakes.”

Teagan told me that Pip could have some fun with pancakes, so let me get out of the way (after a few pictures for the foodies).

Bacon makes anything better, and maple syrup makes bacon better.

Pancakes require butter. No substitute concoctions allowed, butter.

Now, while I finish my breakfast, please enjoy Teagan’s story. Try to imagine my best Ed McMahon voice, as I say:

Heeeeeer’s Teagan!

Thank you again, Dan, for agreeing to collaborate on a post with me. I hope everyone will visit his blog. Dan uses several post themes and they’re all terrific. I had a great time at No Facilities. His picture of the crow was pos-i-lutely inspired. You’ll see why in a second.

Now for my part… This vignette is set in the Roaring Twenties world of my flapper character, Paisley Idelle Peabody, aka Pip. (For more about Pip, see The Three Things Serial Story click here.) Pip’s father and grandmother decided to “settle her down” by having her live with Granny for awhile. That’s where this tidbit picks up. Also, as you guessed, the prompt Dan gave me for this tale was pancakes. I hope you enjoy it.

Pip and Pancakes

1925 La Vie Parisienne woman pancake cooking

La Vie Parisienne, February 1925

“Horsefeathers! I think I sprained my wrist,” I complained as the iron skillet plopped back onto the stove with a loud clang.

Outside a crow made a cawing sound that might as well have been the bird’s laughter.

“Paisley Idelle Peabody, you will mind your language while you’re in my kitchen,” Granny Phanny warned me.

My grandmother hefted the heavy skillet with a quick motion. A perfectly round pancake sailed high into the air. It landed majestically, golden side up, in the pan. I heard the crow again. If it had a human voice, I was sure it would be saying “Ha! Let’s see you do that.”

Granny must have biceps made of steel under her shirtsleeves. She handled that heavy skillet like it weighed nothing.

The clear blue sky beyond the kitchen window distracted me. I imagined being back in Florida with my friends, watching the boats on Santa Rosa Sound. However, I was in Granny’s kitchen in Savannah, Georgia. Pops had not appreciated the fact that I was a modern woman, a flapper. It was an appalling sentence to be given, and it pos-i-lutely did not fit my transgression. Why it was just a little yachting adventure. Nonetheless, Pops and Granny contrived for me to stay with her and learn to cook!

Pillsbury Home Journal Pancake flour ad September 1920

Pillsbury ad, Home Journal, September 1920

Of course the crow chose that moment to caw some more. It really did seem to be laughing at my predicament. Or at least at the idea of me cooking. I was ready to stick my tongue out at the bird.

Honestly, I only looked away for a moment. Maybe it was my sigh that told Granny my attention had wandered. Her lips curled in, which meant she was impatient. I grimaced, knowing I wouldn’t get any sympathy there. However, Granny gave a sigh of her own, and moved the skillet away from the burner.

“Pip, do you already miss your friends? You’ve just gotten here. This was supposed to be something fun for us to do together,” my grandmother told me.

I blinked in surprise. Granny wanted to do something fun? Applesauce! If I had known it was meant to be fun, I might have put some effort into enjoying it. I cringed when I realized I had said as much out loud.

Granny Phanny gave a snort. “Maybe I’m not as old as I thought, because that actually made sense to me.”

“In that case, let me try again,” I told her with a grin.

I tried to imitate Granny’s motion and give the pancake a flip. It only came halfway out of the pan and landed in a folded messy lump. My grandmother gingerly picked up the half-cooked goo and set it to rights. She told me to try again and give it some body English.

A tight-lipped grimace settled on my face as I picked up the iron skillet. I heaved it just so. The sloppy remains of the pancake lifted into the air. It sailed up and flipped, and then flew even higher. It made a wet thwack when it hit the ceiling… and there it stayed.

With a gulp, I looked at Granny, wondering how mad she would be. Her expression was blank as she stared upward. She cast an evaluative gaze on me, making me wonder if she thought I’d done it on purpose.

“Pip… Well, that was right impressive,” she said, with the riotous squawking of the crow in the background.

Bye Bye Black Bird sheet music 1920s

Hurriedly I stirred the batter and poured a puddle of it into the skillet. I didn’t want to give her time to consider in what way a pancake on the previously spotless kitchen ceiling was impressive.

In my haste I had the heat too high, and the hotcake began to smoke. Granny moved toward the window. She told me to just get the spatula and turn it before it burned. I was more than simply nervous by then. I don’t know what possessed me, but I tried to do a combination, turn and toss, with the spatula in one hand and the skillet in the other.

Just then Granny shrieked. The crow cawed even louder. I whirled around. The bird was right outside the window.

My one-handed grip on the iron skillet was too loose. When I moved so suddenly, the skillet flew from my fingers. The shining black pan could have been the cousin to the cawing crow, the way it soared across the room.

I gazed in amazement at the flying frying pan. It spun as it sailed cleanly through the open window. The skillet crashed into the lilac bush just outside.

The crow’s clamorous cawing abruptly choked. I might have chuckled to have gotten the last word on the bird, even if by accident. However, the sound of Granny’s scream was still in my ears, so I didn’t savor that victory.

I spun back toward Granny Phanny to see what was wrong. She stood stock still. Her hands were in fists at her side. My magnificently tossed pancake no longer littered the ceiling. It draped and dripped over Granny’s forehead.

What’s that they say about the better part of valor? On pretext of retrieving the skillet, I ran from the kitchen. The crow alighted on the lilac bush and looked at me accusingly. It fluttered to the windowsill.

“You won’t go in there if you know what’s good for you,” I told the bird.

Granny appeared on the porch, picking batter from her hair. She gave me a look that I couldn’t define. The crow made a brazen cackle. After a moment Granny burst out laughing.

“Pip, go inside and let’s get cleaned up. You haven’t been to the Georgian Tea Room. I’ll treat us to brunch there. If we stay here we might be eating crow — literally,” she said with a meaningful glare at the bird.

With a last disgruntled caw, the crow flapped away.

Georgian Tea Room in The Olde Pink House 1929

The Georgian Tea Room in the Olde Pink House; Savannah, GA circa 1929

***

The end.

Thanks for visiting. You’re the cat’s meow. Mega hugs!

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The Characters, Murder at the Bijou

It’s hump day and I needed a boost to get me through the rest of the week. I avoid midweek posts, but I thought this might give me the lift I need. When this song popped into my head (again) I knew I had to share. Because I’m getting ready, ready, ready for the takeoff! What I mean is the launch of Murder at the Bijou, Three Ingredients-I.

It’s a Roaring Twenties culinary mystery. It was spontaneously written as a “pantser” serial here at this blog. Everything, event, and character in the story was inspired by things or ingredients the readers of this blog sent. Now, as I’m closer and closer to takeoff I wanted to show you my concept of the characters.

Studebaker blue 1920s

Cast of Characters

Pip

The Three Things gave us Pip (Paisley Idelle Peabody), the narrator of both story-lines. I was so fond of Pip, a flapper and aspiring “modern woman,” that I kept her around for The Three Ingredients. I added her grandmother, Granny Phanny, and the fledgling catering business so that we could have the culinary mystery theme. The rest of the story is inspired by your ingredients.

The moment I stumbled upon a photo of a very young Lucille Ball, I imagined the voice of grown-up Lucy as Pip, telling the stories of her youth.

Granny Phanny

Phanny Irene Peabody. Granny is actually a “Pip” too. Her given name was Phanny Irene, and when she married into the Peabody family her initials became P.I.P.

I never found a photo that seemed like Phanny to me. I only had a vague image of her in my mind, a woman with delicate features, but a backbone of steel. However, in a photo of Margaret Sanger, I saw Granny’s kind heartedness, firm resolve, and spunk.

From this point, I’ve listed the characters in order of their appearance in the story.

Alastair Wong

The very first ingredient (geoduck) was the inspiration for Alastair Wong. The Wongs immigrated to the United States from England, and Alastair has a faint British accent. Neither he nor his parents had ever been to China, though they dreamed of visiting and faithfully passed down family recipes used at Wong’s Chinese, their restaurant. Alastair is a talented businessman and chef.

Long time followers of this blog will recall that there are two Alastair Wongs. The first one you meet is the younger. Later, in Copper, the Alchemist, and the Woman in Trousers, you meet his grandfather, Alastair Wong the elder.

I had a small crush on Alastair, so his prolonged absence during the serial should show you that it really is guided by your ingredients. :o)

I think a vintage photo of Sessue Hayakawa could be Alastair — if I could find one of him in a less somber, brooding mood. Alastair certainly has a serious side but he also has a beautiful, ready smile.

Arabella Wong

Alastair’s mother, Arabella also appeared in Episode-1 and she is mentioned a few times afterward. However, the ingredients haven’t led to a larger part for her… At least they haven’t yet. Only the ingredients can say!

A vintage Vogue magazine cover made me think of Arabella’s graceful elegance, though there has been little opportunity to describe her.

Byron and/or Bradley Binghamton

The Binghamton brothers are actually “walk on” parts. However, when I started looking for character images, I wasn’t sure where the ingredients might take them. So I’ve included them anyway.

Byron is the owner of the Bijou Theatre. That setting is where our storyline began, when “the dead man” was found. Bradley Binghamton, Byron’s lookalike brother is seen much later. They were minor characters, but necessary to the story just the same. Something tells me that there might be some sadness in the history of the brothers, and this shot of David Niven in “The Bishop’s Wife” could be either of the lookalike brothers.

Cracker Jack Daddy

Jack Daddy was a minor character who was fundamental to the storyline. His nickname was Cracker Jack because he was a skilled safecracker and a mobster. Maybe he was not 100% bad if he was Cracker the Parrot’s “daddy.” However, I don’t think we’ll ever know for sure.

Cinnamon Bun

When I received “cinnamon” as an ingredient we got Cinnamon Bun, a Flemish Giant Rabbit with reddish fur. You recently saw his back-story in the vignette, Granny Phanny and the Giant Rabbit. The veterinarian, Vincent Vale gave him to Granny Phanny. She adores the oversized bunny, and so does Cracker the Parrot, who often brings Cinnamon Bun treats.

Dabney Daniels

We also meet Detective Dabney Daniels of Savannah’s finest. The moment I saw a vintage ad for Arrow shirts, I had an image for Dabney. He has known Granny Fanny for some time, and helps her with heavier work around her cottage. Dabney seems to take an interest in Pip, letting her ride along for part of the murder investigation and work at cataloging evidence. Is Granny trying to push the two together?

Detective Daniels has been patient with Cracker, even thought the parrot bit his ear. He shows concern for Granny, and for his fellow law enforcement officers. Though he seems emotionally distant to Pip’s way of thinking.

Vincent Vale

Our veterinarian is Vincent Vale. He has broad knowledge and training for a veterinarian of that era, including acupuncture.

Vincent seems like a gentle soul. He rescued both Cinnamon Bun and later Cracker. Together, he and his wife Veronica built an impressive medical facility for animals of all types. Who else would I imagine as Vincent Vale but “All Creatures Great and Small” actor, Christopher Timothy.

Cracker

The ingredients included “graham cracker” and of course that gave us Cracker the parrot. Granny Phanny resisted liking that “nasty bird” for quite a while. But Cracker’s unexpected devotion to the injured Marshal Moses Myrick won Granny over.

Cracker is a most unusual and clever bird. The one thing we can expect from this parrot is the unexpected. Cracker learned many things related to the various mysteries in this storyline through her association with Cracker Jack Daddy, her late owner. When Vincent Vale examined her, he said Cracker was about 40 years old, so we can only guess at the scope of the parrot’s life experiences.

She definitely has opinions about the humans in the story. Cracker took a dislike to Dabney Daniels, perhaps associating him with the death of her “daddy.” But she loved Moses Myrick and the rabbit, Cinnamon Bun from the very start. It took her a while to win Granny Phanny’s affection, but she did. Cracker seems to like Pip and the poodle, Cotton. And she at least tolerates Hank Hertz. However she shakes her foot as an expression for her disdain of “The Joker.”

Veronica Vale

The pantser writing of this serial also brought us the wife of Vincent Vale. Mrs. Veronica Vale is an accomplished medical doctor and surgeon who has traveled widely. She is the most accomplished woman Pip has ever met. At Pip’s determination to be a “modern woman” Granny introduced her to “the real deal.” Veronica’s intelligence is matched by her good nature and sense of humor. Both the doctors Vale are caring, generous people.

She performed emergency surgery on Marshal Myrick after he was ambushed by the bootleggers. Vincent is a veterinarian, rather than a “people doctor” but he proved his skill too during the operation. Granny revealed yet another skill, acting as surgical nurse.

Marshal Moses Myrick

One of the ingredients was “peas”… and we got Moses Myrick. Go figure, right? That’s just how my brain works. Pip was distrustful when she unexpectedly learned that he’d known her grandmother for a long time, and apparently quite well. So her first reaction to Marshal Myrick was less than positive, “He was very polite and all, but I couldn’t help thinking what beady little eyes he had. Green eyes… like little peas!”

I saw an ad for a vintage detective story, and thought the man could easily be Moses Myrick. He wins Pip over, and Cracker likes him right away. He seems to have an affinity for the parrot… and a history with Granny Fanny.

Queenie Wetson

The Queen of Clubs is introduced halfway into the story. I was looking for a vintage queen of clubs card, when I found celebrity playing cards. Guess whose picture was on the queen of clubs? Joan Crawford. From that moment, there was no other choice for Queenie Wetson.

Hank Hertz

A reader wasn’t thinking when leaving ingredients for me. I faced a challenge. I try not to put restrictions on your ingredients, but one of the items was microwave. I knew it was meant as the microwave ovens we use today, but as I suspected, my research showed they had not been invented in the 1920’s. However, scientists had long known about microwaves. That gave us a new character, Hank Hertz.

Our Hank is the fictional grandson of Heinrich Hertz, who proved the existence of radio waves back in the late 1880s. So the “microwave” ingredient gave us Hank, who is a wizard with the police radio. It also led to more layers in the mystery — Since the gangsters were using open radio transmissions (microwave brought us to radio waves) they used code names.

As I visualized Savannah’s youngest policeman I thought of a TV actor who could easily play Hank — a slightly younger version of Hugo Johnstone-Burt who played Hugh Collins on “Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries.”

Daisy

In a planned (or technically correct) story I would not add new players so late in the tale. However, the spontaneity unexpectedly led me to new characters — including Daisy. Also called The Dainty Dish, Daisy was the second Mrs. Henry Kingston. Her story was a local legend, according to which she was given to him as a payment for a gambling debt, but Kingston fell madly in love with her. Her story line continued into the next serial.

Mr. Farceur

The domineering major domo was also introduced late in the story. At first I saw him as a stodgy old man… but then the ingredients suggested that he could be an interesting complication to the story. That’s also when his name came along. Maybe his name, Farceur, is significant, or maybe it’s a red herring — only the ingredients know for sure!

For a moment he had been a nameless, faceless butler. When a classic anime character pinged into my mind, I indulged myself with the image of “Black Butler” Sebastian Michaelis. How could I resist?

***

So there you have it — most of the characters for the soon to be “book-ized” Murder at the Bijou, Three Ingredients-I. Thanks for reading and have a wonderful Wednesday!

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.

Back to a Pug in the Kitchen — Granny Phanny & the Giant Rabbit

Update

I finally got around to making Suzanne’s “Creamy Spring Turnip Soup.” I know anything from A Pug in the Kitchen is going to be delicious, but I confess to being lukewarm about turnips. I say that for the non-turnip lovers in the crowd. I always take shortcuts in cooking, so I know my versions won’t be as good. So imagine my pleasure when, even in my clumsy hands this soup was stand-up-and -cheer delicious!

Preparing to Launch…

This spring I plan to book-ize the second serial story, Murder at the Bijou, Three Ingredients I. As I get ready for the takeoff, I’m doing a few collaborative posts with people who blog other topics — combining my stories with their respective talents. Since Murder at the Bijou is a culinary mystery, I am particularly happy to do another joint post with the fantastic chef, Suzanne from A Pug in the Kitchen.

The post is already live at her blog. Click here. I appreciate those of you who have already left comments there.

First, here’s Suzanne to introduce our special purpose with this collaboration. Go ahead, Suzanne…

Another delightful installment from the joint collaboration with writer/author extraordinaire Teagan Ríordáin Geneviene, we planned this post to occur in March, Women’s History Month. We’ve come a long way baby and every month, week, and day should celebrate women and our contribution to society, this country, our families, and communities. I am woman hear me roar. Well that is a little cliché I know, but we are empowered and accomplished and strong and proud of how far we have come. It amazes me that at one time women didn’t even have the right to vote. In some countries women are still considered objects of disdain, almost subhuman, and of less importance than their male counterparts.

I also am including a recipe that I posted years ago for a spring turnip soup. You may turn up your nose when you read “turnips” but honestly this soup is delicious. I use Hakurai turnips, which appear late winter and early spring at the local green markets. They are crisp, sweet, and mild — making an outstanding soup! The soup is topped with some crumbled bacon and the turnip greens, which are sauteéd in the bacon fat. For vegan and vegetarian option all you do is eliminate the bacon and use vegetable broth or water. For vegan option of course you would not use the cream but you can sub a non dairy option of your choice.

Creamy Spring Turnip Soup With Wilted Greens And Bacon

(Bacon is optional for my vegetarian friends)

Serves 4-6 depending on serving size

4 heaping cups turnips peeled and quartered (Use the small spring turnips if possible)

1 potato peeled and quartered (I used Yukon Gold and it’s Optional to use a potato)

2 cups leeks (cleaned well and sliced) or use a medium size onion or 2 shallots

4 1/2 cups broth (chicken, vegetable or water)

2 tbs butter

1/4 cup heavy cream

salt and pepper and a pinch of nutmeg (optional)

4-6 slices bacon

Turnip greens cleaned VERY well

In heavy sauce pan heat a little olive oil, add the leeks or onion or shalot and sweat, cook just until tender don’t brown. Add the turnips and potato, now add the liquid (broth or water). Cover and cook until the turnip and potato are tender. Let cool for about 30 minutes and blend either in your blender or use the immersion blender. Note: If using an immersion blender remove some of the liquid you don’t want the soup too thin, you can always add it back in. Add the butter and cream and season with salt and pepper and nutmeg.

Fry the bacon until crisp, remove from the fry pan and add the greens to the bacon fat, season with salt and peppper and saute until the greens are tender and wilted.

To Serve: Garnish the soup with the wilted greens and crumbled bacon.

suffragettes-in-white

When I asked Suzanne for an ingredient to use in a story for this collaborative post, right away she said turnips. Every time I hear that word I think of the “Cinnamon Bun” character from my serial, Murder at the Bijou, Three Ingredients-1 (which I mentioned at the beginning). That story is in the timeline right after The Three Things Serial Story.

Many of you are familiar with my flapper character, Pip. However, this time the story is told from the point of view of Pip’s grandmother, Phanny Irene Peabody. (Yes, Granny was also a Pip.) I thought that was appropriate since March is Women’s History Month. Granny lived during the height of the suffragette era, and she was a woman to speak her mind. It’s also something of a back-story for Cinnamon Bun. I hope you enjoy the story as much as Suzanne’s recipe! Although that’s a lot for me to live up to…

Granny Phanny and the Giant Rabbit

“The only true woman is a pious, submissive wife and mother, concerned exclusively with home and family!”

Even more irksome than the words themselves was the fact that they were uttered by a woman. I was glad that I had already left the building. Otherwise I might have lost my temper. What business did anyone with that opinion have at a women’s meeting in the first place?

suffragettes-marching

In 1920, Georgia was the first state to “reject” the Nineteenth Amendment, which assured women the right to vote. It was two years later before women actually got to vote in my home state. Long after that, we were still suffragettes, working for equal rights. We still wore suffragette white to our meetings.

That intolerable statement was immediately followed by the resounding crack of a slap across the speaker’s face. I cringed, knowing full well who had likely delivered the smack. I turned on my heel and hurried back inside. Veronica Vale was no meek little lamb. She was a force of nature when her righteous wrath was incurred. I tried to make my way through the pandemonium to my friend.

1920s woman scientist-microscope By the time I got to Veronica, I could hear police sirens. A quick look around told me several attendees had slipped quietly away, including the woman who spoke the words that started the trouble.

“It was all planned,” I muttered. “That bunch wanted to make trouble from the minute they asked to join.”

Not much later a handful of us — enough to make an example, but not so many as to cause the coppers much trouble — were hauled down to the police station. A group of men stood laughing and cat calling while we were hustled outside. My cheeks heated in a blush.

Detective Dabney Daniels of the Savannah Police got a tip that something was going to happen. By the time the paddy wagon reached the station, he was already diffusing the situation.

“Miss Phanny,” he began with a smirk and a shake of his head. “I wish I could say I was surprised to see you,” he told me before turning to Veronica Vale. “Mrs. Vale your husband is already here. You’ll be released into his custody.”

I knew that “custody” statement wouldn’t sit well with Veronica. She was a doctor and a scientist, not some man’s property. No matter how good the man. For years Veronica Vale had worked at a hospital in England called Clapham Common. It had an all-female staff. She retired and returned to Savannah. Then she met the widowed Vincent and partnered with him in his veterinary practice.

Before she could complain, I blurted out my puzzlement. “Dabney, how could you know…?”

“I’d like to claim powers as a mentalist, Miss Phanny. However, Dr. Vale had just arrived to pick up someone else,” the handsome detective explained as chaos erupted elsewhere in the station.

Detective Daniels quickly excused himself and walked toward the sounds of people shouting.

Veronica gave a downright evil chuckle. I looked a question at her and she laughed out loud at the expression on my face.

“Phanny Irene Peabody,” she said. “You are indeed a Pip. I suppose you’ve never noticed the way that young man looks at you. He probably doesn’t care a whit for the turnips you’re always giving him, or the meals he gets in return for fixing one thing and another at your cottage. Tsk-tsk. Phanny, that young copper is smitten with you.”

“Veronica, don’t be ridiculous. You couldn’t be more wrong. Dabney is just a goodhearted young man,” I told my friend most emphatically.

Another crashing sound and men shouting prevented her from talking more of that nonsense. How absurd. I was old enough to be that boy’s mother. We might enjoy one another’s company, but there was nothing more to it.

“Hi, Honey. Are you hurt?” Vincent Vale asked his wife as he skidded to a stop. As Veronica shook her head he turned to me. “Mrs. Peabody, are you well?” he greeted me politely. Christopher Timothy as Vincent Vale

Veronica assured her husband that neither of us had come to any harm. I noticed Vincent held some kind of harness. There was more shouting, and then the veterinarian pelted away toward the commotion.

A moment later we heard Vincent shout. “Got ‘em!”

However there was another crash. I heard dull thumping noises. The sound was quite rhythmic, and coming closer. Veronica and I exchanged puzzled looks.

I stuck my head around the corner and gasped loudly.

“I must be seeing things. Else I’m just plain zozzled,” I murmured.

Veronica craned her neck to see what had stunned me.

“Well horsefeathers! In all my born days…” she began. “A Flemish Giant.”

“Flemish? Bushwa!” I exclaimed. “You’re hallucinating too,” I mumbled. “Somebody spiked our tea a little too much at the women’s meeting. Or else I’m looking at a cinnamon colored rabbit that’s three feet tall, sitting on his haunches.”

I crouched down, befuddled. The big bunny hopped over to me and nuzzled my hand. I scratched between his impossibly long ears. I helped hold the big bun still as Vincent got the harness around him.

“This big ole boy decimated Godfrey Gilley’s garden. Dug up every turnip he had,” Vincent commented. “When the big bun headed toward his grocery store, Godfrey was so upset that he called the police saying there was a bear in his yard!” the veterinarian laughed. “Trouble is, I’m not sure what we can do with him. We’ve taken on so many animals lately,” Vincent admitted, but cast a pleading look at his wife, who gave a resigned sigh.

My face ended up against the giant rabbit’s soft hair as Vincent adjusted the harness. I found that I didn’t want to move. My fingers sank into the plush fur.

“I’ll take him,” I spoke up, and questioned my own sobriety again. “Oh good lord, but I need a hutch for him.” Vintage rabbit driving

I hadn’t noticed that Detective Dabney Daniels was standing beside us.

“Don’t worry, Miss Phanny. I can take care of a rabbit hutch in a jiffy,” Dabney said. “Even one big enough for this miscreant,” he added with a grin.

Veronica elbowed me sharply in the ribs. She gave me an I told you so look and winked.

“He’s sweet on you,” she whispered into my ear. “So what if he’s younger. He’s a damn fine figure of a man!”

“Absolutely no!” I told her so fiercely that everyone looked askance.

Fortunately I was spared from an explanation because of Veronica’s loud bark of laughter.

The Vales offered to drive me home. I got into the automobile with Vincent and Veronica, and of course the rabbit. Dabney bent down and promised to come by to start on the rabbit hutch that evening. Veronica wriggled her eyebrows at me. I gave her a withering look, then turned and smiled at the detective as I thanked him.

“What was all that about?” Vincent wanted to know as we drove away.

Veronica had no inhibitions about sharing her embarrassing speculations to her husband, despite my denial.

“It simply will not do!” I told her, my patience close to its end.

“She means that dear,” Vincent said. “You might want to leave it alone before your sense of fun hurts your friendship.”

“You’re right,” she agreed with a sigh. “I’m sorry Phanny. I just want to see you happy.”

“I am perfectly happy as I am. Besides, I told you that my granddaughter, Pip, is coming to live with me. I’ll have my hands full, teaching her to cook,” I reminded my friends. “I can’t wait for you to meet her.”

The End

***

Thank you all for visiting. If you’ve already been to this post at A Pug in the Kitchen then double-thanks. Happy St. Patrick’s weekend. I’m still wearing my green!

St Patricks Day Vintage

All images are either the property of the author or from Pinterest unless stated otherwise.

Copper, the Alchemist, & the Woman in Trousers: Episode 17

Mardi Gras Locomotive. Happy we’re back on track & ready to dance (Click here)

Back on Track

Last time I hit a bump in the road (or rather the railroad tracks). However, the Victorian locomotive is back on schedule and running at full steam.

John W. Howell gave us the very first set of “things” to guide the plot of this pantser serial. Happily later he sent a second set of three, which I’ve held in reserve.

You’ve heard about John’s great book, My GRL, and the first chapter is available for preview at his blog. But what you might not know about is a really cool radio interview he did.

Except for two second sets of “things,” the serial’s cupboards were bare. There was nothing to drive the train… (A second set of three things was also sent by real estate professional and cooking blogger Suzanne DeBrango. Those will inspire the plot and setting for Episode-18.)

Alastair Wong the elder was a very minor character in both Three Ingredients serials. The set of “P” words John provided drove this plot to a connection with a different character from Three Ingredients 2, a Ghost in the Kitchen. Those of you who were around for that story will be pleased to see this connection.

When I started “decorating” it seemed to me that the Victorians had a particular liking for mushrooms. If you think you see a theme in this episode, you are not mistaken.

The steam engine has reached the station. All aboard!

From last time…

Cornelis held out his harmonic tuner. A faint current of green streamed from the tuner all the way down the hill to the washing machine. The machine wobbled, gurgled, and creaked. The wringer started to turn again, the magic pulling the tablecloth on through as we watched.

Alchemically inscribed phosphorescent lettering appeared on the tablecloth. The Dutchman shined the light on the cloth as it finished rolling from the mangle.

It was in large glowing green script. I read the word aloud,

“Daddy.”

17. Pistachio, Penne Pasta, Porcini

My first thought wasn’t exactly a thought. All cogitation was clogged in a bottleneck of befuddled ideas. The first thought that got through the blockage was relief that Copper was up at the pavilion. It would be awful if the supernaturally printed word, Daddy, got her hopes up for no good reason.

I wasn’t feeling too optimistic myself, and to be honest, I was losing my sense of trust. And that single, magically written word brought out all my suppressed concerns. As if it wasn’t bad enough that I experienced occasional twinges of distrust for Ignatius Belle (who turned out to be Copper’s half-brother), it also bothered me that I had begun having doubts about Copper’s father, Calvin Hixon.

Granted, if Hixon was abducted, he probably had no chance to leave a warning or reason. But what if he left of his own accord? The notion was so awful — had he willingly left his daughter with no explanation, and worse left the child on her own?

Other than his unfortunate money situation, Calvin Hixon appeared to be utterly brilliant. Could the circumstances be more complicated than an abduction? Did Hixon stand to somehow see a financial gain from the situation? Could he be involved in his own disappearance? Oh surely not, I told myself. I’m over-analyzing things.

Most often the simplest answers are the correct ones. But was running away as simple as being abducted…? Had Calvin Hixon suddenly run away from his adversaries, perhaps thinking he would lead them away from his daughter, thereby keeping her safe? I’m still over-analyzing, I admonished myself.

“Felicity,” I heard my name and realized that Cornelis had called it more than once while I pondered the unpleasant thoughts about Calvin Hixon.

“Do step back,” the alchemist told me. “Something unexpected might happen,” he said as he reached into that supernatural void through which he sometimes fetched things.

“Unexpected?” I said sardonically, knowing how often Cornelis’ tricks tended to go awry.

To my surprise he produced the long map we had been looking at on the terrace. The area on which he had used the harmonic tuner still gave off a greenish glow. However, the phosphorescent script “Daddy” on the table cloth had begun to dim. Cornelis noticed that with a frown. Hurriedly he placed the map atop the cloth.

He held up the harmonic tuner and gave it one sharp clear ring. The tiny ping of a sound reverberated and grew. I felt the vibration at the base of my spine. I could feel the sound spreading outward all around us. In the distance the big gong in front of the pavilion gave a mighty boom, the volume of which was magically transported into our midst. I put my hands over my ears, involuntarily squeezing my eyes shut.

Cautiously, I opened one eye. The map was copied onto the tablecloth. At first the drawings of topography overlaid the word “Daddy,” but then the script blazed through the map. The word shone with eye-searing chartreuse light, before stabilizing and diming to a flat pistachio green.

***

Kinkaku-ji Temple Sunset

I don’t know if it was a meteorological effect or if it was residual magic from the previous night, but when I got up the next morning, the sky above Alastair Wong’s home blazed with yellow clouds at sunrise. No wonder they called it the Golden Pavillion, I thought.

Cornelis said he wanted to get an early start, but judging by the activity of the household staff, I suspected they were always up at that hour. As I admired the sunrise, the alchemist drove up in the little steam engine.

It didn’t seem like there could be enough room, but Cornelis, Copper, Alastair, and I all managed to get on the road locomotive. To my surprise, Victoria, who was so taken with Copper, insisted on coming along. I wouldn’t have thought one more person, not even a tiny woman like Victoria, could fit on the locomotive… and she carried a large picnic basket too. Yet somehow the tiny woman and the big basket managed to fit. When I saw the hint of a green aura surrounding the alchemist I understood how the group of us managed to get onboard. One of his tricks had made room for everyone.

We would part company with Alastair and Victoria when we reached the Pacific. Wong would take the road locomotive back to his pavilion estate for safekeeping, while Copper, the alchemist, and I continued our journey.

I looked a question at the basket Victoria carried. The night before, all the noise and vibrations from the harmonic tuners had given me a headache — and I still had it. So I was probably frowning fiercely. Victoria looked a bit uneasy.

“It will be past time for a meal before we reach the ocean. Copper is a growing girl and must eat,” the tiny woman said with a sharp nod that would have settled any row. I tried to reign in my smile, because I truly did take her seriously.

“Besides,” she turned and spoke to Cornelis in a flirtatious tone that took me completely by surprise. “You will love what I’ve done with the porcini mushrooms you mentioned earlier,” she added, and the Dutchman’s eyebrows shot up toward his hairline.

“Ah yes,” the Dutchman sighed. “Porcini are God’s great gift to humanity, a mushroom delicate enough to flavor a sauce, yet vigorous enough to stand up to a grilled steak.”

Really…, I thought. Should he encourage the tiny woman by flirting? And Could Victoria actually be attracted to Cornelis? The idea seemed not merely imaginative and impractical, but just plain impossible. I scratched my earlobe as the idea took root. Then I had the wicked thought that I’d like to see an argument between Victoria and Cornelis. The Dutchman would surely get his comeuppance.

“What are you smirking about?” Cornelis asked quietly.

“Oh? Did it seem so? It was just a bit of indigestion,” I said with no attempt to hide my expression.

Victoria held tightly to Copper’s hand as the steam engine barreled toward the ocean. The tiny woman’s eyes were huge with astonishment for the speed at which we traveled. However, it was clear that she possessed a fierce determination. She would not have gone back if the chance was offered.

***

The sun was directly overhead when Cornelis slowed the road locomotive. We were on high ground overlooking a blue river. Below I could see a collection of log cabins of some sort.

“Look, it’s a fort!” Copper exclaimed.

“Have we really journeyed so far so fast?” Alastair Wong said in a tone of amazement.

“What do you mean?” I queried.

“That is Fort Clatsop,” Alastair explained though I looked at him blankly. “It was built by the explorers, Lewis and Clark and their expedition. They spent a difficult winter there before getting back on their way.”

“And they were hungry, you may be sure,” Victoria interjected, causing Alastair to chuckle as she pulled out the large picnic basket. “That is a fate we shall not share with the explorers,” she said to our oohs and aahs as she opened the basket.

The woman surely could not have a single drop of Italian blood in her veins, but she laid out a feast worthy of any great Italian chef.

“Dear Victoria!” Cornelis exclaimed and bowed. “This is a feast worthy of the 15^th-century legend, Maestro Martino de Rubeis!”

“Who?” I couldn’t help asking, even though I knew my question would meet with derision from the alchemist.

Cornelis put on a mournful face and shook his head, muttering about my lacking education. So naturally I had to tweak his nose, so to speak. “Oh, did you know him then?” I made my question a playful taunt.

The Dutchman narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips. “The 15^th-century, the fourteen hundreds I remind you — that was quite before my time, as you well know. I wasn’t even born until the year 1572,” he said and continued without missing a beat. “Maestro Martino was a culinary expert unequalled in his field at the time. He was quite the celebrity. He was the chef at the Roman palazzo of the papal chamberlain, the Patriarch of Aquileia. The Maestro Martino was called the prince of cooks,” Cornelis lectured.

Then he wriggled his bushy blonde eyebrows. “So of course I did not know the Maestro in the fourteen hundreds,” he said and paused briefly. “I did, however, meet him during his cursed afterlife.”

Though I knew I should not encourage Cornelis, I took his bait yet again. “Cursed? How so?” I asked.

“The poor soul pissed off the Pope. Enough said. Please pass the porcinis,” the alchemist said.

That naturally prompted animated questions from everyone. Cornelis loved to have an audience and he told the tale of the cursed chef and his acquaintance with him most vividly while we enjoyed Victoria’s Italian feast.

Menu

Antipasti

Warm Mediterranean Olives with rosemary and lemon zest

Insalata de Compo: Mesclun salad with cherry tomatoes

Primi

Penne Alla Vodka: Penne pasta with tomato, cream, and vodka sauce

Risotto Ai Porcini: Risotto with pecorino cheese, porcini mushroom and fresh basil

Secondi

Salmone in Padella: Pan-seared salmon filet

Menu credit: Scottadito.com

Needless to say, we were all quite pleasantly stuffed. Alastair lit a beautifully carved pipe. I faintly heard Victoria humming what I suspected was a nursery song from her home, as Copper rested her head in Victoria’s lap. I was feeling rather sleepy in the sunshine myself. Cornelis looked infinitely far away in thought as he toyed with a last spoonful of penne pasta in his plate.

“What’s on your mind, Dutchman?” I intruded on his thoughts.

“The next leg of our journey,” he replied, still examining the pasta. “I need to summon our transportation.”

He picked up a piece of penne and held it up to his eye, looking at Copper through the pasta cylinder. Copper giggled. I told the Dutchman that he was a bad influence.

“Copper, could I see your mystic monkeys bell?” he asked the girl.

“Why not use the harmonic tuner that is more familiar to you?” Alastair asked quietly in a voice edged with concern.

I was in agreement with Alastair Wong in his newfound concern about Cornelis and his tricks.

“You are right,” Cornelis told him. “Ordinarily, in the working of magic it is best use implements to which one has become attuned. However, in this case the harmonic tuner that Copper has always thought of as her mystic monkeys bell was a gift from Daddy. And that is whom we hope to find. So the more elements relating to him, the better.”

Copper reverently handed Cornelis the second harmonic tuner. A detailed carving of the fabled three mystic apes — see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil surrounded the bell. He looked down at the scraps of pasta in his plate and arranged three pieces of penne end-to-end. Then the alchemist held the harmonic tuner over them and flicked the bell with his fingernail. It gave off a sharp ping sound.

The pasta glowed greenly. The aura intensified until I had to shield my eyes. When the supernatural light abated, a jade flute lay where the penne had once been.

The alchemist picked up the flute and played a trilling series of notes. Then he abruptly stood. “Shall we?” he asked, and we gingerly made our way down the steep hill to the water’s edge.

Once there he piped the same notes again. Cornelis looked at the water unconcernedly. I looked at him impatiently.

“I don’t see anything. What’s supposed to be happening?” I wanted to know, but the infuriating man ignored me. “Should you do it again?” I asked motioning to the jade flute.

The Dutchman’s mouth twitched to one side in a dissatisfied way. “Perhaps I should…” he speculated.

As Cornelis raised the flute to his lips the water started to bubble and gently swirl. He lowered the flute without playing another note. He wriggled his bushy eyebrows and grinned.

“You’re going to love this,” he told Alastair.

Wong looked somewhat apprehensive. After all, he certainly had reason to be concerned, after the wayward alchemy caused his washing machine to break down the storage building door, and do assorted other damage at his hot spring. But he quickly caught the contagious gleam of excitement in the Dutchman’s eyes.

The movement of the water became intense. Something was rising to the surface. Involuntarily I took a step backward. Victoria took Copper’s hand and pulled her several feet away from the shore.

For a moment I thought a whale was breaching. Then I realized it was no living thing. Wong beheld the sight with gaping mouth, but I had the impression that he at least thought he knew what was coming to the surface. Expressions of worry and wonder were at war on his face.

When the entire large shape was in full view, I still didn’t know what it could be. “Cornelis…” I began, but found I was at a loss for words. “Wha—”

Cornelis Drebbel clasped his hands and a gleeful expression lit his face, as if he beheld something he had long missed.

“It’s my submarine!” he crowed.

***

Don’t get off the steam engine yet — here’s the recipe for this episode. It’s something for all the carnivores out there! Bon appétit!

Recipe: Porcini-Crusted Beef Tenderloin with Truffle Butter Sauce

Photo and Recipe Credit: Epicurious.com

***

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UPDATE: New Interactive Serial – What do YOU want?

Hello everyone,

As of Monday evening, most people want to start an all new serial from scratch. If that’s not the option you’d choose, then be sure to cast your vote!

The poll will stay open until Friday, January 16th.

No need to re-comment on this update unless…

Whatever form the new serial takes, I’m going to bring back the culinary aspect of the story. However, the “random things” do more to drive the plot. So, this time I will ask you for a combination of Random Things and Food-related Things. You are also welcome to send Recipes to share as part of an episode.

So if you want to see the first episode of the new serial (whatever it may be) next weekend, then leave a comment with three things/ingredients.

Sincerely,

Teagan

This is your chance. You can put the next serial story on a completely new road. Or you can keep it as it is. Or it can be a little of both!

Last weekend I gave you the conclusion of the re-wind of Three Things. So now it’s time for a new, original, reader-propelled serial. Once again I’ll put you in the driver’s seat.

My main purpose in giving you a serial episode each week is to engage you, the reader. I do that by making the serial “interactive” — getting readers to send three random things or ingredients (food related things). As I write each episode I let those things inspire and guide what happens in the story.

Doing that in the first serial is what resulted in the 1920’s setting. It’s even what brought you the cast of characters.

Now that we are ready to begin a new story-line, I want to bring you into the process right away — before a single word is written. That’s what I’ve always done.

In the second and third stories, most people wanted to keep the same characters. But it is time that I asked for your feedback again. So I’m giving the WordPress handy-dandy poll thingamajig a try. (I’m crossing my fingers that I did it right!)

This poll should let you leave comments as well, or elaborate on the option you chose. I look forward to your feedback.

You’re behind the wheel! So — Please vote.

This poll will only be open through Friday, January 16, 2015.

If you have other thoughts that the poll doesn’t cover, then just leave a comment.

I’m looking forward to hearing from you.

Mega-hugs!

Three Ingredients: The Mess in the “Kitchen”

Margaret Mitchell

Forgive me everyone. I tried to send Pip with a message postponing the next episode of The Three Ingredients, but she pouted and wouldn’t even look at me.

Yesterday I celebrated a small personal “positive” hoping it would get me back on track, but here I sit, making excuses despite that.

I haven’t been able to buy a home in this capitol of overpriced housing. So for the past few weeks, I’ve been repeatedly invaded by bargain basement contractors whom I have no choice in choosing. (You should have seen the guy I had to allow into my home Thursday — chewing gum and winking every few sentences. But that was an improvement on the one with the creepy serial killer voice. Imagine talking to him on the phone, expecting him to say something like “Well, Clarice – have the lambs stopped screaming?“)

I’m sure he’s a perfectly nice man — but seriously would you want to meet him alone inside your house?

Anyway, there are two separate things going on with my home, one of which is truly major, both of which were preventable (but I didn’t have any say in that either). The other one involves an appliance delivery — something that I offered to pay half the cost of a new one when I moved in five years ago, but my offer wasn’t considered. In stead I’ve paid a lot more on my electric bill until the dinosaur finally succumbed to the proverbial tar pit.

But there’s no need to put you through the agony of that soap opera. Suffice to say that it has not concluded either. However, the guys for this secondary drama showed up with no appointment (again) yesterday — Saturday, when I was trying to write this weekend’s episode. Now I have a new appliance that can’t be installed, and nothing to use meanwhile. You really don’t want to know more than that…

I think Granny Fanny went chasing the delivery truck with her broom to swat the men for tracking mud through her house and knocking down a shelf in the kitchen. Pip must still be upset from last week, because she just won’t talk to me. Andy wanted to tell his side of the story, but now I’ve no idea where he is.

If the merman would come back, I’d dive into the ocean with him. Or hop onto ghost-rider Breaking Bad Caleb’s fire-snorting horse and ride away into the sunset.

Of course this is all on top of the work issues I’ve hinted at now and then. Suffice to say that I’m ready to go back to my old joke. (Now what is she talking about? you ask.) I used to joke that I would buy a used RV and move to the desert (rent free), and put the cats on a leash and send them out to catch lizards for our dinner. But then someone told me about a TV show called “Breaking Bad.” Well, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was in that line of business! But without the illegal stuff, I’m back to the RV in the desert idea.

It is my sincere hope that you’ll come back next weekend. I promise, that neither serial-killer-voiced repairmen, uninvited delivery men, nor an RV in the desert will prevent me from having the next episode ready by then!

Sheiks and Sheba’s — I wish all of you a beautiful weekend and sunshine super hugs!

Three Ingredients: Granny Is Angry, What Would You Do?

Granny Fanny was so angry, frustrated, and worried about Pip that she couldn’t take any more. Granny says she’s sending our flapper home to her father!

You know… I just realized that last weekend I forgot to add a “ghostly ingredient” from the Jar of Spooky Things. But that’s beside the point. I had an idea that it would be fun for everyone to take their turn at imagining part of the story.

I thought it would be fun to play with the “interactive” aspect of this serial and invite all of you to leave a comment with a short scenario (a few sentences) about how they think this latest twist might play out — or anything else that tickles your fancy.

So come on out and play! What do you think might happen? Let your imagination run wild. We’ll have fun reading everyone’s thoughts.

It doesn’t have to be about Granny Fanny sending Pip home. You could imagine any of your favorite characters.

What if Maestro met a lovely lady ghost?

What would the merman do if he came back?

What if Hank Hertz picks up a ghostly radio transmission?

What if Granny’s pristine Model-T got possessed?

You get the idea — right? Let your imagination off its leash. I expect there has been at least one time when you wished things went differently. Here’s your chance!

Remember, it’s only fun if you leave a comment. Get behind the wheel and play along with our interactive culinary mystery.

I can’t wait to read your scenarios!

Hugs all around,

Teagan's Books

Now available: "Three Things Serial, a Little 1920s Story"

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