too invested in their relationship now.
Landon gasps, her typical response to any given situation. “Are you actually interested in how things are going with us?” she asks excitedly.
“Actually, I—”
An older businessman sits down a few chairs away from us, and I have to take care of his request for wine before I can finish my sentence. When I come back to Landon, I pick up where I left off.
“Actually, I can think of several things I’d rather do than hear about you and my brother,” I tell her. “Off the top of my head, I’d say, oh, watching an obscure Polish film without the use of subtitles, or getting a bikini wax from a one-armed clown, or—”
Landon screeches with laughter. “A one-armed clown?”
The businessman scowls at us over his glass of cabernet.
“Well,” I tell her, “I was trying to think of the worst thing I could. Bikini waxes and sad-faced clowns are at the top of my list.”
“Just below hearing about Brody and me?”
“Exactly,” I say, but now I’ve opened some kind of door, and it’s only polite to ask, “But if you must, how are things with him?”
Landon smiles and takes another drink. “Oh, he’s fine. Granted, it’s harder to apply the wax now with only the one arm, but—”
I laugh loud enough to startle the businessman again. He picks up his glass and moves to a seat outside of my section. I grin over at Landon.
“You’re becoming quite the smart-ass, Landon Brinkley,” I tell her happily.
She shoots me a cheeky grin. “Yes, well, I’m learning from the best, aren’t I?”
“Pay attention or I’ll let you scorch the caramel at least twenty times before I show you how to make it properly,” Joey tells me the next day.
It’s not like I’d ever ignore her on purpose, but Avis is across the room making a profiterole tower with a spun-sugar overlay. Watching her stretch out the hot sugar strands like spun gold is kind of mesmerizing, and since I’ve never seen anyone do it before, I keep getting distracted. Joey’s threat works perfectly, though, because (a) I don’t doubt that she’d let me burn twenty cups of sugar if she thought it might teach me a lesson, and (b) I’ve never made caramel before and I am dying to learn how to do it properly. Joey reaches for a small saucepot, but I grab it before she has to struggle on tiptoes with a belly that is constantly getting in her way.
She pulls out sugar and water and then surprises me by getting a lemon.
“What’s the citrus for?” I ask curiously.
“It keeps the caramel from seizing up,” she says while cutting the fruit in half with a paring knife.
She puts water, sugar, and a squeeze of lemon into the saucepot and brings the heat up high. I reach for a whisk so she won’t have to make the grab, but she shakes her head.
“You don’t want to whisk caramel in the beginning.” She reaches for the handle of the pot and swirls it over the flame. “Just move it around gently over the heat.”
As we watch the pot, the water and sugar begin to boil, creating what looks like white foam.
“Isn’t there a way to make caramel without water?” I ask without removing my eyes from the boiling pot.
“There is, and it’s much faster, but it’s also easier to scorch that way. Since we make this in larger batches, it’s best to take the extra time rather than risk the quality.”
As she speaks she slides the handle in my direction, and I take over the swirling motion. We both watch the mixture boil with rapt attention.
“See there.” She points to the edge of the pot, where the sugar is just starting to turn brown.
As the amber color slowly permeates the bottom of the pot, she uses a spoon to pull out the tiniest bit. She drops a dollop of the light-brown liquid onto a plate, then gestures for me to try it.
I gingerly stick a fingertip in and bring it to my mouth. The flavor is sweet, with just the barest hint of the deep caramel flavor I’m used to.
“This is a medium caramel.
Landon gasps, her typical response to any given situation. “Are you actually interested in how things are going with us?” she asks excitedly.
“Actually, I—”
An older businessman sits down a few chairs away from us, and I have to take care of his request for wine before I can finish my sentence. When I come back to Landon, I pick up where I left off.
“Actually, I can think of several things I’d rather do than hear about you and my brother,” I tell her. “Off the top of my head, I’d say, oh, watching an obscure Polish film without the use of subtitles, or getting a bikini wax from a one-armed clown, or—”
Landon screeches with laughter. “A one-armed clown?”
The businessman scowls at us over his glass of cabernet.
“Well,” I tell her, “I was trying to think of the worst thing I could. Bikini waxes and sad-faced clowns are at the top of my list.”
“Just below hearing about Brody and me?”
“Exactly,” I say, but now I’ve opened some kind of door, and it’s only polite to ask, “But if you must, how are things with him?”
Landon smiles and takes another drink. “Oh, he’s fine. Granted, it’s harder to apply the wax now with only the one arm, but—”
I laugh loud enough to startle the businessman again. He picks up his glass and moves to a seat outside of my section. I grin over at Landon.
“You’re becoming quite the smart-ass, Landon Brinkley,” I tell her happily.
She shoots me a cheeky grin. “Yes, well, I’m learning from the best, aren’t I?”
“Pay attention or I’ll let you scorch the caramel at least twenty times before I show you how to make it properly,” Joey tells me the next day.
It’s not like I’d ever ignore her on purpose, but Avis is across the room making a profiterole tower with a spun-sugar overlay. Watching her stretch out the hot sugar strands like spun gold is kind of mesmerizing, and since I’ve never seen anyone do it before, I keep getting distracted. Joey’s threat works perfectly, though, because (a) I don’t doubt that she’d let me burn twenty cups of sugar if she thought it might teach me a lesson, and (b) I’ve never made caramel before and I am dying to learn how to do it properly. Joey reaches for a small saucepot, but I grab it before she has to struggle on tiptoes with a belly that is constantly getting in her way.
She pulls out sugar and water and then surprises me by getting a lemon.
“What’s the citrus for?” I ask curiously.
“It keeps the caramel from seizing up,” she says while cutting the fruit in half with a paring knife.
She puts water, sugar, and a squeeze of lemon into the saucepot and brings the heat up high. I reach for a whisk so she won’t have to make the grab, but she shakes her head.
“You don’t want to whisk caramel in the beginning.” She reaches for the handle of the pot and swirls it over the flame. “Just move it around gently over the heat.”
As we watch the pot, the water and sugar begin to boil, creating what looks like white foam.
“Isn’t there a way to make caramel without water?” I ask without removing my eyes from the boiling pot.
“There is, and it’s much faster, but it’s also easier to scorch that way. Since we make this in larger batches, it’s best to take the extra time rather than risk the quality.”
As she speaks she slides the handle in my direction, and I take over the swirling motion. We both watch the mixture boil with rapt attention.
“See there.” She points to the edge of the pot, where the sugar is just starting to turn brown.
As the amber color slowly permeates the bottom of the pot, she uses a spoon to pull out the tiniest bit. She drops a dollop of the light-brown liquid onto a plate, then gestures for me to try it.
I gingerly stick a fingertip in and bring it to my mouth. The flavor is sweet, with just the barest hint of the deep caramel flavor I’m used to.
“This is a medium caramel.
Similar Books
