Fed Up - By Jessica Conant-Park & Susan Conant Page 0,46
was struck by the realization that she quite strongly resembled a hedgehog: a cute, delicate little body that you just wanted to pick up in your hand and cuddle. Except that I knew what a nasty bitch she could be while directing a shoot.
Despite the unusual and, I thought, unfriendly decor, Alloy was about three-quarters full of diners. I suspected that the would-be patrons who’d have made up the fourth quarter had been unable to locate the door.
“How are you, Chloe?” I barely recognized Nelson without his camera pointed in my face. His plaid golfer’s cap, which concealed his bald spot, seemed to violate Alloy’s unofficial dress code, which evidently called for trendy formality. And the hat made it unattractively obvious that Nelson’s ears were three sizes too big for his head. I was glad that I’d raided my cache of Ade’s fall outfits.“You doin’ okay after what happened with Francie?”
“I’m all right, I guess. Still in a state of shock, I think, but I’m okay.” I really did not want to rehash the details of that fatal day. Besides, to ferret out anything incriminating about Robin or Nelson, I’d need to use subtle methods; I couldn’t just blurt out the questions I actually wanted to ask, such as whether either one of them had murdered Francie. Thankfully, we were interrupted.
A waitress approached our table to deliver menus. She held up a pitcher of ice water. “Would you like me to refill your drinking vessels?”
Our drinking vessels? You had to be kidding me. But the pretentious phrase was oddly appropriate: the cylindrical metal tubes that sat on our table certainly were not glasses. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” I said while sucking in my cheeks to hide my smile.
The waitress poured water for Nelson and Robin while she robotically recited the specials. “Alloy uses herbs that the chef grows in her own garden. All of our dishes are complemented by fresh herbs. Tonight we have a cucumber soup made with organic cucumbers, crème fraîche, and homegrown dill, and garnished with a spiral of lemon zest.” She looked down and flicked a piece of lint off her apron. “Then there’s a farm-raised chicken leg encrusted with fresh herbs and roasted with a mélange of organic mushrooms and topped with a truffle foam.”
Are the herbs fresh? I wanted to ask. Could you tell us one more time? I also refrained from asking whether it was only the leg of the chicken that had been raised on a farm, whereas the rest of the bird had grown up elsewhere. And no way was I going to eat foam. I’d seen enough Top Chef episodes to know that gastronomic foam meant a substance that looked like spit. The waitress left the table without so much as a nod.
Robin raised her glass. Whoops! Pardon me. Robin lifted her drinking vessel. “Cheers to the wedding!” She took a sip and opened the menu. “Let’s take a look at what else Marlee has for us.” Addressing me, she advised, “Sometimes it’s best to order off the menu.”
The menu had such long, grandiloquent descriptions that it was all I could do to decipher what was actually being offered. Also, I had the sense that I was reading a culinary version of the “The Twelve Days of Christmas”: nearly every dish included numbers: Six Clams Simmered in White Wine and Five-Herb Garlic Butter, Two Slices of Pork Loin Seared and Served with a Three-Potato Gallette, and A Tower of Four Shrimp with Seven Seasonal Vegetables.
“Fiiiive golden rings!” I sang in my head.
Because I wasn’t sure whether Robin was paying for dinner, the high prices had me scanning the menu for the cheapest items. Furthermore, the reports on the Mayor’s Food Court had left me leery. Under no circumstances did I ever go out of my way to order a dish garnished with food-borne illness—Salmon with Salmonella, let’s say, or Sole on a Bed of E. coli Spinach—but now, a few days before Adrianna’s shower, I especially wanted avoid the risk. I decided on the cucumber soup and roasted cod. As I decoded the description of the fish, the dish had something to do with pureed chickpeas and, needless to say, a mountain of fresh herbs.
“So I gather that fresh herbs are the theme of this restaurant, huh?” I asked the table.
“Absolutely,” Robin answered.
“I wonder how Marlee finds time to garden? Considering that she must work here all the time.”
“Oh, she’s an avid gardener. And the herbs are very important