which family dishes, which of my family’s legacies, I want?
Maybe families are like menus. There’s Dad’s work ethic. His creativity. Mom’s love of life. Love of love. Jeremy’s devotion to his family. To Mom. Allison? She’s a side dish, but a savory one. She believes in marriage and motherhood. Even Sid is on the menu. He has restored my faith in romanticism. He has made me appreciate the art of woo.
Joe or Aaron? It’s no wonder I can’t decide on a dessert. My entrée needs more cooking. Maybe I need to blend and balance my own flavors before I add someone else’s.
Of course, this could all be a bunch of bunk.
Family Business, Part Four
“I thought we were doing something fun,” Sarah says as we park Sally in front of Café Louis.
“We are doing something fun,” I say.
Sarah looks at me doubtfully. “Mom said this place is getting torn down.”
“It is. Soon. But not today. Today, it’s our restaurant. Yours and mine.”
Sarah peers at Café Louis. “It looks old and dirty.”
“Maybe,” I say. “But inside, she’s magic.”
Sarah follows me to the concrete steps leading to the restaurant. “Remember earlier this summer, when you said that the restaurant is more important than you?”
Sarah nods.
“I don’t want you to feel that way. This restaurant is part of our family, Sarah. I want you to see Café Louis the way I saw her when I was your age. We’ll have to use a little imagination, but I think we have plenty of that. What do you say?”
“Okay,” Sarah says.
SHRED is holding an auction tomorrow to sell as much of Café Louis as possible. The restaurant was scrubbed clean yesterday. This morning, the sun sparkles through the windows as Sarah and I walk into the dining room. “What do you smell?” I ask Sarah.
Sarah sticks her nose in the air. “Sunshine.”
“Oh, look,” I say. “Here’s our first customer.”
Sarah looks at the door. “No one is there.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Raspberry. How nice to see you.” I walk through the room holding two menus. “Your waitress Sarah will be with you in a moment.”
Sarah smiles. I lead her to the waiters’ station and tie a short, black apron around her waist. Handing her an ordering pad, I say, “Ask Mr. and Mrs. Raspberry what they would like to eat for lunch. Write it down on the pad. Oh, and look. The Watermelon sisters just walked in the door. You’ll have to wait on them next. I’ll put the menus down, then you take their order. Okay?”
“Okay.” Sarah goes to the Raspberry booth. “What would you like to eat?”
She looks back at me. I nod her onward.
“Now we have to cook,” I tell Sarah and lead her into the kitchen. I remove her black apron and tie a white one around her. “Do you cook with your mother?”
Sarah shakes her head. “I watch her cook sometimes. But Mom says to stay away from the stove. And the knives.”
“She’s right,” I say. “I’ll be the chef. You be the sous chef.”
“Okay,” she says, although I’m sure she has no idea what a sous chef is.
“What’s the first order?” I ask. “What do the Raspberrys want to eat?”
“Hot dogs and spaghetti.”
“What do the Watermelon sisters want to eat?” I ask.
“Chicken fingers and coleslaw.”
I open the refrigerator. “We don’t have that. But I have an idea. Why don’t we make one big dish and give a little bit to everyone?”
Sarah says, “The customers might not like that.”
“Sure they will. You know why? We’re going to make something very special. Louis family chicken soup.” From the refrigerator, I pull ingredients I placed there last night. Chicken stock, which I cooked myself because I thought the carcass might be too much for Sarah. I saw one when I was her age and it turned me vegetarian. For a month.
“Celery, carrots, parsnip, and look at all these herbs.” I put the ingredients on the metal worktable. I give Sarah a bunch of parsley. “What does it smell like?”
“Spring,” she says.
As I chop and dice, Sarah smells all the herbs and vegetables. I tell her their names in Spanish, English, and French. “Now comes the most important job,” I tell Sarah. “Stirring. Can you handle that?”
Sarah nods eagerly. I pull a metal stool next to the stove and lift Sarah onto it. She holds a large wooden spoon and stirs as I add ingredients to the boiling water. Quietly, Sarah sits and concentrates on her stirring. “Cooking is fun, Aunt Mimi.”
“Yes, Sarah. Cooking is fun.”
Family