Miss Julia Stirs Up Trouble: A Novel (13 page)

“Well, Mildred,” I finally managed to say, “I hope it works out, not only for Hazel Marie’s sake but for yours. But how in the world does he expect to make a soup kitchen into a paying proposition? It sounds like a money pit to me.”

“Oh, he’s thought it through. Besides, he’s had experience with similar projects and knows just what to do. All he needs is the capital to keep it going for about a year, then he has every expectation that either the city or the county will take it over. And he’ll be applying for a government grant, too. When he gets that, the place will practically run itself.”

I just closed my eyes, wondering how I could’ve ever thought that Mildred Allen had her head on straight. This was going to turn into another bright idea foisted onto Abbot County taxpayers.

I had one last piece of advice for Mildred, then I was going to leave it alone. “Just be sure that you watch him like a hawk, and don’t be surprised if he has trouble getting volunteers and you have trouble getting donors.”

“Well, I was going to ask you . . .”

“Don’t,” I said before she could finish. “My donations for the year are already pledged.” Then, biting my lip, I reconsidered. If a soup kitchen would keep Brother Vern occupied and out of Hazel Marie’s hair, then perhaps I should help it along a little. “However, when the ministry’s up and running, I might be able to make a contribution. I want to see how it goes first.”

“Good,” Mildred said, sounding pleased with herself. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“It’ll depend on one condition,” I said, thinking fast. “He has to rent a place with room for him to move into. And that’s something you should require, too, Mildred. He needs to be on the premises at all times, not free to run hither and yon to keep bothering Hazel Marie. I want him out of that house.”

I knew it would take time for Brother Vern to implement his plan, which meant that we’d have to keep putting up with him for a while. Yet the prospect of his soon being out of the house was like a light at the end of a tunnel for me. And I was sure it would be for Hazel Marie as well, although she’d be unlikely to admit it.

With a load of worry about to be lifted, I sighed and moved on to more recipes and lesson schedules. Reminding myself that anything worth doing is worth doing well, I put on a coat, took up the folder with my calendar, and told Lillian I’d be back soon.

“It gettin’ close to suppertime,” she said. “When you be back?”

“I won’t be long. I have to go to Binkie’s now or I’ll never catch her. She doesn’t get home till suppertime.”

Driving to the townhouse where Binkie and Deputy—now Sergeant—Coleman Bates lived, I wondered what kind of recipes Binkie would offer. She’d been married some few years by now, but her active law practice had prevented her from developing many culinary skills. And not just culinary ones, but the whole gamut of domestic skills as well. I figured that Binkie’s offering wouldn’t be much beyond
Remove wrapping and place in microwave.
But I wanted at least one recipe from her and Coleman and, if it was simple enough for Binkie to prepare, I knew Hazel Marie would have no problem with it.

Binkie was so busy, what with her law practice and all, that I always hesitated to take up any of her time when she was home. The baby, little Gracie, had begun to walk now or, rather, toddle around, and it worried me to death that her parents were so busy.

I just have to say it: I wished Binkie would stay home and raise that child herself. On the other hand, if she did, I’d have to find another lawyer to look after my interests, and Lloyd’s, too, so I couldn’t wish it too hard. And, of course, Binkie had excellent help in Mrs. Collins, who not only took care of Gracie, but also prepared dinner for Binkie and Coleman several evenings a week. And I must say that those two were hands-on parents when they were home. The weekends were totally devoted to Gracie, and usually were filled with one activity or another for the three of them. They were forever hiking the mountain trails, camping out, or taking trips to that big aquarium in Atlanta or to the science museum in Charlotte, where Gracie could touch some static-electricity thing that made her hair stand on end.

Anyway, when I arrived at Binkie’s townhouse and told her what I was doing and what I wanted from her, she threw back her head and laughed.

“Oh, Miss Julia, you know I’m not a cook. Coleman and Gracie would starve if it was left to me. You better ask somebody else.”

“No, Binkie,” I said. “The beauty of this book will be having recipes from people Hazel Marie knows. Even if she never uses a one, it’ll be something she’ll treasure and enjoy just reading. Now, if it’s at all possible, I’d love for you to find time to make your favorite main dish recipe in Hazel Marie’s kitchen so she can learn how to do it.”

Binkie looked at me in wonder as she tried not to laugh in my face. “Miss Julia, Coleman would love for me to find time to make something in
our
kitchen.”

Although I longed to fill another square on my calendar, I quickly backed down. “Oh, I understand. I know how busy you are. Let’s not worry about that, but I’d really like at least one main dish recipe from you to go in the book.”

“Well, okay, since you’re letting me off the hook. My mom is forever sending me recipes and, knowing her, they’re her way of hinting that I should be more domestic. But I only have to please Coleman and, believe me, I keep him happy.” And she laughed again. “But I warn you. The only meals I ever cook are the quick and simple kind. There’re too many fun things to do than stay in a kitchen all day.”

“Quick and simple will be perfect for Hazel Marie. She doesn’t mind staying in the kitchen all day, but I want her to have something to show for it when she does.”

“Okay, then,” Binkie said, getting up from the floor, where she’d been playing with the baby while we talked. “Mom sent me one that I’ve made a few times. It’s so easy even I couldn’t mess it up. Coleman really likes it, too.”

She went into the kitchen and came back with several laminated sheets of paper. “My mother!” she said. “She’s so particular about everything. No wonder I drive her crazy with the way I keep house. All I can say is ‘Thank goodness for Mrs. Collins.’ But look these over, Miss Julia, and see what you think.” She handed a sheet to me, saying, “Here’s the one I was thinking of. It’s for corn chowder and it’s great on a cold evening.”

Looking it over, I said, “Hazel Marie can probably manage this. In fact, it looks so good I’m going to give a copy to Lillian.”

“And here’s an easy one for spaghetti—the only thing I cooked in law school.” Binkie smiled, recalling her school days as she looked it over. “That, and grilled cheese sandwiches. We grilled those with a hot iron.” She laughed as she handed me a handwritten, food-spattered page torn from a yellow legal pad.

“My goodness, Binkie, there’s hardly a measured amount on here. How do you know how much of anything to put in?”

“I don’t,” Binkie said, blithely admitting her haphazard cooking method. “But that’s the beauty part. How it turns out is always a surprise. But, look, here’s a list of take-out restaurants. To be on the safe side, you ought to include that, too.”

“I don’t think so, but what about a dessert? You have anything easy, something she can’t mess up? I want her to have some successes, so she won’t get discouraged.”

“Well, here’s one for peach cobbler that Mom used to make in the summer, when peaches are fresh. I’ve made it, too, a couple of times and it’s worked for me.”

“Good. I’ll take it. What else do you have?”

“That’s about it,” Binkie said. “I mean, I have lots of recipes, but not many I’ve actually tried. Tell you what, though: Coleman’ll be home in a few minutes, and he has a special recipe that’s outstanding.”

“Coleman cooks?”

I knew that Coleman did more with and for the baby than your average father, but I had no idea that he was handy in the kitchen as well.

Binkie laughed. “Coleman grills,” she said. “So maybe his would be more for J.D. Let’s hope
he
knows how to cook.”

“Well,” I said, “if Hazel Marie’s skills don’t soon improve, I expect Mr. Pickens will either learn or go hungry.”

“I just thought of something that’s really easy,” Binkie said, brushing back her hair. “No cooking involved, so either one of them can do it. You take a flat serving dish, like a platter, and spread out one large can of refried beans. Just smooth them out with a spoon to the edges of the dish. On top of that, spread a can of guacamole dip, then do the same with a large carton of sour cream. Then you sprinkle a layer of grated cheddar cheese on top and end with sliced black olives. You can serve it with any kind of corn chips you like.”

After furiously jotting down the ingredients as she listed them, I then looked over my notes. “And you don’t cook any of this?”

“Nope. Right out of the cans and onto the plate—the kind of recipe I like.”

“And what do you call it?”

“Beats me. Taco dip, maybe. Or, I know—call it Binkie’s Special Dip.”

“Well, it does sound tasty,” I said, somewhat skeptically. “But it hardly qualifies as a whole meal.”

“No, it’s an appetizer, but Coleman could make a meal of it,” Binkie said, laughing, “and occasionally, J.D. might be happy to get it, especially if he has a couple of bottles of beer on hand.”

“I hardly think . . .”

“Oh, Miss Julia, I’m just teasing you.”

Brown 1 pound of ground chuck with about
¹
/
₂
a medium onion, chopped. Season with salt, pepper, and garlic powder. Cook and stir until the onion is soft and the beef is no longer pink.

Add:

6-ounce can tomato paste

6 ounces water

15-ounce can tomato sauce

2 large or 3 medium bay leaves

Sprinkle of oregano (more or less)

Sprinkle of chili powder (more or less)

Sprinkle of paprika (more or less)

Salt and pepper, to taste

Simmer, stirring occasionally, for about 1 hour or until you’re ready to eat. Remove the bay leaves before serving. Serve over angel hair spaghetti.

Serves 6.

(Hazel Marie, don’t be afraid to try this. If Binkie can make it, so can you.)

Fry 4 or 5 slices of bacon in a medium saucepan. When crisp, remove the bacon and add a small onion, diced, to the bacon grease.

Turn the heat to low (very low) and put one 20-ounce log of frozen creamed corn, yellow or white, in the saucepan (Hazel Marie, remove the wrapping first), turning the log occasionally until the corn is thawed. Stir well.

Add 2 cups of milk and salt and pepper to taste, and heat but don’t boil. Ladle into bowls, crumble the bacon on top, and serve with cornbread.

Makes 2 servings.

(Binkie said that this is a good winter recipe when fresh corn is hard to find.)

Preheat the oven to 350°F. Stir together 2 cups of fresh peaches (peeled and sliced) and
³
/
₄
cup of sugar and let sit to form juice while the batter is prepared.

Batter

Melt
³
/
₄
stick of butter in a Pyrex pan. (Microwave it, Hazel Marie. Never put a Pyrex bowl on a hot stove eye.)

Blend together the following and pour over the melted butter:

³
/
₄
cup sugar

³
/
₄
cup plain flour

2 teaspoons baking powder

³
/
₄
cup milk

Add the peaches and juice to the batter
without stirring
and bake for 30 minutes or until the top is brown.

Serve warm with vanilla ice cream.

Serves 6.

(This sounds very much like the one that Lillian makes, so check with her if you have trouble.)

Just about the time I finished copying Binkie’s recipes, Coleman came in, looking handsome in his dark blue uniform, but creaking and squeaking from all the paraphernalia strapped around his waist. Squealing with delight, Gracie ran to him as soon as he came through the door. He picked her up, then threw her in the air, making me gasp in fear.

“Guess what, Coleman,” Binkie said, giving him a quick kiss. “Miss Julia wants your recipes for the cookbook she’s writing for Hazel Marie.”

“Hi, Miss Julia,” he said, smiling in welcome. “What’s this? You know I’m no cook.”

“Yes, you are,” Binkie said. “I told her about your shish kebabs, and she thinks J.D.’s going to need it.”

“Oh, well, yeah, that is a good recipe,” he said, handing Gracie to her mother. “Let me get some of this stuff off and I’ll find it for you.”

In just a few minutes, Coleman came back to the living room, sans utility belt, handgun, handcuffs, walkie-talkie, and sundry other items, ready to share his recipes.

“Now this one,” he said, handing me a splotched and smeared page. “I don’t remember where I got it. But it’s good, and even better,” he went on, cutting his eyes at Binkie, “if the lady of the house fixes the marinade.”

Binkie laughed. “I do most of the time, don’t I? Thing of it is, Miss Julia, somebody has to make the marinade and cut up the steak the day before the cook plans to do the grilling.”

“Yeah,” Coleman said. “It’s better on the grill, but I’ve done it under the broiler in the oven. But if you do it inside, you’re gonna have smoke—the marinade sizzles and spatters so much. Tell Hazel Marie to be prepared for the smoke alarm to go off.”

“Unfortunately, she’s used to that. But maybe I shouldn’t mention using the oven.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “But if you’re gonna put my recipes in your book, put this in, too. I don’t have it written down, since it’s just one extra ingredient for grilling hamburgers.”

So I wrote down what he told me, and hoped that, if Mr. Pickens bought a grill, he’d use it himself and keep Hazel Marie far from it.

“Okay,” Coleman said, “I’m gonna do something that might not be on the up-and-up—claiming something that’s not really mine. But it’s Lillian’s lemon pie, and my absolute favorite. I keep hoping my wife’ll make it for me, but so far, no luck.” He gave Binkie a mock glare, and she gave him one right back.

“Well, bless your heart, Coleman,” I said. “I’ll ask Lillian to make one for you. We don’t want you to feel deprived.”

“Yeah, poor thing,” Binkie said, squeezing his muscular arm. “He looks deprived, doesn’t he?”

I declare, those two act like they’re newlyweds, which on occasion can be embarrassing to an onlooker. Still, it’s most encouraging to see a young couple so in love, despite the fact that they’ve rearranged a few of the traditional rules and roles.

As I copied Coleman’s recipes, a part of my mind was pondering Hazel Marie’s situation and wondering if she and Mr. Pickens could benefit from the unusual, but obviously working, example in this household. Probably not, I mentally sighed, for how often do we see ourselves as others see us? Hazel Marie’s problems—both present and potential—were plain to me, but clearly not to her.

One thing at a time,
I told myself, as I erased a mistake I’d made, and kept on copying.