Lou Jane Temple - A Stiff Risotto

A STIFF RISOTTO

LOU JANE TEMPLE

-1

LINDA Lunch had heartburn. It was that new little twerp in the test kitchen. The girl didnt know a jalapeo from a habaero. Linda suspected the new test cook might even have slipped hot chilies in the mango salsa on purpose. Just because Linda had commented in a negative vein about the lemon tart the so-called chef had served last Friday. Linda recalled she had said something about it being the most vile thing she had ever put in her mouth.

Shes obviously passive aggressive, Linda muttered as she popped another Tums. She just wouldnt go to the daily noon tasting anymore. She couldnt afford to get sick. She had too much to do before she left for Aspen.

The Real Dish Aspen Festival was her chance to shine each year. As editor of The Real Dish magazine, she was in charge of one of the most prestigious events in the world of food. Famous chefs rearranged their schedules when Linda asked them to do a cooking demonstration in Aspen. Winemakers from around the world flocked to the tiny town with cases of their best wines, actually eager to give out samples. High-income foodies swept in from allover the country and from abroad to rub elbows with Marcella Hazan, Julia Child, Jacques Pepin, and the like. If things didnt go right, it would reflect on her. So Linda Lunch would just have to make sure things went perfectly. She picked up the phone and dialed an internal number. Tab, get in here, she snapped. I want to go over the whole event again, top to bottom. Yes, darling. I know we just did that this morning, but Im concerned about the wine seminars. I dont think we have showcased the guy from Italy enough, yeah, Antonori, or whatever his name is. I think we need to give him a little luncheon, maybe on Sunday, after the awards ceremony. Well need to make reservations at the Ritz, or maybe at Taka-Sushi. What do you mean youre busy with the copy editors? Get in here before I send you back to Better Homes and Gardens or better yet, get in here before I tell everyone your real name. Linda slammed the phone down with satisfaction. That got him every time.

In ten seconds flat, Harlin Garner, aka Tab, was standing at her door. Youve got a lot of nerve talking about changing names, Ms. Lunch, he parried valiantly. I happen to know your paychecks are made out to Linda Lubavich.

Tab had held his own as Lindas personal assistant longer than anyone in Real Dish history: two years, four months, and twenty-two days. Just hold on a few more days, he told himself. He sat down and pulled the computer printout of the festival activities out of his tote.

Linda snatched the calendar from Tabs hands and slinked back into her oversized gray leather chair. Yes, and those paychecks are absolutely enormous, as you also know. Speaking of money, who are you betting on for Best Chef of the Year? Linda asked absently as she started to read the schedule for the hundredth time, red pencil poised.

The staff of the magazine always had a betting pool on who would win the title. It was the New York food-publishing world version of a football pool.

Tab was working on copy for the July issue, and he had brought it along to Lindas office, knowing there would be time to do some editing while Linda went over every comma of the festival schedule again. He looked up from his work.

Well, the way I see it, the old Italian and his son cancel each other out. Number three, the guy from Texas, is a long-shot. Weve never had a barbecue cooker in the competition before, and Im afraid everyone thinks of barbecue as just putting some hotdogs on the grill. I dont think theyll take him seriously. Candidate number four is the Louisiana chef, Ernest Laveau. Susan Spicer from New Orleans won last year, so I dont think the Cajun guy has a chance this year. The voters like something new, like the new Floribbean cuisine. I put my ten spot on the Latin woman from Miami, Lola whats her name, Tab drawled in his Mississippi twang.

He had lived in New York five years now, but he wouldnt dream of losing his Southern accent. The boys loved it.

Castro, darling, her last name is Castro, just like the dictator. Ill have to ask her if shes related. Linda put down the papers and smiled. Dont rule Sergio out, honey. Hes a crowd favorite. He wrote ..the first Italian cookbook every gourmet in America bought. And those gourmets are our people. Half of the festival voters learned to make pasta from that damn cookbook, back when pasta was an exotic item. We cant deny the power of loyalty. Sergio has become an icon. Hes like an Italian James Beard.

Tab threw a wad of paper across the desk at Linda. I know it just kills you, you cant just name a winner yourself, that you have to let the unwashed masses vote for Best Chef.

You know me too well, you bitch, Linda laughed as she threw the paper wad back at Tab. This Best Chef of the Year voting dinner was set up before my reign or you can bet a panel of experts would be the only election committee experts who would do what I told them. But Im stuck with allowing the public to vote. And I have to admit the dinner with the nominated chefs each cooking a course is one of the reasons the festival is so popular. Every Tom, Dick, and Harry wants to be in the first five hundred to pay their festival entry so they can go to the dinner and vote for Best Chef.

Tab wasnt entirely convinced. Linda was too much of a power freak to relinquish control without a fight. Dont tell me you dont sometimes go down in the mailroom and check out the return addresses. You know, Boston return addresses for a Boston chef? Then, when you get to Aspen, you know the dining room will be packed with hometown fans voting for their hometown chef who also happens to be the one you want to win. I bet you can stack a dining room when you have to.

Linda cackled with delight but there was an edge of malice in her laugh and Tab saw once more why she was feared in the food world. You better believe it, Tab honey. I always get the results I want, and dont you forget it.

Tab Garner smiled his most dazzling orthodontist-created smile. How could I? Now who from the press do you want to invite to the breakfast with Julia?

-2

HEAVEN Lee had a glazed look in her eyes. She shook her fingers out on both hands, like a secretary at the end of a hard day at the computer. Then she rolled her neck like an athlete working out a muscle spasm. Her bright red hair was pulled back in a ponytail that rotated like a soft propeller on the back of her head. After all the machinations, she looked over their lunch with renewed interest. Okay, maybe one more piece. Heaven grabbed the platter of fried chicken and fished around for a wishbone. One of the things I love about this place is the way they cut up their chicken.

Chris Snyder nodded in approval. They cut it so theres, a wishbone, just like my grandmother used to.

And they have backs. Most restaurants dont fry the bony pieces, Joe Long muttered from the other side of the table, his mouth full. I must admit I was a little miffed when we had to plan our trip to Colorado around eating at a fried chicken place in the middle of Kansas.

Heaven gave Joe an I-told-you-so look and smugly spooned a big helping of mashed potatoes on her plate, followed by gravy and coleslaw and lots of watermelon pickles. Oh, ye of little faith. I know that if an uninformed person were so inclined, one could leave their home in Kansas City before dawn and make it to Aspen in one day. But then that poor ignorant soul would be passing through the Salina area at nine or ten in the morning. The Brookville Hotel doesnt have a fried chicken breakfast, although its not a bad idea. You guys are just lucky youre not traveling with someone like that, ignorant about the good things in life. Pass the cream corn, please.

Kansas Cream Corn

3 T. butter