Delicious! - Softcover

Softcover

ISBN 10: 0449016528 ISBN 13: 9780449016527

Inhaltsangabe

Ruth Reichl's bestselling fiction debut about sisters, family ties, gourmet food, and a young woman who must finally let go of guilt and grief to embrace her own true gifts is a dazzling addition to Reichl's beloved memoirs that have long illuminated the theme of how food defines us.
     Billie Breslin has travelled far from her California home to take a job at Delicious!, the most iconic food magazine in New York. When the publication is summarily shut down, Billie is offered a new job: staying behind in the magazine's deserted downtown mansion offices to uphold the "Delicious Guarantee"--a public relations hotline for complaints and recipe inquiries--until further notice. What she doesn't know is that this boring, lonely job will be the portal to a life-changing discovery.
     Delicious! carries the reader to the colourful world of downtown New York, from the lively food shop in Little Italy where Billie works on weekends to a hidden room in the magazine's library where she discovers the letters of Lulu Swan, a plucky twelve-year-old, who wrote to the legendary chef James Beard during World War II. Lulu's courage in the face of loss inspires Billie to come to terms with her own issues--the panic attacks that occur every time she even thinks about cooking, the truth about the big sister she adored, and her ability to open her heart to love.

Über diesen Titel

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

RUTH REICHL was born and raised in Greenwich Village. She wrote her first cookbook at 21, and went on to be the restaurant critic of both the Los Angeles Times and the New York Times. She was Editor-in-Chief of Gourmet Magazine for ten years. She now lives with her husband in upstate New York.
Rights

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Eleven Years Later

When Jake Newberry asked me to cook for him, I froze.

“Something wrong?” He swept a strand of silver hair out of his eyes and gave me his famous cool blue stare.

“I’m not applying for a position in the test kitchen.” I tried to keep the disappointment from my voice; the job had sounded so perfect. “I thought you were looking for a new executive assistant.”

“I am.” Then he added, “Didn’t anybody tell you I ask every candidate to cook for me?”

How had I missed that?

Jake reached down and patted the big yellow dog at his feet; the dog wriggled with pleasure, and I found that oddly reassuring. “Look, Billie.” Jake offered an encouraging smile. “You seem like a good fit for Delicious! You worked on The Daily Cal. It sounds like you know your way around a kitchen. And you’re even willing to leave school to take the job. I like that; it shows how much you want it.”

I’d spent hours working on an explanation for dropping out; it had never crossed my mind that he’d consider it a plus. “You’ve said all the right things.” He looked down at the pile of manuscripts on his desk, and when he looked up again, his smile was crooked. “You Googled me, right?”

“Would you want an assistant who didn’t?”

“Good answer. But that just proves my point. I don’t find interviews all that revealing.”

Every article I’d read about Jake mentioned that he was a non-corporate guy, which was one of the reasons I’d applied for the job. Working at Delicious! sounded like joining a club, entering a little world of its own, and that’s exactly what I wanted. Needed. I’d spent hours preparing for this interview, studying Jake, chasing down every detail. Now it appeared that hadn’t been enough.

“What’s wrong with interviews?” I was playing for time. I really didn’t want to cook.

“Isn’t it obvious?” He was truly great-looking; the photographs captured his all-American looks, but they didn’t catch the humorous way his lips turned up or the watchful intelligence in his eyes. “You tell me you love the book, but, then, you’re hardly going to say you hate it.”

He’d lost me. Book? I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Ha! Another piece of the puzzle slides into place. You don’t know much about magazines, do you? In this business, magazines are always called ‘books.’ I don’t know why. What I do know is that every writer who comes for an interview is madly in love with this book. Then I ask what they’re reading, and they serve up the usual suspects: The New Yorker, and the most challenging bestseller on the current list.”

He pointed an ebony letter opener at me. “I have to admit, throwing Brillat-Savarin into the mix was a clever move on your part; nobody’s ever come up with that before.”

Not all that clever: It hadn’t taken much to find out he’d written his college honors thesis on the great French gastronome.

Jake was studying me, and I couldn’t help wondering if he’d be easier on me if I were one of the pretty girls, or at least a bit more stylish. Aunt Melba had insisted that I buy a black skirt and a white shirt, but I hadn’t bothered trying them on and the skirt was a little too short; now I tugged at it, trying to edge it closer to my knees. But it turned out Jake wasn’t concerned with the way I looked. “I’m trying to figure out if you knew I’d ask what you had for dinner last night.”

It had been a lucky guess, but if I were the editor of a food magazine, that’s a question I’d be asking. So I Googled around and discovered that Jake had a passion for Japanese food. Then I found some obscure new place in the East Village specializing in Kitakata ramen and went in for a big bowl of clear fragrant broth filled with broad, chewy noodles.

“Sounds great!” he said, when I described the tiny restaurant and the eccentric chef who ran it. “I’ve never heard about that place, and I can’t wait to try it. Thanks. The thing is . . .” He stopped for a moment to let a noisy truck go by. Delicious! occupied a grand old mansion, and on this hot September morning Jake had all the windows open. I looked around, noting what a mess the place was; there were so many stacks of manuscripts, it had been hard to find a place to sit down. “Here’s what I’ve learned about you: You do your homework. That’s good. But all it really tells me is that you’re smart and you want the job. We could talk all day and I’d still have no idea if you’re right for Delicious! But cooking’s different; it doesn’t lie. Is this a problem? Just humor me, okay.”

There was no question mark on the end of that last sentence. If I wanted to work for Jake Newberry, I was going to have to cook.

Why hadn’t I anticipated this? Because there was a problem: These days, simply thinking about cooking could bring on a panic attack.

Already I felt the clammy sweat popping out all over my body. Not now! I thought, willing myself to stand up, reminding myself to breathe. “Anticipatory panic is the worst part,” the therapist had said, and anxiety was pouring over me, making me woozy, as I followed Jake out of his office.

I tried to concentrate on the dog, who was running before us, jauntily waving his tail. In that moment I would have given anything to be him, to be so carefree. Go away! I pleaded with the panic, but now it entered me, expanding like a huge balloon, filling my body with agitation. My hands were shaking and the nausea was coming on, but Jake didn’t seem to notice. “I’m always eager to find out what people will make for me.”

“Gin--” I began, grateful to be talking. It might help. But Jake waved me quiet.

“No, no, don’t tell me. I like to be surprised.”

I followed him up the stairs, so focused on the panic that I barely registered the graceful carved oak banisters and soft wooden floors. Concentrate on the recipe, I told myself, trying to repeat the ingredients in my head: oranges, cardamom, pepper, sour cream. The words were slightly soothing; maybe it would be okay. But then we were at the kitchen and Jake was opening the door. The scent of sugar, flour, and butter wafted toward me, and it was so familiar that I felt the blood rush from my face as the dizziness claimed me. The panic was inside, choking me, and outside too, a great wave crashing over me.

“You okay?” Jake’s hand was on my arm. I knew I’d gone white.

“Fine. I’m fine.” I put my hand out and grabbed the counter, trying to steady myself. From somewhere far away I heard Jake say, “Okay, then. This is Maggie, our executive food editor. She’ll make sure you’ve got everything you need.” Then he was gone.

All I wanted was to lie down on the cool floor, but I glanced up, trying to focus on the woman in front of me. She was old and painfully thin, with a straight nose and short black hair that looked as if she’d chopped it off with a carving knife. She glared at me and muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, “Why’s Jake wasting my time? He’ll never hire her.”

Her unexpected meanness was like an electric shock, and it jerked me backward, jolting me into the moment. The effect was so immediate and so strong that the dizziness receded. It was like a miracle; I almost laughed. What was...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 0449016528
• ISBN 13: 9780449016527
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar