“I grew up in California, the Bay Area. San Francisco.” Claire added this last detail because she’d found some people in Charleston acted as if little beyond South Carolina was worth knowing about.
“I’ve never been to San Francisco, but I understand there’s a lot of fine dining there. Is that why you became a chef?”
No need to explain that her father hadn’t been the sort to take her out for fancy dinners. Or that she’d waitressed all through high school and became fascinated by everything that went on in the kitchen.
“I grew up watching cooking shows and started experimenting with recipes when I was nine.”
“I imagine your mother appreciated the help in the kitchen. Are you looking forward to sharing your love of food with your daughter?”
Actually, her mother had left shortly after Claire turned seven and her father hadn’t been all that good in the kitchen. So if she wanted something more than canned spaghetti and hot dogs, she’d realized she needed to learn how to cook.
“Honey is already showing signs of being an excellent chef,” Claire said.
“Is your husband a chef as well?”
Claire kept her smile in place, but her irritation was growing. “No, actually he was in the military.”
“I see.” Everly’s nod seemed to indicate that explained something. “Is he stationed nearby?”
“No.” Claire stared at her water glass to avoid meeting Everly’s gaze. She hated how everyone reacted when she spoke of what had happened to Jasper. “He was killed in action several years ago.”
“Oh, that’s just terrible. I’m so sorry. What a shame that Honey will never get to know her father.”
“Yes. Well...” Claire trailed off into uncomfortable silence. She was used to people’s condolences, but this conversation was more of an interview than idle lunch chatter. “Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only child who lost her father that day.”
“So you moved all the way across the country to Charleston. That’s a big step. Don’t you miss your family?”
“I wanted to start fresh,” Claire said, keeping her answer vague. “Charleston has an interesting history and it’s quite lovely.”
She had no intention of sharing the story of her family connection to one of the state’s founding families. Chances were it was just some bit of nonsense made up by one of her ancestors. Back in the 1800s, with travel being so arduous and a Civil War brewing between the North and the South, it would’ve been virtually impossible to prove someone’s claim of being the second son of a wealthy well-connected family.
And even if the story was true, Claire couldn’t imagine some long lost relatives opening their arms to welcome a stranger into their exclusive group, especially one who’d grown up in California.
Deciding to take control of the conversation, Claire cleared her throat and said, “Can you tell me a little bit about the food you arranged with the former caterer for your polo event? Is it a buffet or a sit-down lunch?”
Everly hesitated before answering, looking like she was reluctant to get down to business. At last, she gave a little flutter of her fingers and began. “The way we bring in revenue at this event is by selling tickets to the match and also offering special baskets for lunch. We’ve had a hundred baskets preordered. Each one costs three hundred dollars and will feed two people.”
Claire nodded as she jotted notes on a small pad of paper. She’d done a little research on the sorts of food served at a polo match. She intended to propose a sampler of sandwiches made with beef, ham, perhaps salmon, definitely one of vegetables. An artisanal meat and cheese tray with a delectable kale salad or perhaps a cold soup, maybe both. And seasonal fruit. For drinks, she’d recommend a bottle of Txakoli and her homemade aguas frescas.
As she spelled out her plans, Everly nodded her agreement and Claire relaxed with each minute that went by. While she was confident in her ability to cook, satisfying a crowd of people accustomed to the best was daunting. Plus, what she might have fixed for a San Francisco crowd wouldn’t necessarily cut it in Charleston.
“Another thought would be to offer wines made by someone who plays polo.” Claire went on to list a couple brands that she’d researched.
“Well, aren’t you thorough,” Everly said, looking surprised.
The waitress brought their food, interrupting the flow of the conversation, and Claire picked up her fork, eager to taste what she’d chosen. Magnolias was known for their refined take on Southern cuisine. The menu had offered several dishes featuring fried green tomatoes, creamy grits and, of course, shellfish. But one dish in particular had caught her eye: a bourbon fried catfish with pickled hot peppers, okra and sweet corn fricassee, and Tabasco rémoulade.
Everly ignored her own plate of delicious-looking scallops. “After Bettina’s party, I knew that you were a fantastic chef, but your suggestions today are so much better than I expected. What made you think of the wine made by polo players?”
“I remember reading an article about the Argentinian wineries building polo fields because the pairing made so much sense.”
“It’s brilliant. Have you ever considered opening your own catering company? Someone with your talent could be a big hit in Charleston. I have a lot of connections in town and could help you get started.”
“That’s really nice of you,” Claire said, appreciating Everly’s enthusiasm but wishing everyone would stop trying to push her into something she wasn’t ready for. “But I’m not interested in catering full-time.”
“I don’t see why not. I recognize talent when I see it.”
“Thank you, but I like working for Linc and don’t intend to stop.”
“But your talent is wasted.” At last, Everly picked up her fork and turned her attention to her meal. “You could be doing so much more than just cleaning Linc Thurston’s house.”
“To be honest, I don’t know where to begin when it comes to launching a business. I’m only catering these few events because Bettina is Linc’s mother and your committee members seemed in a desperate situation.”
“I understand
