towel. The ankle was swollen all right. The skin around the ankle was a pale blue.
“From the steps?” I was confused. “That’s awful.” Arch was not usually clumsy. In fact, his lack of athletic ability was in direct contrast to what I thought of as his physical grace, which of course you could see when he skied. Admittedly, as his mother I was somewhat prejudiced. “Can you stand on it?”
“I can stand on it and it is not broken,” said Arch.
“One more thing,” muttered Julian, his head on the pillow, his eyes closed. “I don’t know if I’m getting paranoid or something. Did you spill water out front?” When I said that I had not, he said, “Well, it looked to me as if someone had poured water over the steps. So anyone going out the front would fall and break his ass.”
Hmm. In any event, medical attention was not warranted, at least for now. I backed out of the room, but not before I heard Arch’s muffled and indignant voice say: “I did not break my ass!”
I went down to the kitchen. When other people’s lives get chaotic, they smoke, they drink, they exercise, they shop. I cook. At the moment it seemed we all needed the comfort of homemade bread. I made a yeast starter and phoned Marla. “You said you were coming over to help me today, remember? Please come now,” I begged to her husky greeting.
“Goldy, it’s the middle of the night, for crying out loud. Or the middle of winter. I had a late date last night and I’m hibernating. Call me when spring arrives.”
“It’s past eight,” I countered unrelentingly, “and it won’t be winter for another seven weeks. Come on over and I’ll make something special. Julian and Arch are both home. Arch fell and Julian’s… tired. Besides, I want you to tell me more about the lost teacher, Pamela Samuelson, and this Schlichtmaier fellow.”
“The former has been hard to find, and the latter is too young for you. Is Arch okay?”
“Just bedridden.”
She groaned. “Lucky him. I’m so glad I’m the one you call when the kids are incapacitated and you don’t have-anything better to do. But if you’re making something special… .”
“Doughnuts,” I promised. Marla was wild for them. She made a cooing noise and hung up.
Within moments I realized I didn’t have enough oil to fill even a quarter of a deep fryer. Well, necessity was the mother of all new recipes. Not only that, but I needed to develop something sweet but nutritious for the SAT breakfast that would follow Headmaster Perkins’ directive of including grains in everything possible. Why not oat bran in a doughnut? I’m sure kids would prefer that to an oat bran muffin any day, especially when those kind of muffins usually tasted, as if they’d come right out of a cement mixer.
I moved the college financial aid books that Julian had left askew on the counter, then sanctimoniously sifted soy flour with the all-purpose stuff and, ever virtuous, poured judicious measures of oat bran and wheat germ on top. After the yeast starter was warm and bubbly, I swirled in sugar, eggs, vanilla, and the flour mixture. I massaged it into a rich, soft pillow of dough that snuggled easily into a buttered bowl. After I’d put the whole thing into my proofing oven to rise, I put in a call to Schulz’s voice mail. I said I wanted to talk to him about Egon Schlichtmaier, who taught out at the school. And how was he doing on the pickup-truck situation, and Audrey’s background? As I hung up, Julian shambled in. He wore a T-shirt with the faded logo of some ancient rock concert, frayed jeans, and loafers with the backs crumpled down.
“Sorry I was so tired,” he mumbled. He looked around the kitchen hopefully. “What’re you putting together? You going to make some coffee?”
“Doughnuts in about an hour and a half,” I countered as I measured out Medaglia d’Oro and filled a pitcher with half-and- half. “Cappuccino in a couple of moments.”
Galaxy Douqhnuts
5 teaspoons (2 z ounce envelopes) active dry yeast
1/3 cup warm water
2 z cups plus 1/2 teaspoon sugar
1/3 cup solid vegetable shortening, melted
1 ? cups milk, scalded and cooled to lukewarm
2 teaspoons salt
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
2 large eggs
z cup wheat germ
z cup soy flour
z cup oat bran
4 ? cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons ground cinnamon
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, melted In a large mixing bowl, sprinkle the yeast over the warm water. Allow the, yeast to soften for 5 minutes, then stir the yeast into the water along with the ? teaspoon sugar, Set the mixture aside to proof for 10 minutes; it should be foamy. Mix the melted shortening into the warm milk, then add the liquid to the yeast mixture along with z cup of the remaining sugar, the salt, vanilla, eggs, wheat germ, soy flour, oat bran, and 1 ? cups of the flour. Beat vigorously until very well blended. Stir in the remaining flour and beat until smooth. Cover the bowl with plastic wrap and put it in a warm, draft-free place until the dough is doubled in bulk, about 1 hour.
Punch the dough down, turn it out on a well-floured board, and pat it out so that the dough is about ? inch thick. Using a star cookie cutter, cut out the dough and place the doughnuts 2 inches apart on buttered cookie sheets. Allow the doughnuts to rise uncovered for another 20 to 30 minutes or until they are doubled. Preheat the oven to 400 . Mix the remaining 2 cups sugar with the cinnamon. Bake the doughnuts for about 10 to 15 minutes or just until they are golden brown. Dip them quickly into the melted butter and roll them in the cinnamon sugar. Makes about 3 dozen.
He stood in front of my calendar of upcoming events and read what was coming: “Clergy lunch… Tattered Cover dessert… SAT breakfast… Bronco brunch.
How do you figure out what to charge for these meals?” Even when he was out of sorts, Julian had great enthusiasm for catering. He wanted to know everything. It provided a context for our relationship, for his goal was to work as a hotel chef or have his own catering or restaurant business. Vegetarian, of course. While steaming the hot half-and-half for his cappuccino, I told him that the basic rule in catering was that you tripled the cost of your raw ingredients to include cooking, serving, and overhead. If clients wanted wine or any liquor, that was computed into the cost per person of the meal. I had sheets I gave to clients with the details of menus that were six to fifty dollars per person.
“What if clients giving a party disagree on what they should get and how much things should cost?”
I laughed. “Don’t get me started on weddings this early in the morning.”
“So tell me what you’re planning,” he asked as he sipped the cappuccino. We reviewed the menus and costs for the four upcoming events. He nodded and asked a question here and there. Then I asked how he was feeling about the college-application process.
“Okay.” He stood to fix himself another, weaker cup of cappuccino. “I guess.” He obviously did not want to chat about the applications, though, so I let it drop. He reached for the sugar bowl, then plopped back down at the kitchen table. I managed not to wince when he ladled four teaspoons of sugar into the second cup. Ah, well, perhaps I should be glad that it wasn’t drugs. Speaking of which.
“Tell me about the headmaster’s son,” I began conversationally.
“What’s there to tell?” he asked between tiny slurps; “Is he taking steroids?”
Julian choked on the coffee. Sputtering and coughing, he wiped his chin with a napkin I handed him and gave me a dark look. “Gee, Goldy, let’s not mince any words.”
“Well?”
Julian chewed the inside of his cheek. “You can’t ten anybody,” he began quietly.
“As if it weren’t obvious.”
Julian turned. “Macguire is under a lot of pressure.?
“From whom??
