Chapter 9 #2
Myra clicked the remote, and they became part of an audience of fifty million people watching helium-filled bal loons some as much as sixty feet high move across their television screen.
The colorful characters bobbed their heads at the onlookers who lined the streets of New York City.
Fifty-feet-long floats rose two stories high, each filled with more characters, celebrities, sports figures, and cast members from Broadway musicals.
Eleven marching bands from across the country provided the audio for the cadence, and other entertainers appeared on a performance stage.
It was three hours of sheer entertainment and had become part of the annual tradition: parade, eat, football, nap, leftovers.
Approximately 250 miles northeast of Pinewood, Frankie and Nina were in similar motion in Ridgewood. Nina arrived at the Cappellas’ house carrying several canvas shopping bags and several bouquets of flowers.
Nina leaned in and gave Frankie a kiss on the cheek. “What’s that you’re working on?”
“A turducken. I know the name sounds a little gross, but it’s a deboned chicken, stuffed inside a deboned duck, stuffed inside a deboned turkey. Supposed to be the ‘ultimate’ poultry dish,” she said, using air quotes.
“Sounds interesting, but complicated.”
“Trust me. I didn’t do any of the deboning. That part of cooking creeps me out. Did you know I became a vegetarian for a while?”
“You did? Why?” Nina asked with surprise.
“I opened a package of chicken one night and I gagged. Not for any particular reason. The chicken was fine. Sorta. Anyway, I went for about six months without eating meat, but I was also traveling across the country, and it was much harder ten years ago to find delicious vegetarian dishes. And then I began to feel wimpy. Sluggish. So, I went to the doc, and it turned out I was seriously anemic.”
“Then what?” Nina asked.
“He wrote me a prescription for steak,” Frankie said, chuckling.
“He did not,” Nina replied emphatically, referring to the physician who’d served their families since they were kids.
“No, he did not, but I do like my red meat! But seriously, I started to eat good cuts of beef once a week, plus my green leaves, and a month later I was feeling much better. I think it goes back to my childhood.”
“Doesn’t everything?” Nina said, and squinted with one eye.
“Ha ha. Seriously, it started when I was a kid. When my mother would get home from the butcher shop with freshly ground beef, and I’d grab a spoonful and lock myself in the bathroom,” Frankie said.
“Why the bathroom? Did you think it was going to make you sick?” Nina asked curiously.
“No. I didn’t want anyone to take it away from me.”
“Geez. Raw meat? You sound like Rosemary’s Baby ,” Nina said, and grunted.
“I know. Right? So, she took me to Dr. Movva to see if there was anything wrong with me,” Frankie said, while making a circling motion next to her temple with her forefinger.
Nina chuckled. “Well, we know you’re not right in the head.”
“Stop,” Frankie fussed. “Anyway, they determined I was going through a phase, and as long as it didn’t make me physically ill, and I wasn’t growing fangs, or horns, then I was fine.”
“How did I not know this about you?” Nina leaned her back against the counter and folded her arms.
“I guess I never thought it was worth mentioning. You’ve seen me order steak tartare, have you not?” Frankie said, raising an eyebrow.
Nina chuckled and shook her head.
Frankie clapped her hands together. “Alright, enough of this chatter. We have to get busy.”
“What do you want me to do?” Nina asked, then pulled an apron from a hook inside the pantry door.
“Do you want to do the flowers first?” Frankie asked as she donned a pair of cooking safety gloves.
“Good idea. Vases in the garage?”
“Yes. On the shelves to the left.”
Frankie perused the ingredients list and double-checked that everything was lined up on the counter in proper order. She reread the instructions for the third time. “This might be a bit more complicated than I thought,” she muttered.
“I am sure it will be fine,” Nina said cheerfully.
“Well, just in case it isn’t?” Frankie walked over to the double-door refrigerator and pointed to several trays covered in foil.
“Let me guess. Lasagna. Eggplant rollatini, fixings for an antipasto, chicken cutlets for Milanese.”
“You know me well. And yes, the Milanese is especially for you. I can’t guarantee it will taste as good as it does in Italy, but Gio gave me a recipe he said would make you incredibly happy.”
“Frankie, if I know you, which I think I do, you were planning on serving all that food anyway, were you not?”
“Guilty. I can’t help it. It’s in my DNA,” Frankie said, and her eyes went wide.
Nina brought the flowers out to the laundry room behind the garage and proceeded to create a centerpiece.
Earlier that morning, she’d taken her dog Winston for their routine walk through the woods.
The big Bernese mountain dog had no idea how big and powerful he was.
It took a lot of woman-handling power to keep him tethered to a leash when a squirrel would scurry past them on the forested path.
Nina claimed it was her daily workout. Before they left the house, Nina found a cutting basket in her parents’ shed.
It was the perfect accessory for gathering natural elements for her planned display.
She had collected a variety of leaves and pine cones.
When she finished tweaking the stems and was satisfied with the condition of her collection, she piled them on a clear tray to be scattered down the middle of the table.
Her plan was to create a replica of a forest floor with greens, leaves, and pine cones.
She was careful not to include any types of berries, because they can be poisonous to pets and children.
Nina had only discovered that tidbit when someone had given her a mistletoe ball.
A small note sat at the bottom of the box it had been shipped in warning to “keep from pets and children.” That’s when she decided she should bone up on the types of poisonous plants.
There were the basics such as poison ivy, sumac, and oak, as well as foxglove, but she was surprised to discover that lilies were also dangerous.
She had been living in Los Angeles at the time and ripped out her entire garden of tiger lilies.
She was sad to see them go, and Winston had never shown any interest in them, but it was better to be safe than sorry.
She opened a box which contained a dozen low clear bowls and planned to float flowers and candles in them.
Nina continued to fuss with the flora when she heard Frankie call to her.
“Coming!” Nina moved quickly to the kitchen. “What’s going on?”
Frankie pointed to a large pot. “Look.”
Nina stared into the large saucepan. “It looks like oatmeal.”
“The bag broke while I was trying to poach it, and the stuffing escaped from the chicken.”
“Now what are you going to do?” Nina was well versed in culinary skills.
Frankie thought for a moment, then said, “Put the colander in the sink.” She picked up the pot with the soupy mess and dumped it into the vessel waiting for its contents.
Frankie squeezed and scraped everything from the bag, then tossed it into the trash.
Then she scooped the mess into a food processor.
She hit the button, and a minute later, she inspected the contents.
“We now have chicken stuffing instead of a stuffed chicken.”
“Girl, you are brilliant.” Nina placed her hand on her pal’s shoulder.
“How about I toss in some pancetta?” Frankie asked as she stared at the mush.
“Bacon? Nah. How about more celery, leeks, and carrots?”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. And a lot more seasoning.”
“So, I guess we can’t call it turducken.” Nina sighed.
“Nope. Besides, I didn’t like the first syllable of the word, anyway,” Frankie said, grimacing.
Nina was about to say it and then it finally hit her. “Oh, yeah.”
Frankie snapped her fingers and said, “How about turkey canard farci au poulet?”
“Aren’t you fancy? What does it mean?” Nina asked.
“Turkey with duck stuffed with chicken,” Frankie said, and chuckled.
“You’re not a cookbook publisher for nothin’!” Nina said, snorting.
Frankie chuckled. “And what have you created, my creative friend?”
“I was waiting for you to put the tablecloth down.”
“Well, then let’s do that right now. The turkey canard farci au poulet will take three hours.”
“Thanks for inviting Richard’s brother. I can’t imagine the two of them sitting in a diner eating hot turkey sandwiches.”
“I’m glad they’re coming. Watching Rachael in action will be a great sideshow.”
“I already warned Richard,” Nina said, and snickered.
“So why isn’t Salvatore coming for dinner?”
“Rachael told him she had plans for Thanksgiving.”
“Oh? How did that go over?”
“She said he was taken aback, but she said she was very sweet about it.”
“Ah, giving him a shot of his own medicine?”
“Yep, with candy,” Frankie said, and raised her eyebrows.
“So, you really think she’s taking a new tactic about not being so needy?”
“I wouldn’t go that far, but at least she’s trying a new approach.”
Nina placed her hands on her hips. “I love Rachael, and I’m glad she’s trying to downshift. Sometimes she is her own worst enemy.”
“That is for sure. But aren’t we all?” Frankie said, then raised her eyebrows. “By the way, I ran into Randy the week before last, and we discussed Rachael’s ire with him. I suggested he invite her to a performance, which he should have by now. He thought it was a brilliant idea.”
“Aren’t most of yours? Brilliant, I mean,” Nina teased as she spied the cornucopia of delights. “So how many are we today?” she asked as she began to take the Lenox china from the breakfront cabinet.
Frankie began to count, “You, me, Richard, his brother Robert, Giovanni, Mom and Dad, and Rachael. That makes eight.”
“And of course you’re cooking for what, eighteen?”