Caught Bread Handed (2 page)

Alan Matterson had opened the Jester last February. He was an old family friend who had run an extremely successful food booth at the farmers' market since I was a kid. His hand-dipped corn dogs were legendary around town, as was Alan's entertaining personality. In any place other than Ashland, Alan might have struggled to find his niche. Here, though, he blended right in. No one gave his black-and-white-checked jester jumpsuits or his zany hats a second look.

Locals flocked to the Jester for Alan's home-style cooking. The restaurant was themed after a medieval court. Tourists loved the restaurant's brocade façade and funky collection of jester hats and scepters that hung from the walls and ceiling. Alan greeted each customer who walked through the door with a goofy joke and a little jig. Kids' meals came with a gag gift—like waxed candy lips or a fake camera that squirted water. The Jester's food was equally irreverent. Alan served his signature corn dogs along with pink-and-blue-swirled cotton candy and banana splits piled high with Umpqua Valley ice cream and topped with sprinkles and maraschino cherries.

It seemed like the Jester would be a lasting success, but in early December right before the holiday season a
CLOSED
sign was posted on the front door. A week later the building was listed for sale and before anyone could blink, a construction crew ripped down the Shakespearean façade and carted away the cotton candy machine.

One of the issues with running a seasonal business in Ashland is calculating for the slow season. Sadly, many of the shops and restaurants that open in February when OSF kicks off their new season end up closing in November and December when the tourists return home. Watching it happen to a friend like Alan had been devastating. What made it even worse was having a chain like ShakesBurgers move in.

Mindy Nolan, a wealthy real estate developer who owned a number of chain restaurants, swooped in, purchased the building, and gave it an overnight makeover. She opened ShakesBurgers two weeks later. The two restaurants could not have been more different. ShakesBurgers had over thirty stores in eight western states. They specialized in fast food—burgers, fries, anything coated in grease. Unlike the other shops in the plaza, ShakesBurgers had painted the exterior of the building a shocking lime green and installed neon flashing signage that included an animated dancing milkshake and hamburger and a dialogue bubble pulsing their tagline:
Our burgers make your buns shake.

It all happened so fast. One day the Jester was there and thriving. The next day it was gone. Some of my fellow business owners had expressed concern about Mindy and how she had handled the takeover. The word “hostile” had been tossed around. Rumors tend to spread quickly in a small town. I've learned that it's best not to make assumptions. I hadn't had a chance to talk to Alan, since he'd gone into hiding since ShakesBurgers had opened.

While Mindy was in the middle of renovations, she caught me in the plaza one day and asked if we'd be willing to source all of the bread and buns for ShakesBurgers.

“You're Juliet, right?” She hoisted a box of precut frozen potatoes in one arm and extended her hand. “I'm Mindy Nolan. Word is you bake the best bread in town. I want to source all of our buns from you. We try to partner with local businesses, you know, throw the small guy a bone, when we launch a new store. I don't take no for an answer. You might as well say yes.”

Mindy's condescending attitude was off-putting. “I'm not sure,” I replied. “We're pretty busy right now.”

“A small business owner turning down hundreds—if not thousands—of dollars per month in new revenue before you've even had a chance to hear my pitch, are you crazy?” She set the box of frozen potatoes on the sidewalk and folded her arms across her chest. Her lime-green shirt with a cartoon logo of a burger oozing with melting cheese blended in with the garish color of the building.

I didn't appreciate Mindy's approach. “I'll have to talk it over with my mom,” I said, trying to end the conversation.

Mindy continued to press. “I'll make it worth your while. This could be a very lucrative deal for you. ShakesBurgers is one of the fastest growing chains on the West Coast. You're going to want to be in on what we have to offer.”

I disagreed. Working with the chain would anger my fellow downtown business owners. I couldn't betray Alan, and I didn't want Torte's products associated with a giant corporation. “Like I said, we'll talk about it, but I don't know that it's going to be a match,” I said to Mindy.

My instincts were right. When I told Mom about Mindy's proposition she held up her hand to stop me before I'd even finished speaking. “Juliet, no. No amount of money is worth it. We can't do that to our friends.”

“It would be more money, though,” I said. My voice didn't sound convincing. “It would get us even closer to new ovens.”

Mom was adamant. She stood firm. “No, it's not worth it. She can get her buns from Richard Lord. They seem like a match made in heaven, don't you think?”

I agreed. “Absolutely. I'm glad you think so too. She accosted me with a box of frozen potatoes in her hand. That was my first red flag.”

“And Alan.” Mom put her hand to her heart. “We couldn't do that to him. He's still upset about losing the Jester. I saw him the other day and he wasn't even wearing one of his funny hats.”

*   *   *

“Juliet, you're not working with the enemy, are you?” Rosalind's voice brought me back into the present moment.

I tore my gaze away from ShakesBurgers. “The enemy?”

She ripped off a bite of flaky croissant. “There's a rumor going around that Torte is supplying ShakesBurgers with buns.” Her hands trembled slightly as she spoke.

“That rumor is false. I promise. Mindy approached us about using our products, but Mom and I both declined.”

“Thank goodness.” Rosalind let out a long sigh. “I told everyone that there was no way that Torte would agree to such a thing.” She paused and took another bite. “The rumor mill is working overtime. The latest is that Mindy has hired two OSF actors to dress up in hideous hamburger and milkshake costumes to hand out fliers around town. It's absolutely sacrilegious. The woman is single-handedly destroying Ashland and I intended to put a stop to her.”

“How?”

“The city has design standards, but they've become too lax. Mindy might meet the letter of standards on paper, but not the intent.”

“I'm not sure I understand.”

“Juliet, that thing is an eyesore.” Rosalind pointed again. “Look at it. It belongs in a strip mall, not downtown Ashland. ShakesBurgers? What kind of a name is that? Mindy has a blatant disregard for the caliber of development downtown. Neon and, God forbid”—she made a cross in front of her chest and continued—“hamburger mascots prancing around town! Nothing about ShakesBurgers is compliant with the vision of this community.”

I had to agree with Rosalind. Everyone was irritated that Mindy had torn down the old façade. Part of downtown's charm is the nod that businesses give to the Bard. Like the flower shop, A Rose by Any Other Name, Puck's Pub, and even the Merry Windsor, the hotel across the street, owned by Richard Lord, my least favorite person in town. Renaissance architecture dominates the plaza. From gables and turrets to elaborately carved porches and staircases, each building downtown is designed in Tudor style.

At Torte, we pay homage to Shakespeare and my father's memory with a rotating quote on our chalkboard menu. It's sort of an unwritten rule that downtown businesses incorporate a touch of whimsy, like our royal-red and teal walls at Torte, which are inspired by Elizabethan art.

“I'm still not clear what you need from me,” I said.

“I need the support of all business owners. I've called an emergency meeting tonight. We are going straight to the city council and demand that the design standards be tightened. I've already worked up a rough draft. The new standards will specify materials, quality of finishes, that sort of thing, and trust me, neon-green paint is not on the list.” She glared in the direction of ShakesBurgers again.

“Tonight?”

“Yes. At the Black Swan. At five o'clock.” Rosalind stuffed half of her croissant into a paper to-go bag and checked the silver watch dangling from her thin wrist. “Oh, dear! It's almost time. You'll be there, won't you, Juliet? We have to put a stop to this.”

Before I could reply she was already limping toward the door to catch up with the owner of Puck's Pub. I had a feeling he was going to get an earful about ShakesBurgers too.

Mom came up behind me with a tray of petit fours as Rosalind left. “What was that about?” she asked.

“Rosalind has called a town meeting tonight to talk about ShakesBurgers.”

The smile lines on Mom's cheeks deepened. “Talk, huh?”

I shrugged and helped her arrange the petit fours in the pastry case. They were hand-dipped in pastel-colored white chocolate. Each one looked like a dainty present. “That's what she said.”

Mom handed me a pink petit four with a white chocolate heart in the center. “Let me go in your place. You look exhausted, honey.”

“No.” I took the petit four and bit into it. Layers of vanilla sponge cake, buttercream, and blackberry preserves melted together in my mouth. “You have a date with the Professor. It's fine. I'll make a quick appearance and call it a night.”

We walked to the kitchen with the empty tray. “Those are so good,” I said. “Are there more?”

Mom pointed to the island where Stephanie was drizzling white chocolate over a tray of petit fours. “Plenty.”

Carlos and Sterling had their heads bent over a notebook at the counter. I hadn't noticed them come in while I was talking to Rosalind. Sterling could almost pass for Carlos's younger brother. His black hair matched Carlos's, although he wore his in an intentionally rough cut. When I first met Sterling I judged him based on his skateboarder style and tattoos. What a mistake. He's a wise soul with a kind heart and the most piercing blue eyes.

“It looks like you two are plotting something,” I said, interrupting their concentration.

They both looked up.

“Julieta, I have decided tonight I will teach Sterling how to cure meat and make an antipasto. We will serve this as the starter for the Sunday supper, is this good?”

“Great.”

“And it is okay that we can have the kitchen tonight?” He sounded surprised.

I picked up another petit four. The chocolate hadn't hardened. It melted onto my fingers. “It's all yours. I have to go to a town meeting.”

Mom scowled. “We're not done discussing that.”

Carlos clapped Sterling on the back. “Okay. It is decided. We must go to the market.”

We'd been hosting specialty dinners affectionately called “Sunday suppers” each week. Customers paid a flat rate for a three-course meal served family style. They'd become so popular around town that we had to start taking reservations. This weekend's supper was already sold out. I had a feeling that it had to do with the fact that rumors had spread that Carlos would be preparing the meal.

Sunday's supper would be his last meal before he had to return to the ship, and everyone wanted a taste of his cuisine. I couldn't blame them. Carlos was the best chef I'd ever met, and not just because I'm biased. His food is simple and elegant. It's an experience. You don't just eat a meal prepared by Carlos, you linger over it, savoring each morsel. He says the secret is infusing his food with love. I'm a believer. In addition to his culinary talents, Carlos is an excellent teacher, a rarity in the world of chefs. While he was in Ashland I had asked him to take Sterling under his wing.

Sterling is our newest hire at Torte, but thanks to a solid work ethic and eagerness to learn, he had quickly become invaluable. Carlos thought so too when they had worked together at the catering event at Lake of the Woods. Carlos had been impressed with Sterling's eagerness to learn and instinct. He was a natural in the kitchen. They hit it off immediately. Carlos loved having a young protégé to nurture. I loved not having to worry about the menu for Sunday and that every seat in the house was taken.

I glanced at the whiteboard hanging on the far wall. It looked like a math equation gone wrong. I had color-coded everyone's schedules along with all of our wholesale orders and custom cakes for the week. It was a jumbled mess.

Stephanie was due in before dawn tomorrow morning. She and I would handle the wholesale bread and pastry orders. Once they were boxed and ready to go, I would deliver them while Mom and Stephanie would swap gears and begin working on stocking Torte's pastry cases. Andy, another college student, would man the espresso bar. So far the system was working, but there was no margin for error. If anyone got behind, or couldn't make it in, it would throw off the entire day.

I yawned and stretched. The clock on the wall ticked in a steady rhythm in the empty room. It was almost five. The long hours had finally been getting to me. I'm usually an early riser. I tend to thrive on little sleep.

Mom noticed. “You're exactly like your father, Juliet,” she complained. “He used to work himself sick. He was always the first person here in the morning and the last person to leave at the end of the day.”

“I'm fine, Mom,” I said. I grabbed a cup of coffee and held it up. “This is all I need.”

She frowned. “Juliet, your eyes are bloodshot and you keep staring at that whiteboard in a daze. We need to adjust this schedule.”

“No,” I protested. “It's okay. I promise. I just need to get through this weekend.”

The truth was that having in Carlos in town wasn't helping. We'd been going out each night. In part because Carlos wanted to try every restaurant, and because we had a lot to discuss. Ramiro, Carlos's son, who I had only recently learned about, had been our main topic of conversation. He had failed to mention that he had a son when we got married. I'd been struggling with coming to terms about why he hadn't told me, and Carlos had been doing everything he could to try and regain my trust.