A Crossworder's Holiday (4 page)

52.  Zuider___

53.  Wauwinet to Jetties Beach dir.

56.  QUIP, part 5

62.  “Or___!”; ultimatum

63.  Unique

64.  Navigational tool

65.  Summer drinks

66.  Rat-a-___

67.  Head of France?

DOWN

1.  H.S. courses

2.  Bride's veil

3.  SILVER COLLECTOR

4.  Spanish aunt

5.  Trend

6.  “Trim the yard___”

7.  Flying fish?

8.  Atelier

9.  Buddy

10.  Whaler's quaff

11.  Hotel booking; abbr.

13.  Ashore

14.  Subscription option

17.  Type of dancer

18.  GERMAN LAD?

22.  CEO, often

23.  Pot o' gold indicator

25.  ICON LADY

26.  1918 Nobelist

27.  Change, as water

28.  KARCHER AND OTHERS

29.  First down at Shea?

30.  A Latin lover?

31.  Mythic Arabian bird

32.  Surfside to Siasconset dir.

37.  Royal inits.

38.  Slippery one

39.  Spring mos.

42.  Owl & Pussycat creator

44.  Gothic touches?

45.  Dip chip

46.  Clam type

47.  Soda type

51.  “The___thickens!”

53.  Get your feet wet?

54.  Card game

55.  Type of wolf?

56.  Affirmative vote

57.  Not young

58.  Employ

59.  M.E. evidence

60.  Fish snare

61.  ___cat

To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit
openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

The Proof of the Pudding …

Hunter's Pudding

A H
OLIDAY
F
AVORITE FROM THE
V
ICTORIAN
E
RA

Stone and shred
3-DOWN
rather small; chop 1 lb. of suet finely
.

Pound 1/2 of
23-ACROSS,
6 of
54-ACROSS,
and 2 of
58 A
CROSS
into powder
.

Rub 1 lb. of stale bread crumbs until the lumps are well broken
.

Cut 1/4 lb. of
18-ACROSS
into thin strips
.

Chop 1 lb. of currants
.

Blend all these ingredients well …

Add 1/2 lb. of sugar and 1 tbs. of flour.

Beat 8 eggs to a virgorous froth; while beating, add 10 drops of
38-A
CROSS
and 10 drops of essence of lemon
.

Fold the egg mixture into the dry ingredients; mix and add
27-DOWN.

Tie the pudding firmly in a cloth.

Boil for 6 hours (7 or 8 would be better yet).

Serve with boiled custard, red currant jelly, or brandy sauce.

Sufficient for 9 or 10 persons

The Proof of the Pudding

ACROSS

1.  Building addition

4.  WWII flyers

7.  Bumbler?

10.  10-10; e.g

13.  Women's___

14.  “The Greatest”

15.  Everything

16.  Countdown ender

17.  Odysseus' rescuer

18.  PUDDING PART

21.  Sam___

23.  PUDDING PART

24.  Soil; comb. form

25.  Rest room sign

26.  Creams

30.  It's often not admissible

32.  Favorite

34.  Caucho tree

35.  ___Stravinsky

36.  Monopoly purchase; abbr.

37.  Once follower

38.  PUDDING PART

42.  Greek letters

43.  ___Amin

44.  Ego

45.  Charged atom

46.  Small piece

47.  Defendable

50.  Bill___

52.  Christmas tree often

53.  Russian river

54.  PUDDING PART

57.  Hold off

58.  PUDDING PART

62.  Fall mo.

63.  “___All in the Game”

64.  Squabble

65.  Common conjunction

66.  Dr.___

67.  '60s grp.

68.  Draft org.

69.  Tide movement

70.  Over there

DOWN

1.  Prophet of Kings

2.  Article length

3.  PUDDING PART

4.  Tear

5.  King lead-in

6.  Albert___

7.  Worms often

8.  Pre H.S.

9.  Firstborn

10.  Digit

11.  Chemical suffix

12.  Slippery one

19.  Dough demand

20.  Golf org.

22.  Pushes ahead

34.  ___Gay Harden

27.  PUDDING PART

28.  Western Canadian prov.

29.  Post

31.  Like father, like___

32.  Trial print; abbr.

33.  Error eliminator

36.  King of France

37.  Dot the O's?

38.  “Ben-Hur,” e.g.

39.  “Scat”

40.  ___“Kookie” Byrnes

41.  ___Cariou

46.  10th President's family

47.  Aromatic tea

48.  Work in Italy

49.  Not quite a dozen

51.  A&E link

52.  Not masc.

55.  Tic-Tac-Toe winners

56.  Some posts; abbr.

57.  Certain Slav

58.  Altar material

59.  Relative of Inc.

60.  Fool

61.  Kernel keeper

To download a PDF of this puzzle, please visit
openroadmedia.com/nero-blanc-crosswords

T
ONIGHT'S
recipe cover was created especially in your honor.” It was Frank Finney, the handlebar-mustachioed owner of Vermont's Misty Valley Inn who said this, although he retained a proud—almost triumphant—possession of his offering.

“A crossword puzzle … with a recipe for Hunter's Pudding, as you'll note. It was a great favorite—a staple, one might say—of the Victorian holiday table … The artwork and cookery instructions were devised by one of our frequent guests, Mrs. Stacy Lavoro, a longtime member of the other party here … We shall miss her and her husband, but their regrettable last-minute change of plans enabled the three of you to join us in their stead. And for that we are eternally grateful.” With that, the inn's magisterial host produced the recipe, handing them around to the threesome at the table before turning his attention to the dining room's only other inhabitants: a rather noisy party of six.

“But how—?” Belle began.

“—did someone manage to construct a crossword on such short notice?” It was Sara Briephs who finished the sentence. As surrogate grandmother to the younger woman, as well as a blissfully unrepentant autocrat, the octogenarian felt it not only her right but her duty to come to Belle and her husband's aid—whether the assistance was requested or not.

As Belle regarded Sara, a smile crept into her eyes. “That's
not
what I was about to say, Miss-Know-It-All. I was going to ask how anyone knew Rosco and I—and you—were visiting. We were on a
waiting
list, after all.”

“Well, I assume the guest who canceled …” Sara paused, her carefully coiffed head suddenly lifting in concern. “You're right, dear; revealing the identities of visitors does seem rather a breach of etiquette …”

Rosco, wisely, kept his eyes intent upon the menu's contents during this exchange.

After a moment Belle added, “Oh, I get it now,” and glanced at her husband. “This has nothing to do with missing guests—or even a recipe hidden in a crossword … There's a secret message in the puzzle. It's going to say, ‘Happy Birthday, Sara. December Twenty-eighth'—”

“I certainly hope you didn't tell them that my birthday's the day after tomorrow, dear child—”

“
I
didn't,” Belle continued, “but someone
else
at the table might have spilled the beans.” She nudged Rosco's foot with her own. “Fess up.”

He raised his hands over his head. “Don't look at me.”

Belle laughed. “It's a terrible thing not to believe your spouse.”

“Really … It's the truth, Belle.”

“What do you think, Sara? Butter wouldn't melt in his mouth.”

“I'd say he's innocence itself.”

“Inculpable,” put in Belle. “A paragon of virtue.”

“Pure as the driven snow, a brick, a trump …”

“I've never heard that one.”

“Before your time, dear child … Derived from triumph, I might add.” Her bright blue eyes twinkled; her patrician face wreathed with glee.

“You win,” laughed Belle, but the two women's customary linguistic sparring was cut short by an uncomfortably loud argument that arose from the room's other table: one couple in the party of six seemed unable to keep their rancorous feelings private.

“We can discuss this later, Marcia.”

“It's
late
enough already, Gene—if you want to know.” The voice had taken on a tone of inebriated and reckless abandon.

“I meant upstairs in the privacy of our room.” The words were a basso hiss of malice.

“Oh, why not air our dirty laundry with the group, honey bunch? They're your best friends, aren't they? Your dearest, dearest buddies in all the whole wide world. They're the reason we troop up here every damn—”

“Marcia, please—”

“
Marcia, please
, my foot. Since when—?”

“Hey, you two,” a raucous male companion called out. He was in his early forties, expensively decked out in the very latest in country weekend garb, and his tone was full of forced cheer. “Kiss and make up … Then let's get on with our host's most excellent feed.”

Another male and two other females joined the exhortation. Like their companion, they also appeared to be in their forties and were equally expensively groomed and accoutered. “Kiss and make up, Marcia, Gene …”

The inn's host reappeared at that moment, moving effortlessly among the residents of the argument-stricken table. “An
amuse buche
for Marcia …
pâté aux truffes
for Gene … white asparagus from Holland … a soupçon of ceviche …”

“They must be serious foodies,” murmured Belle.

“They are,” Rosco answered. “The host warned me we were in for a ‘culinary roller coaster' when our rooms became available two days ago. Apparently, the same group comes up here every year during the holiday season; after the first night, they take over the kitchen and whip up all sorts of surprises.”

“As long as they don't whip each other,” was Sara's wry comment.

D
INNER
progressed, an endless array of goodies, cooked to perfection—so Belle, Rosco, and Sara surmised by the delighted comments from the neighboring table. No more rancorous outbursts marred the festivities; in fact, a decided peace had descended on the place—the various dishes served blending seamlessly with equally pleasing surroundings: the traditional painted paneling of a historic Vermont country inn decorated with greenery and tartan bows, starched lace curtains tied with crimson velvet ribbon, a fire flickering upward from the stone hearth while beyond the windows the blackness resonated with comforting solitude.

Not a single far-off porch lamp was sighted, not a car's high beams bounced by in the distance, not a plane's flickering lights intruded. The nine guests at the Misty Valley Inn, their hosts Frank and Agnes Finney, and Lori, the young woman who helped out as kitchen maid, parlor maid, and chamber maid, might as well have been dropped into a private and sybaritic sphere.

“Happy?” Rosco asked as he leaned toward his wife.

Belle nodded. “Aren't we all?”

Sara cleared her throat. “I'll let you two lovebirds continue to bill and coo, while I repair to my room and trundle off to the land of nod.” She started to push back from the table, but Belle reached out a hand to stop the older woman.

“We don't want you to go, Sara. This is your celebratory weekend … Besides, you haven't tasted the Hunter's Pudding yet … the much-vaunted recipe—”

Sara's reply was a tart: “Have you ever eaten Hunter's Pudding?” She looked at Rosco.

“Something tells me it's not high on your list …”

“Oh, it's tasty all right …
Very
tasty … My grandmother made it … Her grandmother boiled it up before her—and probably
her
grandmother before that … But it's definitely not a low-cal treat—”

“You have to live a little, Sara. It's your birthday.” Belle laughed.

“I already have, my dear. I already have. And that's why I—” But Sara's protestations were interrupted by the ceremonious procession of the Finneys and Lori bearing a flaming Hunter's Pudding aloft into the room. “Happy birthday …” they sang while Sara whispered an inaudible, “It's not until the day after tomorrow.” Then she turned to the window, noticing before any of the inn's other residents that it had begun to snow. Her face creased in an expression that mingled both joy and regret. “‘The season of snows and sins'… Swinburne.”