A White Rabbit's Tale by Vicki Vass

Author:Vicki Vass [Vass, Vicki]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-01-07T23:00:00+00:00

Banana Bread French Toast, Spoon Sisters Blog

Dear Friends,

Anne and I are at the Honey Jam café against my better judgment. Anne pleaded with me to have her final favorite breakfast treat before she starts her official “wedding” diet. They make a simply scrumptious banana bread French toast to DIE FOR. Anne is sitting across from me, sipping her coffee and emailing as I type. I wanted to write the blog at breakfast because the rest of the day we will be busy preparing for the Founder’s Day ball. CC sipped her coffee.

“Tell them about the table,” Anne said, anxious to upload images of the fantastic find from the Elmwood Park estate sale.

CC posted the pictures. “This is an eighteenth-century Italian marquetry table. I’d say from around 1710 or 1720. You can tell from the exceptional craftsmanship that it is from the Piedmont Region of Northern Italy. It’s on consignment at the store, and we expect it will sell quickly.

“Do you think we should start hosting weekly auctions?” Anne interrupted as the waitress put down her plate of banana bread French toast.

“I think that’s a great idea.”

Anne half-listened as she savored the first bite. “Ohmigosh, these are incredible. CC, you really should get the recipe and put it on the blog. Have you ever tasted anything like this?”

CC took a bite. “Those are good but it’s missing something.” She got up and walked toward the kitchen. Anne glanced up, wanting to yell, “Stop,” but her mouth was full. The restaurant was crowded as always, they were sitting at a small table in the center of the large room next to the big stone fireplace.

CC went to their waitress. “Excuse me.” She searched her nametag not remembering her name. “Mary.”

“Yes, may I get you something?” she replied balancing the water pitcher.

“My friend and I were wondering if it would be possible to get the recipe for your banana bread French toast. We write a daily blog on antiquing and we often share recipes and would like to share it with our fans,” CC said.

“Chef Bernard is very secretive of his recipes. I could ask him. I wouldn’t hold much hope.” Mary walked through the double swinging doors into the kitchen, coming back quickly. “I told the chef about your antique blog and he had a question for you.”

“Oh?”

“Can you come into the kitchen?”

CC smiled. “Certainly.”

Chef Bernard stood over the large griddle, his rotund figure bumping up against the burner knobs. He was a jolly looking man in his 60s wearing his chef coat and hat. He turned and smiled when he saw CC.

“Chef Bernard,” he said reaching his hand out to clasp CC’s hand. His giant mitts were twice the size of hers, engulfing hers. Just short of sporting a twisted moustache, CC thought she was greeting Chef Boyardee but there was something in his accent she found familiar. It wasn’t Italian. And then he said, “Cher, how lovely you are.”

CC said, “Merci beaucoup.”

He laughed a jolly laugh, his belly jiggling like St.

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