Dilya's Christmas Challenge by M. L. Buchman

Author:M. L. Buchman [Buchman, M. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Buchman Bookworks, Inc.

6

They’d eventually graduated from knife sharpening to ginger peeling—by the end of which Jimmy was wearing a pair of bright blue Band-Aids. The lunch was a rich borscht and corned beef on rye sandwiches, big enough to satisfy even Trevor, served right there at the counter with the other chefs.

That was a welcome respite. All morning they had kept asking her questions—about her and about the White House. While it would be rude not to answer, she wished she’d managed to slip in more questions of her own. Except she wasn’t used to speaking. She was used to listening. By the time she’d think up her own question, someone would already be talking again.

At least over lunch they started asking questions of the sous chefs instead.

Finally able to listen, Dilya realized that the Chef’s Club had been doing this for a while. They’d ask to meet some elite chef—there were a lot of those in DC—and they’d go get a free class.

“I know the chefs at Pauley’s Island. Would that help?”

“We didn’t even dare try there.” “Wow, really?”

One of the chefs was amused that the group had braved asking the White House for a visit, but not Pauley’s.

“One of my mom’s closest friend’s family owns it.” Actually, Tim was also one of her friends. He’d been there at the 5D’s base since the very first day—doing his best to make her laugh when everything had been so different and terrifying. “I’m sure Tim Maloney would be glad to set it up. Wait, I don’t know where he’s stationed. I guess I could call his mom.”

“That does it,” Kimberlee declared.

“It absolutely does,” Trevor agreed.

“Madame President?” Jimmy turned to Val.

Val thumped her soup spoon on the counter like a gavel with a bright ting, “You are hereby inducted as an official member of the Chef’s Club. All in favor?”

The others all said, “Aye!”

“The ayes have it. Welcome, Dilya Stevenson.”

Dilya didn’t know what to do with that. She’d never belonged to anything. But she couldn’t figure how to get out of it without hurting their feelings.

That question plagued her through lessons on: measuring flour (by weight, never by volume), grating ginger (never mincing), mincing crystallized ginger (never grating), sampling a dozen different sugars, and tasting butter (salted, unsalted, organic, English Midlands, and finally French butter from Brittany). They spent the whole afternoon on ingredients. There were only thirteen ingredients in gingerbread, including all the spices and everything, but they spent a long time learning about each one.

Did Emily Beale know all this? Dilya made a bet with herself that she did. So she paid extra attention and made sure to ask about anything that was unclear, even if it meant interrupting someone.

“Tomorrow, we will mix and bake,” Chef Klaus announced. “If you learn very fast, we will decorate as well. Now go away. Get out of my kitchen, Kinder. I have a dinner that must be served to people far more important than you.”

“I hate being called a child,” Val whispered once they were well clear of the kitchen.

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