Sitting on the porch, I studied the list in front of me.
Ingredients:
3 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 tablespoon butter
1 large onion, coarsely chopped
1 rib of celery, coarsely chopped
1 medium carrot, coarsely chopped
4 cloves garlic, sliced
4 lamb shanks
salt and freshly ground black pepper
1 cup dry red wine
3 tablespoons tomato paste
2 cups chicken broth
1 cup beef broth
1/4 cup cider vinegar
4 sprigs of fresh thyme
1 bay leaf
It looked a little daunting, preparing lamb. But I could do it. I had, after all, re-created Mammy's Christmas stuffing from scratch almost perfectly.
Sighing, I scribbled out a day to try this; Papa was cooking tonight, so I decided to wait until I was sure I had the right ingredients.
Outside, a little boy followed his mother with a small plastic umbrella down the sidewalk, reaching for her hand as they headed to the end of the block. I smiled, wondering what kind of adventure it must be to go from one place to another, never really knowing what you see until it's no longer over your head. Places like the market and clothing stores are mazes, journeys.
The Jeep pulled up on the driveway as I finished up my recipe, Papa jumping out with groceries.
“Need a hand?” I asked quickly, placing my book down. He shook his head, tossing me the keys.
“I need you to get a car so I'm not constantly wondering if my baby's lying in a ditch somewhere.”
I rolled my eyes, “Pop. I'm fine.”
“What?” He looked up, his face unwavering “I was talking about the car.”
“Thanks.” I watched him skip up the steps, and he kissed my head, when I heard the sound of a bell ring from down the street. I had to get out of here. “Is it okay if I run to the bookstore?”
“Just be back before it gets too dark. Rain's coming in tonight.” He warned, “Good thing it waited, too.”
Looking up, I saw Dad pedal slowly down the street. God, get me out of here.
Papa rolled his eyes “I can hear you, Tinker Bell. Would you please put your little European guilt trip in the garage so I don't run over it tomorrow?”
“Ah!” Dad stretched his arms as he walked up the drive, “I just love the fresh air, don't you?”
“Rubbing your eco-friendly atrocities in my face is what you love.” Papa remarked, reaching for his hand “Really, we'd save just as much gas if you rode with me in the morning.”
Dad scoffed, “And give you the satisfaction of knowing I support your obsession with that detonator? I'm sorry, Bruce, but that Batmobile ain't worth it. Besides, you need to find our daughter something to drive?”
“We were just talking about it.” Papa mentioned, walking over and patting my head “So here's the plan. You and Dad go car shopping in the next couple weeks, I'll look online and we'll compare?”
YOU ARE READING
Hometown Hero
Teen FictionDawson Bennet never had a permanent home. Traveling from restaurant to restaurant with her dads, no town held her in one place long enough to get comfortable with anyone. And signs don't look good, now that she's become acquainted with Indie, the to...
