Free Dim Sum Dead by Jerrilyn Farmer Page A

had been suitable enough, at the time they were built, for the help. In current times, these homes fall somewhere north of the two-million-dollar range. For those price tags, most had their old walls bumped out and new cooking palaces installed. But this room’s only beauty was the amazing artwork on the new floor.
    Wes showed up in the kitchen as Holly and I unpacked the last of our ingredients for tonight’s Dim Sum delights.
    “Did you hear?” Holly asked him.
    “Trouble in paradise,” Wes said. “It was hard to miss.”
    “Did you hear what it was about?”
    Wes shook his head. “Something about money. I didn’t hear his voice at all. Just hers.”
    I shook my head. “Exit Ms. Quita McBride. But I do hope they won’t go breaking up right now before all the guests arrive. I’m not sure what she would do. Her emotion-o-meter is pegged pretty much all the time.”
    “Remember, she said she couldn’t stay here tonight, after the party?” Wes asked.
    We talked that over a bit. It had happened before, thehosts having a horrible row just before their big event. Actually, everything has happened before. We get through it.
    “Oh, get this. Did I tell you?” Wes asked. “Dubin loves the floor so much, he wants me to help him remodel this entire room.”
    Wesley had introduced Buster to Erin, an artist-friend who carves intricate designs out of linoleum. She uses a precise, hand-cut inlay technique to make graphic masterpieces using the same old-fashioned colorful flooring material that our grandmas favored. For Buster’s kitchen floor, Erin cut a stunning Asian-inspired border of pale green bamboo and set it into a jet-black ground. She adapted the design from a very old Japanese brush painting that Bus had given her.
    “Aw,” Holly said. “So you’re going to rip out this one?” Holly looked down at the art beneath her shoes. “How much did it cost?”
    “Seven thousand,” Wes said. “But Buster wants Erin to do another one for the new kitchen.”
    It figured. Wesley was getting a reputation. His house projects were fabulous.
    “I can’t imagine why he’s going to bother with a new kitchen,” Holly said. “Buster doesn’t cook, and Quita doesn’t eat.”
    “Now, Holly,” I said. It’s a good rule not to talk about the hosts while you are still in their house. “This is a cool job for Wes.”
    “That’s true,” Holly said. “Wes, honey, all your house jobs are whack.”
    “Well,” Wes said, turning to her, trying not to sound old at the ripe age of thirty-seven. “Thank you?”
    Holly, our designated pep squad, settled herself at one smidge of counter space and started putting together the Chinese Chicken Salad. This was the time that required the most intense concentration. Thirty minutes and closing. All of our creative spirits were engaged.
    Our goal with every party, no matter how small or large, is to provide a unique experience to each jaded palate. Each diner’s senses must be flirted with, solicited, tempted, invited,tantalized, enticed, intrigued, seduced, and flat-out propositioned before being brazenly indulged. Delectable aromas from the kitchen must waft through the house, greeting each guest’s sensitive nose. The soft seductive sounds of cutlery on porcelain should underscore the interweaving melodies of happy conversation, all of which provide accompaniment to the host’s favored musical background. Dishes must harmonize to provide a wide variety of textures and temperatures, flavors and ingredients. And, the eye’s delight upon first spying a dish must be equal to the mouth’s delight at how the thing actually tastes. Presentation is key.
    Even for a relatively mainstream little item like our Chinese Chicken Salad, we enjoy giving it a unique visual twist. For this particular salad, we do a parody of Chinese take-out. I have white take-out cartons made up that are four times the size of a normal one.
    Holly took one of these Giganto cartons out of our supply sack