Free Add Spice to Taste by R.G. Emanuelle Page B

up the back of my neck.
    “Years of training and practice,” I managed to say.
    She stayed that way for a moment, slightly bent, with her hand still on my leg and looking at me in a way that I couldn’t quite decipher. It was as if she were contemplating something. As if she were contemplating me maybe naked.
    “I —I’m going to need some help,” I said. “I’ll have to hire someone. Maybe more than one.”
    “Oh, sure. Do what you have to do. I leave it in your capable hands.” She sat up and pulled her hand away as if nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had. God, I was so confused.
    “Okay, then. I’ll show you a menu and give you a cost estimate.”
    She stood up and said, “Awesome.” Then, she walked out of the classroom, leaving me to my latest befuddlement.
    It was still a bit early for class, so I went back to the kitchen and continued with my prepping. I kept looking up at the doorway, hoping Julianna would come in a few minutes early so we could talk.
    Ten minutes before class was to begin, I went to the blackboard to write the day’s menu and prep breakdown. Focusing was hard, as I kept wondering when Julianna would come in. My handwriting on the board was starting to slant and tilt downward and it was illegible by the time I got to the dessert elements. I picked up the eraser and swiped it across the bottom third of the board, picked up the chalk, and began rewriting the last list of ingredients.
    The students began coming in. “Morning,” they each said in turn.
    “Good morning,” I replied as brightly as I could.
    When the room was filled, I faced the class and looked around. Julianna was missing. Oh, no. What had I done?
    No, really—what had I done? Everything had been going so nicely and then went quickly to shit.
    “Hi, everyone,” I said, trying to muster up the enthusiasm I usually felt on the last day of the Morocco series. “Today is going to be the best day of this class because the menu is the best one in this series. We’re going to have an amazing feast later.” I turned halfway toward the board so I could read what I had written but easily turn back to talk to the students. “ Kefta meatballs are self-explanatory, but you might not recognize some of the other dish names. So let’s go over them quickly and then you all can decide what you might like to take on.”
    The door opened and Julianna rushed in. She briefly stopped and scanned the room for an empty seat, then quickly went toward a spot on my left. A few people briefly looked up, half-interested, but then continued with their conversations and menu perusal.
    I discreetly watched her, trying to figure out if she was all right.
    She glanced up at me briefly and said, “Sorry I’m late.”
    With difficulty, I turned my attention back to the board, but not before noticing Brit. She had a smirk on her face that made my stomach drop. I turned my back to the class and pretended to study the board.
    This was going to be a very long day, and apparently not the fun it normally would be. My goal was just to get through it. I didn’t even care at this point how the food turned out.
    “ Harira is a tomato-lentil and chickpea soup seasoned with ginger, cinnamon, and fresh herbs. Seffa medfouna is a very popular dish, which usually has saffron chicken, lamb, or beef, but what makes it unusual is that it’s covered in a dome of couscous or vermicelli. We’ll be using vermicelli, known as chaariya . It’s also unusual in that it’s a main course dish but it’s sweetened with dried fruit and sugar.” At some people’s screwed-up expressions, I quickly added, “But it works. You’ll see.”
    Julianna’s face was tilted up toward the ceiling, a far-away look on her face. I briefly wondered what she was thinking about.
    “And, finally, we’re going to have a special-occasion cookie called kaab el ghazal , gazelle ankles or gazelle horns. They’re made with almond paste rolled in pastry dough and molded into boomerang