Opposites Attack: A Novel with Recipes Provencal, page 28
ROSEMARY MASHED POTATOES
(spooned into each bowl before ladling the daube over them)
You can also make this with potatoes (peeled) in big chunks that have been steamed or baked. Just don’t cook them with the daube. Sweet potatoes are nice, too. They’re fairly new to France and considered a specialty item. In Nice, a daube is sometimes served over a matching meat ravioli. For example, a lamb daube would use lamb ravioli.
2 lbs potatoes, any variety
2 T extra virgin olive oil
1 T kosher salt
2–3 sprigs of fresh rosemary, 1-1/2 tsp dried rosemary
2 T butter
1/2 to 1 cup cream or milk
1/2 to 1 cup yogurt
Salt and pepper to taste
Heat oven to 400F. (204 Celsius). Or steam or boil the potatoes.
Wash the potatoes in cold water and peel. Cut into quarters. Place in a shallow roasting pan. Drizzle olive oil over the potatoes. Toss the kosher salt over them, erring on the side of too little than too much. I pour some into my palm and sprinkle with my other hand like pixie dust until it looks like enough. You can add more when you mash.
Rinse the rosemary. Snip the leaves from the stems and sprinkle over the potatoes. Stir so it’s well mixed. Roast potatoes in the oven, uncovered, for 30 minutes. Test to see if a fork pierces a potato easily. If so, they’re done. If not, roast longer.
Transfer the potatoes into a large bowl and mash a bit. Add butter then slowly add the dairy ingredients, a little of each, until it’s the right consistency. You may not need all of it; you may need more. Mash away. Add a little salt and pepper if you think it needs it.
Jean-Luc: Never use dried rosemary. Ever. Always use fresh herbs when you cook, with the exception of oregano. It can be dried and rubbed between your palms for optimum flavor.
PAN-SEARED SEA SCALLOPS
This dish with braised fennel was introduced toward the end of Chapter 7. I had just arrived at Jean-Luc’s and he and Isabella thought it would be so funny to pretend they didn’t speak English. I wanted to stay as far away from them as possible, but the aromas pulled me right out of my cottage like a little hummingbird to a red honeysuckle. Later, when I found out how easy it was to make, it became one of my favorites to whip up. My mind always goes back to those early dinners with the two of them, which leads to the infamous “twat” moment, and then I can’t stop laughing.
Ingredients for Part 1
12 sea scallops (the large ones, aka U/10 or under 10 in a pound)
Zest of 1/2 an orange
2 T fresh orange juice
1 T olive oil
1/4 t cinnamon
Flour
Fresh-ground salt and pepper
1 gallon Zip-loc bag or bowl
Ingredients for Part 2
Olive oil
Juice of 1 orange
Fresh-ground salt and pepper
Rinse scallops and pat dry. (If smaller scallops are used, they’ll cook faster.) Combine orange zest, orange juice, olive oil, and cinnamon in Ziploc bag or bowl. Add scallops and marinate 15–20 minutes. Drain. Dredge in small amount of flour seasoned with salt and pepper.
Heat empty sauté pan until hot. Add olive oil to just cover the bottom of the pan. Add scallops. Be sure not to crowd them. Sear on first side until brown, about 1–2 minutes. Turn and continue to cook for 1–2 more minutes. Add orange juice. Juice should evaporate quickly. Season with salt and pepper. Remove and serve.
Jean-Luc: I cannot improve upon perfection.
BRAISED FENNEL
3 fennel bulbs
2 T olive oil
1/2 T butter
Fresh-ground salt and pepper
chicken stock
Fresh Parmesan, Comté or Cantal cheese, grated
Cut off the leafy fennel stalks and a thin slice from the bottom. Remove any tough or scarred outer pieces. Cut each bulb lengthwise in half. Quarter if the bulbs are large.
In a heavy sauté pan, heat olive oil and butter. Place fennel, cut side down, in pan. Season with salt and pepper. Sear until golden. Turn to sear each side. Once browned, add chicken stock to come halfway up sides of fennel. Cover and simmer until tender, about 15 minutes. While you’re doing that, turn on broiler or heat oven to 375 F/190 C.
Check for tenderness with the tip of a knife. Remove cover, increase heat to high, and reduce stock to a glaze. Remove from heat. Continue in sauté pan or transfer to ovenproof gratin dish. Top with cheese of choice. Place in oven or under broiler to melt the cheese.
Jean-Luc: Cheese is optional.
PISSALADIÈRE
(a type of onion tart)
I chained Jean-Luc to his computer to write. Also so he can’t see me make my E-Z pissaladière (or the spelling of “easy”).
Pissala is a fish paste made from anchovies. I’ve left it out of this recipe. Trust me, this is plenty pungent without it. Anchovies alone are enough to cross it off a lot of people’s list, especially with shallots, garlic, and olives as well. But it’s one of the first things Jean-Luc taught me how to make (Chapter 17). I’ll always have a soft spot for it. What I love about the anchovies is the lattice-like appearance they make. You can always use them and then pick them off. You’ll get a hint of the sea.
JL hates when I add tomatoes, but in the summer, when they’re at their peak, I can practically bathe in them, they’re so good. I’ll put them on anything. They do need to be seeded and strained or they’ll be gritty and goopy. If you use onions instead of shallots, remember to put a pretzel in your mouth when slicing them so your eyes won’t tear. Rest it between your lips. If you want to do it JL’s way and make the dough yourself, be my guest. As always, use fresh, local, organic produce if you can. That’s all that really matters.
Ingredients
1 pizza dough already made but not frozen. It will look like a big beige blob wrapped in plastic at your supermarket deli or refrigerated baked goods section. You can also use phyllo dough or a pie crust you roll out.
1-1/2 to 2 lbs shallots or onions
3 T olive oil, preferably French like Puget or A l’Olivier
1–3 cloves of garlic, diced
2 T butter
Fresh-ground salt and pepper
2 bay leaves
Fresh thyme or 1 T dried
Fresh rosemary (leaves only)
A dash of cornmeal
20–25 anchovies. The best are from an international market or specialty store, like an Italian market. Look for white ones. The closer their origin to the Mediterranean, the better.
1–2 tomatoes (optional)
20–25 oil-cured black olives that you’ll slice in half. I buy them already pitted. You can guess which ones JL uses.
Rolling pin
Slice the shallots/onions. Heat the olive oil in a large skillet on a medium flame and add them and the garlic. Plop the butter in. Add salt and pepper to taste, and the thyme, rosemary, and bay leaves. Stir together. Stop to take a deep inhalation. Orgasmic, isn’t it? Your kitchen will have this aroma the next day, so you better like it.
Lower flame and heat oven to 450°F/232°C. Continue to caramelize the onions/shallots with lots of stirring. Don’t let them brown. What the heck, squirt half of a lemon in there if you have one. Meyer lemons are the best.
Gently rinse the anchovies so they’re not super salty. Dry them on a paper towel. They’re very delicate. Who gets the skin off these tiny things anyway? It can’t be a machine, can it? I’m afraid to ask JL or he’ll spend 20 minutes explaining it.
Sprinkle cornmeal on either a pizza stone or baking sheet. Roll the dough in it as you knead. Use a rolling pin to flatten it out.
DISCARD BAY LEAVES. Spoon shallot/onion mixture with a slotted spoon to drain excess liquid over the dough until it comes close to the edge. Now crisscross the anchovies and add the olives in between the crosses. Place the tomatoes by the olives if you’re using them.
Bake until the crust is golden brown, about 12–15 minutes. Let it cool a bit before digging in. Darn. You know what I forgot to add? Lavender! The culinary kind. Always have some around. Just a soupçon when you’re caramelizing the onions.
If you have leftovers, try it in the morning with eggs on it. Pissaladière has real spunk, I’ll say that. Not for dainty eaters. Gotta run. Jean-Luc just heard the timer go off and will be down in moments to inspect/avoid writing. When he sees the tomatoes, he won’t touch it. Fine. Leaves more for me.
Jean-Luc: With tomatoes and without pissala, this is unequivocally American-style pizza trying to be pissaladière. The fish paste can be anchovy paste out of a tube, though fresh pissala is divine. It’s made of anchovies seasoned with cloves, thyme, bay leaf, and black pepper and left in an earthenware jar for a month. Spread some over the dough, then add the onion mixture (I prefer onions). Make your own dough. Use a food processor if you must. Only use fresh herbs. As for adding lavender, please! Do not listen to her. It is mainly used in sweets. She acts as though she just discovered cinnamon.
For a wine accompaniment I would recommend a nice, crisp rosé or a light red, like Beaujolais (say a Morgon or Moulin-a-Vent). For the more adventurous, try a light red wine from the Jura region.
Alyce: And when you’ve had enough wine or don’t want it at all…
APRICOT-ROSEMARY TEA
4 cups of boiled water
2 bags black tea (English Breakfast is my favorite)
1 small sprig of rosemary (a little goes a long way)
2 cups of apricot nectar
Sparkling water or club soda
Let the tea bags and rosemary steep in the boiled water for 10 minutes. Remove rosemary and tea bags. Add apricot nectar. Stir. Chill. Fill a glass halfway with this mixture and the other half with sparkling water. I didn’t like it at first but it grew on me. It’s kind of smoky with a sweetness that has texture and feels like it must be detoxifying you. Adjust the amounts of the ingredients to your taste. If apricots are in season, add a few peeled slices. Delicious!
I make two batches, one with caffeine and one without so I can drink it at night, too, otherwise it’ll keep me up. It’s my drink of choice to wash down my daily vitamins after my morning coffee. Jean-Luc refuses to take vitamins. He says “Americans have the most expensive urine on the planet.” We’ll just see who’s right in the long run. Which reminds me, it’s time for me to jog. Without Jean-Luc, of course. I sure wish Raymond had taken a picture of him in those orange spandex shorts.
Jean-Luc: No Comment.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Do you think Alyce enjoyed herself too much or too little while on her adventure?
How do food and cooking assist in the transformation of Alyce?
How did each character’s childhood affect them as adults?
What are your thoughts on a “marriage of convenience” or an arranged marriage?
Jean-Luc eventually states that writing is “a commodity.” Do you see this a sign of positive growth or as an abandonment of artistic ideals?
For most of the story, the author uses various means to conceal Colette’s true identity. How does knowing the truth change your perception of Jean-Luc?
French is “the language of love.” How would Alyce’s experience have been different had she gone to a different country and learned another language?
Who (or what) do you think is the true antagonist of this story?
With which character do you most identify, and why?
Opposites Attack has a number of themes: nontraditional family, culture shock, odd-couple romance, and more. What do you think is the most important one?
NAKED DJ
A novel from Jo Maeder
Excerpt
The Dangling Carrot Society
I approached the gnarled wooden door of Boba 47 and remembered my ex’s formula for seduction: flash your target a look that says I want to rip your clothes off this instant and throw you across that table. Then split because you’re so busy.
In the case of Rick Rivers, though, seducing him to offer me a job without giving him the wrong idea would be tricky.
On my first try at this technique I wound up with Krazy Karl, my number one Loony Tune fan. I wondered how long it would take him to track me down in Manhattan. He’d succeeded in the ten other markets I’d worked in. But this was the end of the line. I was done changing my name, hair color, and address—and if WBRR didn’t work out, I was done with radio.
The restaurant’s slinky music, subdued lighting, and earthy textures easily put me in the right mood for the Hire Me Hustle. The last time I saw Rick was at an industry event in L.A. He had long, straggly hair and was wearing a stained Staind tee. I did a double take now when I saw him wave to me from the bar. He sported a buzz cut, gray suit, yellow tie. His last vestige of hipness was a goatee the size of a postage stamp.
Even in this dim light I couldn’t miss his tiny gray teeth when he checked out my miniskirt and tank top.
“Lookin’ like a rock star, Jeri!”
“Thanks, Rick. It’s Jazmyn now. You look great!”
He had only been at ’BRR a few months after turning around another heritage rocker in Phoenix. Like me, he hadn’t been born when most of the music was made. Rick had his ass on the biggest line of all: New York. A half a rating point can mean millions in lost or gained revenue.
“Nice tattoo,” he said as we settled in at our cozy table and he eyed my upper left arm. “Never seen anyone do half. Didya chicken out?” He snickered.
I’d only heard that line a thousand times but kept smiling. “I vowed to finish it when I made it to New York.” I didn’t mention Ree’s left arm sported the other half.
“A beautiful segue, Janice.”
“Jazmyn.” I spelled it for him.
“Right. You’re from Richmond, Virginia, aren’t you?”
“A long time ago.”
He’d been on a rock station there after I’d left. We talked about the city that marked where the South began. Everything to the north had Washington, D.C. flavoring it.
“I couldn’t believe how stuck in the past some people were,” he said. “They still referred to the Civil War as the War of Northern Aggression, and they called me a Yankee. I’m from Baltimore.” He paused before saying, “I bet you ran into some problems with Mr. Ree.”
“A few.”
A twinge of anger went through me, thinking about the racism Ree and I faced when we were together. It wasn’t that bad, but when you feel it from your father, you don’t forget.
“Still in touch with him?”
“Ree? No!” I leaned back from the table, waving my hands. “Absolutely not.”
“Yeah, I’ve known a few recording artists. What a crazy life. What egos.”
“Yeah, DJs are bad enough.”
“Too bad my days as Rad Rick are over. So, any significant other back in Dallas?”
“No one will be moving here with me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
His eyes shifted to my boobs. I focused on his wedding band.
“How’s your wife?” She looked about 18 when I met her. That got his eyes off my chest.
“She’s fixing up the place we bought on Long Island and couldn’t be happier.” In the next second he slipped into a perfect thug rapper imitation of Ree, arms moving in downward motions. “The strip-ah, the strip-ah, the strip-ah. I tip-ah, I tip-ah, I tip-ah.”
He obviously thought it was funny so I smiled back.
“Man, I loved that song. I love rock, too. But that was a fucking smash.”
“Yep.” I rubbed my tattoo. “It certainly was.”
“Still is. It tests really well. What, ten years later?”
I was glad to hear that Ree was making money off that song. The down side was that I’d have to hear it for the rest of my life.
Rick said, “I hear Starz is giving a huge push to his new single.”
“You can’t do better than having Nigel Hamilton-Jones in your corner.”
“I’ll say.”
I couldn’t believe my buddy Nigel was in charge of Ree’s big comeback. He wouldn’t let me hear the new song until he took me out to dinner tomorrow night. I couldn’t wait to see him again. Hear the song? I’d hear it eventually. May as well get it over with.
“You’ve never worked at a rock station before,” Rick said, “but I think you’d be great. You’ve got that smoky voice, a sense of humor, and a youthful edge.”
“Any station that doesn’t play Mr. Ree is okay by me.”
Rick ordered the $20-an-ounce Kobe-style Washugyu beef. I asked for one of the least caloric entrées. Sashimi. As soon as our had-to-be-gay waiter walked away, Rick got down to business.
“What do you think of the station?”
I had my line ready.
“It’s like an old pair of faded, comfortable jeans you can’t part with.” I left out but never wear.
“In other words, it sucks.”
We both grinned. WBRR wasn’t just any old Classic Rocker. It was the mother of them all. It debuted over four decades before on the same day the Beatles released Sgt. Pepper in America (June 2, 1967). It broadcast live from the original Woodstock in 1969. It was the station everyone tuned in when the news broke that John Lennon had been shot — and mourned with when he died. Its DJs were once as famous as the rock stars they interviewed. Now its ratings were in the toilet.
“The average age of the DJs is what, 60?” My 28 seemed so young in comparison.
Rick charmingly asked the un-PC question, “How old are you?”
“The lower end of the 25-34 demographic.”
“Perfect.”
Rick had a nervous habit of picking at his postage stamp. “Don’t let Cat Cruz know you think she’s that old.”
He was talking about the beautiful Latina woman who had been holding down middays for about 15 years. Cat was short for Catalina. She used to call herself the Cat Woman until the Batman people served her with a cease and desist. She’d just turned 40; the baby on the staff.
“So what’s up?” I said. “Changing formats?”
“Nope. Research shows WBRR has unbelievably strong loyalty and recognition as being the spot on the dial for rock. The jocks are like family members to the listeners. That doesn’t mean we can’t renovate. Slowly.”
(spooned into each bowl before ladling the daube over them)
You can also make this with potatoes (peeled) in big chunks that have been steamed or baked. Just don’t cook them with the daube. Sweet potatoes are nice, too. They’re fairly new to France and considered a specialty item. In Nice, a daube is sometimes served over a matching meat ravioli. For example, a lamb daube would use lamb ravioli.
2 lbs potatoes, any variety
2 T extra virgin olive oil
1 T kosher salt
2–3 sprigs of fresh rosemary, 1-1/2 tsp dried rosemary
2 T butter
1/2 to 1 cup cream or milk
1/2 to 1 cup yogurt
Salt and pepper to taste
Heat oven to 400F. (204 Celsius). Or steam or boil the potatoes.
Wash the potatoes in cold water and peel. Cut into quarters. Place in a shallow roasting pan. Drizzle olive oil over the potatoes. Toss the kosher salt over them, erring on the side of too little than too much. I pour some into my palm and sprinkle with my other hand like pixie dust until it looks like enough. You can add more when you mash.
Rinse the rosemary. Snip the leaves from the stems and sprinkle over the potatoes. Stir so it’s well mixed. Roast potatoes in the oven, uncovered, for 30 minutes. Test to see if a fork pierces a potato easily. If so, they’re done. If not, roast longer.
Transfer the potatoes into a large bowl and mash a bit. Add butter then slowly add the dairy ingredients, a little of each, until it’s the right consistency. You may not need all of it; you may need more. Mash away. Add a little salt and pepper if you think it needs it.
Jean-Luc: Never use dried rosemary. Ever. Always use fresh herbs when you cook, with the exception of oregano. It can be dried and rubbed between your palms for optimum flavor.
PAN-SEARED SEA SCALLOPS
This dish with braised fennel was introduced toward the end of Chapter 7. I had just arrived at Jean-Luc’s and he and Isabella thought it would be so funny to pretend they didn’t speak English. I wanted to stay as far away from them as possible, but the aromas pulled me right out of my cottage like a little hummingbird to a red honeysuckle. Later, when I found out how easy it was to make, it became one of my favorites to whip up. My mind always goes back to those early dinners with the two of them, which leads to the infamous “twat” moment, and then I can’t stop laughing.
Ingredients for Part 1
12 sea scallops (the large ones, aka U/10 or under 10 in a pound)
Zest of 1/2 an orange
2 T fresh orange juice
1 T olive oil
1/4 t cinnamon
Flour
Fresh-ground salt and pepper
1 gallon Zip-loc bag or bowl
Ingredients for Part 2
Olive oil
Juice of 1 orange
Fresh-ground salt and pepper
Rinse scallops and pat dry. (If smaller scallops are used, they’ll cook faster.) Combine orange zest, orange juice, olive oil, and cinnamon in Ziploc bag or bowl. Add scallops and marinate 15–20 minutes. Drain. Dredge in small amount of flour seasoned with salt and pepper.
Heat empty sauté pan until hot. Add olive oil to just cover the bottom of the pan. Add scallops. Be sure not to crowd them. Sear on first side until brown, about 1–2 minutes. Turn and continue to cook for 1–2 more minutes. Add orange juice. Juice should evaporate quickly. Season with salt and pepper. Remove and serve.
Jean-Luc: I cannot improve upon perfection.
BRAISED FENNEL
3 fennel bulbs
2 T olive oil
1/2 T butter
Fresh-ground salt and pepper
chicken stock
Fresh Parmesan, Comté or Cantal cheese, grated
Cut off the leafy fennel stalks and a thin slice from the bottom. Remove any tough or scarred outer pieces. Cut each bulb lengthwise in half. Quarter if the bulbs are large.
In a heavy sauté pan, heat olive oil and butter. Place fennel, cut side down, in pan. Season with salt and pepper. Sear until golden. Turn to sear each side. Once browned, add chicken stock to come halfway up sides of fennel. Cover and simmer until tender, about 15 minutes. While you’re doing that, turn on broiler or heat oven to 375 F/190 C.
Check for tenderness with the tip of a knife. Remove cover, increase heat to high, and reduce stock to a glaze. Remove from heat. Continue in sauté pan or transfer to ovenproof gratin dish. Top with cheese of choice. Place in oven or under broiler to melt the cheese.
Jean-Luc: Cheese is optional.
PISSALADIÈRE
(a type of onion tart)
I chained Jean-Luc to his computer to write. Also so he can’t see me make my E-Z pissaladière (or the spelling of “easy”).
Pissala is a fish paste made from anchovies. I’ve left it out of this recipe. Trust me, this is plenty pungent without it. Anchovies alone are enough to cross it off a lot of people’s list, especially with shallots, garlic, and olives as well. But it’s one of the first things Jean-Luc taught me how to make (Chapter 17). I’ll always have a soft spot for it. What I love about the anchovies is the lattice-like appearance they make. You can always use them and then pick them off. You’ll get a hint of the sea.
JL hates when I add tomatoes, but in the summer, when they’re at their peak, I can practically bathe in them, they’re so good. I’ll put them on anything. They do need to be seeded and strained or they’ll be gritty and goopy. If you use onions instead of shallots, remember to put a pretzel in your mouth when slicing them so your eyes won’t tear. Rest it between your lips. If you want to do it JL’s way and make the dough yourself, be my guest. As always, use fresh, local, organic produce if you can. That’s all that really matters.
Ingredients
1 pizza dough already made but not frozen. It will look like a big beige blob wrapped in plastic at your supermarket deli or refrigerated baked goods section. You can also use phyllo dough or a pie crust you roll out.
1-1/2 to 2 lbs shallots or onions
3 T olive oil, preferably French like Puget or A l’Olivier
1–3 cloves of garlic, diced
2 T butter
Fresh-ground salt and pepper
2 bay leaves
Fresh thyme or 1 T dried
Fresh rosemary (leaves only)
A dash of cornmeal
20–25 anchovies. The best are from an international market or specialty store, like an Italian market. Look for white ones. The closer their origin to the Mediterranean, the better.
1–2 tomatoes (optional)
20–25 oil-cured black olives that you’ll slice in half. I buy them already pitted. You can guess which ones JL uses.
Rolling pin
Slice the shallots/onions. Heat the olive oil in a large skillet on a medium flame and add them and the garlic. Plop the butter in. Add salt and pepper to taste, and the thyme, rosemary, and bay leaves. Stir together. Stop to take a deep inhalation. Orgasmic, isn’t it? Your kitchen will have this aroma the next day, so you better like it.
Lower flame and heat oven to 450°F/232°C. Continue to caramelize the onions/shallots with lots of stirring. Don’t let them brown. What the heck, squirt half of a lemon in there if you have one. Meyer lemons are the best.
Gently rinse the anchovies so they’re not super salty. Dry them on a paper towel. They’re very delicate. Who gets the skin off these tiny things anyway? It can’t be a machine, can it? I’m afraid to ask JL or he’ll spend 20 minutes explaining it.
Sprinkle cornmeal on either a pizza stone or baking sheet. Roll the dough in it as you knead. Use a rolling pin to flatten it out.
DISCARD BAY LEAVES. Spoon shallot/onion mixture with a slotted spoon to drain excess liquid over the dough until it comes close to the edge. Now crisscross the anchovies and add the olives in between the crosses. Place the tomatoes by the olives if you’re using them.
Bake until the crust is golden brown, about 12–15 minutes. Let it cool a bit before digging in. Darn. You know what I forgot to add? Lavender! The culinary kind. Always have some around. Just a soupçon when you’re caramelizing the onions.
If you have leftovers, try it in the morning with eggs on it. Pissaladière has real spunk, I’ll say that. Not for dainty eaters. Gotta run. Jean-Luc just heard the timer go off and will be down in moments to inspect/avoid writing. When he sees the tomatoes, he won’t touch it. Fine. Leaves more for me.
Jean-Luc: With tomatoes and without pissala, this is unequivocally American-style pizza trying to be pissaladière. The fish paste can be anchovy paste out of a tube, though fresh pissala is divine. It’s made of anchovies seasoned with cloves, thyme, bay leaf, and black pepper and left in an earthenware jar for a month. Spread some over the dough, then add the onion mixture (I prefer onions). Make your own dough. Use a food processor if you must. Only use fresh herbs. As for adding lavender, please! Do not listen to her. It is mainly used in sweets. She acts as though she just discovered cinnamon.
For a wine accompaniment I would recommend a nice, crisp rosé or a light red, like Beaujolais (say a Morgon or Moulin-a-Vent). For the more adventurous, try a light red wine from the Jura region.
Alyce: And when you’ve had enough wine or don’t want it at all…
APRICOT-ROSEMARY TEA
4 cups of boiled water
2 bags black tea (English Breakfast is my favorite)
1 small sprig of rosemary (a little goes a long way)
2 cups of apricot nectar
Sparkling water or club soda
Let the tea bags and rosemary steep in the boiled water for 10 minutes. Remove rosemary and tea bags. Add apricot nectar. Stir. Chill. Fill a glass halfway with this mixture and the other half with sparkling water. I didn’t like it at first but it grew on me. It’s kind of smoky with a sweetness that has texture and feels like it must be detoxifying you. Adjust the amounts of the ingredients to your taste. If apricots are in season, add a few peeled slices. Delicious!
I make two batches, one with caffeine and one without so I can drink it at night, too, otherwise it’ll keep me up. It’s my drink of choice to wash down my daily vitamins after my morning coffee. Jean-Luc refuses to take vitamins. He says “Americans have the most expensive urine on the planet.” We’ll just see who’s right in the long run. Which reminds me, it’s time for me to jog. Without Jean-Luc, of course. I sure wish Raymond had taken a picture of him in those orange spandex shorts.
Jean-Luc: No Comment.
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
Do you think Alyce enjoyed herself too much or too little while on her adventure?
How do food and cooking assist in the transformation of Alyce?
How did each character’s childhood affect them as adults?
What are your thoughts on a “marriage of convenience” or an arranged marriage?
Jean-Luc eventually states that writing is “a commodity.” Do you see this a sign of positive growth or as an abandonment of artistic ideals?
For most of the story, the author uses various means to conceal Colette’s true identity. How does knowing the truth change your perception of Jean-Luc?
French is “the language of love.” How would Alyce’s experience have been different had she gone to a different country and learned another language?
Who (or what) do you think is the true antagonist of this story?
With which character do you most identify, and why?
Opposites Attack has a number of themes: nontraditional family, culture shock, odd-couple romance, and more. What do you think is the most important one?
NAKED DJ
A novel from Jo Maeder
Excerpt
The Dangling Carrot Society
I approached the gnarled wooden door of Boba 47 and remembered my ex’s formula for seduction: flash your target a look that says I want to rip your clothes off this instant and throw you across that table. Then split because you’re so busy.
In the case of Rick Rivers, though, seducing him to offer me a job without giving him the wrong idea would be tricky.
On my first try at this technique I wound up with Krazy Karl, my number one Loony Tune fan. I wondered how long it would take him to track me down in Manhattan. He’d succeeded in the ten other markets I’d worked in. But this was the end of the line. I was done changing my name, hair color, and address—and if WBRR didn’t work out, I was done with radio.
The restaurant’s slinky music, subdued lighting, and earthy textures easily put me in the right mood for the Hire Me Hustle. The last time I saw Rick was at an industry event in L.A. He had long, straggly hair and was wearing a stained Staind tee. I did a double take now when I saw him wave to me from the bar. He sported a buzz cut, gray suit, yellow tie. His last vestige of hipness was a goatee the size of a postage stamp.
Even in this dim light I couldn’t miss his tiny gray teeth when he checked out my miniskirt and tank top.
“Lookin’ like a rock star, Jeri!”
“Thanks, Rick. It’s Jazmyn now. You look great!”
He had only been at ’BRR a few months after turning around another heritage rocker in Phoenix. Like me, he hadn’t been born when most of the music was made. Rick had his ass on the biggest line of all: New York. A half a rating point can mean millions in lost or gained revenue.
“Nice tattoo,” he said as we settled in at our cozy table and he eyed my upper left arm. “Never seen anyone do half. Didya chicken out?” He snickered.
I’d only heard that line a thousand times but kept smiling. “I vowed to finish it when I made it to New York.” I didn’t mention Ree’s left arm sported the other half.
“A beautiful segue, Janice.”
“Jazmyn.” I spelled it for him.
“Right. You’re from Richmond, Virginia, aren’t you?”
“A long time ago.”
He’d been on a rock station there after I’d left. We talked about the city that marked where the South began. Everything to the north had Washington, D.C. flavoring it.
“I couldn’t believe how stuck in the past some people were,” he said. “They still referred to the Civil War as the War of Northern Aggression, and they called me a Yankee. I’m from Baltimore.” He paused before saying, “I bet you ran into some problems with Mr. Ree.”
“A few.”
A twinge of anger went through me, thinking about the racism Ree and I faced when we were together. It wasn’t that bad, but when you feel it from your father, you don’t forget.
“Still in touch with him?”
“Ree? No!” I leaned back from the table, waving my hands. “Absolutely not.”
“Yeah, I’ve known a few recording artists. What a crazy life. What egos.”
“Yeah, DJs are bad enough.”
“Too bad my days as Rad Rick are over. So, any significant other back in Dallas?”
“No one will be moving here with me, if that’s what you’re asking.”
His eyes shifted to my boobs. I focused on his wedding band.
“How’s your wife?” She looked about 18 when I met her. That got his eyes off my chest.
“She’s fixing up the place we bought on Long Island and couldn’t be happier.” In the next second he slipped into a perfect thug rapper imitation of Ree, arms moving in downward motions. “The strip-ah, the strip-ah, the strip-ah. I tip-ah, I tip-ah, I tip-ah.”
He obviously thought it was funny so I smiled back.
“Man, I loved that song. I love rock, too. But that was a fucking smash.”
“Yep.” I rubbed my tattoo. “It certainly was.”
“Still is. It tests really well. What, ten years later?”
I was glad to hear that Ree was making money off that song. The down side was that I’d have to hear it for the rest of my life.
Rick said, “I hear Starz is giving a huge push to his new single.”
“You can’t do better than having Nigel Hamilton-Jones in your corner.”
“I’ll say.”
I couldn’t believe my buddy Nigel was in charge of Ree’s big comeback. He wouldn’t let me hear the new song until he took me out to dinner tomorrow night. I couldn’t wait to see him again. Hear the song? I’d hear it eventually. May as well get it over with.
“You’ve never worked at a rock station before,” Rick said, “but I think you’d be great. You’ve got that smoky voice, a sense of humor, and a youthful edge.”
“Any station that doesn’t play Mr. Ree is okay by me.”
Rick ordered the $20-an-ounce Kobe-style Washugyu beef. I asked for one of the least caloric entrées. Sashimi. As soon as our had-to-be-gay waiter walked away, Rick got down to business.
“What do you think of the station?”
I had my line ready.
“It’s like an old pair of faded, comfortable jeans you can’t part with.” I left out but never wear.
“In other words, it sucks.”
We both grinned. WBRR wasn’t just any old Classic Rocker. It was the mother of them all. It debuted over four decades before on the same day the Beatles released Sgt. Pepper in America (June 2, 1967). It broadcast live from the original Woodstock in 1969. It was the station everyone tuned in when the news broke that John Lennon had been shot — and mourned with when he died. Its DJs were once as famous as the rock stars they interviewed. Now its ratings were in the toilet.
“The average age of the DJs is what, 60?” My 28 seemed so young in comparison.
Rick charmingly asked the un-PC question, “How old are you?”
“The lower end of the 25-34 demographic.”
“Perfect.”
Rick had a nervous habit of picking at his postage stamp. “Don’t let Cat Cruz know you think she’s that old.”
He was talking about the beautiful Latina woman who had been holding down middays for about 15 years. Cat was short for Catalina. She used to call herself the Cat Woman until the Batman people served her with a cease and desist. She’d just turned 40; the baby on the staff.
“So what’s up?” I said. “Changing formats?”
“Nope. Research shows WBRR has unbelievably strong loyalty and recognition as being the spot on the dial for rock. The jocks are like family members to the listeners. That doesn’t mean we can’t renovate. Slowly.”
