I’m finally revisiting the characters from The River City Chronicles nine years after their original timeline. I’ll be running the series weekly here on my blog, and then will release it in book form at the end of the run. Hope you enjoy catching up with all your faves and all their new secrets!
Today, a stranger enters the scene, and food is prepared in loving memory…
< Read Chapter Fifteen | Read Chapter Seventeen >
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Chapter Sixteen
Tortelli alla Lastra
He sat in his non-descript Honda Fit, parked half a block down from Ragazzi. It was a rainy Sunday afternoon—unusual for May—and his windshield wipers were set to intermittent, periodically scraping across the windshield with a harsh dragging squeak.
He glanced at his phone once again, scanning the photo to memorize their features—you had to be so careful about pronouns these days, so he’d found it easier to just use they and them, always.
He had to be cautious—his employer wanted information, but had impressed upon him the importance of being discreet about it.
He snorted. Discreet was his middle name.
The rainfall increased, pummeling the little car so hard it sounded like hail. With an annoyed grunt, he bumped up the wiper speed. They groaned across the dirty windshield, sending brown water droplets flying through the air.
There. Someone with a yellow umbrella ducked into the restaurant. He lifted his binoculars, squinting at their face. Nope. Not them.
He pulled out another Jimboys taco—it was cold now, but still smelled tantalizing— and bit off a crunchy chunk, then sucked in the loose bits of lettuce with a satisfying slurp and wiped the drippings off on his tan overcoat.
He had time. He was patient.
He would find them soon enough.
#
Gio stocked each of the stations in the teaching kitchen with flour, water, salt, pepper and olive oil. In the individual fridges beneath, he put covered bowls of potatoes, sausage, and some parmigiano… the real italiano autentico stuff, never to be confused with that American travesty parmesan.
Marissa would be there, he assumed. The thought didn’t trouble him the way it had even just a week before. They seemed to have reached some sort of détente, where they could manage to be in the same room again without running away from one another. That’s a good thing. Maybe, just maybe…
“What are we making today?”
The man’s voice startled Gio. He stood up too fast and banged his head on the hard edge of the dark marble countertop. “Ouch.” He focused on the newcomer—a middle-aged man with short brown hair, dressed in a crisp white shirt and blue tie and gray slacks. He was standing by the front door, though Gio was sure he’d locked it, and the bell hadn’t rung. He was also completely dry, though it was pouring outside the large plate-glass windows. “Are you here for the memorial?”
The man smiled disarmingly. “In a manner of speaking.” He looked around and sighed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. You guys have made a lot of changes. This used to be a bar, I think…”
Gio nodded. “They closed during the pandemic. Papà and Babbo bought it and converted it. This way we can run the restaurant and the classes at the same time.” If only they would listen to his ideas. They had such a great thing going here, but it could become so much more if they would just franchise it.
The stranger ran his hand down his tie. “I have fond memories of this place.”
He looked familiar, somehow—
“Gio, everything is sets in there?” Papà poked his head into the room from the restaurant side.
“Set. And yes, Papà. I was just talking to this guy.” He thumbed the front door.
“What guy?” Diego looked around the kitchen, furrowing his brow.
“What’s your name again?”
But the man was gone.
Strange. He shrugged. “Never mind. Yes, we’re all set.” He shook his head. I must be seeing ghosts.
#
Diego prepped his workstation, going over the recipe for Tortelli alla Lastra one last time to make sure he had everything he needed.
Carmelina and Daniele were the first to arrive. Technically, Carmelina’s Italian boyfriend wasn’t one of the original Club Ragazzi members, but he’d been around the place so regularly while Carmelina was using their kitchen that he pretty much qualified as a part of la famiglia. They left their umbrellas in the holder by the door.
“Hey Diego.” She kissed both of his cheeks. Despite her effusive greeting, her face looked drawn. No wonder. They’d all liked Sam and Brad. It was hard to believe he was gone.
“Ciao.” Daniele squeezed his hand. Despite showing some gray at the temples, the Italian florist was still quite handsome. Lucky girl.
Carmelina took up her favorite station and began getting out pots and pans and bowls.
Marcos and Dave arrived next, shaking off the rain under the red, green and white striped awning before stepping inside.
Diego had a soft spot in his heart for them. As the other ongoing gay couple in the club—and the ones who had brought Marissa to him—he considered them among his closest friends.
“Ciao bello…” Marcos hugged him, kissing his cheek. Italian came easily to him with his Spanish language background. “It’s coming down a dirotto out there.”
Dave was Hispanic too, but somehow had never picked up the language. “Hi gorgeous.”
“Glad you two make it.” He could see from the twinkle in Marcos’s eyes that his words weren’t quite right. “Made?”
A wide grin rewarded his efforts. “Perfect.”
“I’ll never speak English as well as you.” Diego sighed.
“But you are far more charming than the average American.” Marcos squeezed his hand in reassurance, and then led Dave to their station.
Ben popped his head in, looking around the room, the sadness of his loss etched on his face. Of all of them, he was the one who most clearly understood what poor Sam was going through. He stared at his usual station, seeming trapped at the doorway. Outside, the rain was still coming down, as his American friends said, like cats and dogs.
Diego slapped his forehead. How could he have been so stupid? The last time Ben had been here to cook, it had been with Ella. He waved at his friend. “Ben, over here. You’re cook with me today.”
Relief blossomed on Ben’s face, and he let the door slip closed behind him to cross the room. “Thanks. It’s just…”
“I know.” He squeezed Ben tightly in his arms. “Lo so.” He remembered how losing Luna, Gio’s mother, had ripped his soul open, and they’d been long estranged. Luckily he’d gotten Gio out of the deal. How proud he was of his beautiful, sweet, intelligent son.
Last but not least, Marissa appeared, towing along a surprise guest, both of them soaked. “Forgot my umbrella. We had to run here from the car.”
“Che piacere! What a pleasure.” He welcomed them both with a hug.
Gio came out of the walk-in with an armful of flour for the restaurant and stopped dead in his tracks. He flashed Marissa a weak smile before crossing over to the restaurant side of the building.
Diego shook his head. Best to leave them to figure it out themselves. He’d never understood why they had broken up. Gio wouldn’t talk about it, and Marissa had just stopped coming around. She was so talented as a chef—it had pained him to lose her.
“I hope you don’t mind. I asked her along today.” Marissa indicated Ainsley, who blushed.
“It’s strange coming in here when I’m not working.”
Diego shook his head. “Of course not. We all here to celebrate the life of a good friend.” Ainsley had never met Brad, as far as he knew.
Watching her with Ainsley—when did that happen?—he smiled. She seemed happy. Or like she could be happy. Maybe it was for the best that she’d given up on cooking. Being a chef was a hard business, always maintaining standards and keeping the menu fresh.
When everyone was settled, he cleared his throat, waiting for the murmuring to die down. “We are here because a good friend has left us.” He closed his eyes, remembering Brad’s welcoming smile, his easy presence. The grant he’d found to help street kids learn the skills to work in the restaurant business had saved Ragazzi. He and Matteo owed Brad everything. “So before we are started, let us raise a toast to Brad Weston.” He picked up the glass of sparkling prosecco that Gio had left for him. “Cin cin!”
“Cin cin!” Glasses clinked all around the room. Outside, the rain thundered as if in approval.
Once everyone had taken a sip, he set down the glass, said a quick prayer for Brad’s soul, and picked up a potato. “Today we’re making Tortelli alla lastra—basically a giant fried ravioli, filled with… Gio, how do you say salciccia di nuovo?”
“Sausage.” The youth’s voice emanated from the walk-in.
“Perfetto. Sausage, potatoes, and cheese. I think Brad would have liked these.” He smiled at the thought. “Lastra means ‘slab’ in Italian. This dish was originally cooked on a tile ‘slab,” but today we’ll use a hotplate seasoned with a touch of olive oil. We start by boiled the potatoes…”
#
Marissa sank her hands into the bowl filled with flour, salt, and pepper, kneading it as Ainsley slowly added the water. The flour gave off such a heavenly aroma, casting her back to those evenings she’d spent there as a teenager, first in the class she’d never wanted to take, and then working as an intern in the old Ragazzi kitchen. Glory days. She wondered idly where Tristain was these days.
“You lost in space?”
Ainsley’s question brought her right back down to Earth. “Sorry. A lot of memories here.” She blinked. “I’m being a terrible host, aren’t I?”
Her erstwhile date laughed. “Just a little, but it’s okay. It must be hard losing someone you love.” She lifted the measuring cup full of water away from the bowl. “Is that enough?”
“What?” Marissa looked down at her flour-covered hands. “Oh. Yeah, I think so.” The dough was kneading up nicely.
“Good.” Ainsley retrieved the rolling pin from the drawer below the granite countertop. “So why did you invite me, if you just planned to sit there silently all afternoon?”
She shrugged. “I don’t really know.” It had just felt right.
Ainsley snorted. “Way to make a girl feel special.” She dusted the counter with flour. “You want to roll, or should I?”
Marissa frowned. “I meant, I wanted to text you. I really did. But I don’t know why I did it just then. It’s been a rough week. I think I needed someone to talk to, someone to hang out with who doesn’t know all the same people I do.” She looked across the room at Carmelina and Daniele. They looked happy together. Content. That was the word. “I’m not a good person.” She didn’t deserve that kind of happiness.
Ainsley snorted again, louder this time. “What did you do, kill a dog?”
She shook her head. “Nothing like that.” She liked Ainsley. The woman was beautiful, witty, and really smart. But she’d liked Gio too, and look what she’d done to him.
“Tell you what. Let’s set the whole you’re an awful person thing aside for the afternoon, have some fun making this giant ravioli thing together, and honor your friend.”
Marissa reached over and squeezed her hand, leaving a sticky white handprint there. “I’d like that.”
“Deal. But we’re coming back to this later. And did you have to do that?” She rolled her eyes as she rinsed off her hand in the station’s sink.
Marissa let go of the guilt sitting in the pit of her stomach, laughing it out of her gut. “Fair enough. Now are you going to roll this dough out before it dries up?”
Ainsley brushed back a strand of loose black hair back behind her ear.
She’s adorable. Marissa bit her lip. Awful person, remember?
“Sure. Tell me about Brad.” Her new… friend?… spread some flour on the countertop and picked up the rolling pin. She started in on the mound of dough, flattening it like a pro.
Marissa closed her eyes. She could still see him seated behind his desk at the old LGBT Center, two buildings ago. “He was kind. Mostly that. He made a place for me in the world when I was thrown out on the street…”
TORTELLI ALLA LASTRA
(Tortelli on the Slab)
Ingredients for 6:
1 cup water
1 lb potatoes
½ pound of sausage
2 oz of grated parmigiano (or pecorino)
Salt, Pepper, and Extra Virgin Olive Oil to taste
Boil the potatoes with their skins in lightly salted water. Once they are cooked, peel them while hot and mash them. Remove the skin from the sausages and crumble them up, and brown them in a frying pan with a little olive oil for a few minutes. Combine the potatoes, sausage, grated cheese, and a little salt and pepper in a bowl and mix well.
Put the flour and a little salt in another bowl. Add in the water slowly and knead the mixture until the dough is elastic, compact and evenly mixed. Form it into a ball and put it on a lightly-floured surface. Use a rolling pin to roll it out into a thin sheet.
Spread the sausage filling evenly on one half of the rolled-out dough. Fold the other half over it and seal the edges with the flat edge of a fork. Then use a pastry wheel to cut it into four-inch squares. If you don’t have a pastry wheel, use a knife, and seal the edges of each square with a fork.
Cook the tortellini on a hot griddle for three to four minutes, turning them several times, until the outsides are speckled with golden brown.
You can vary the ingredients of the filling to your own taste – like bacon, ricotta, spinach, basil, or other herbs.
< Read Chapter Fifteen | Read Chapter Seventeen >
Like what you read? if you haven’t tried it yet, check out book one, The River City Chronicles, here.