Hell Hath No Curry (8 page)

Myers

That explained it. My poor overtaxed brain has graciously de-leted most memories involving childhood inequities. Mama was as high-strung as a two-tailed kite on a windy day, and her first time through raising a child—that would be me—she ruled with an iron fist and a concrete mind. I wasn’t allowed to have any friends visit the house lest they observe some minor imperfection in her housekeeping and report it to their mothers. By the time Susannah came along, Mama had begun a slow trend toward both moderation and modernization, which peaked, wouldn’t you know, after I’d turned twenty-one and was officially no longer her responsibility.

Someday, when I get to heaven, I’m going ask the Good Lord why He picked me to be Mama’s guinea pig. Life is so not fair.

Why is it that the odds appear to be stacked against me, and not against ne’er-do-wells like Susannah? That woman breezes through life, swaddled in fifteen feet of filmy fuchsia fabric, with a dog in her bra—her
dog
! Where was that mangy mutt now that she was naked? It never left her sight. Ever! The cantankerous little rat even piddled in her bosom when she smuggled it into the movies.

“The rat,” I shrieked. “Where’s the rat?” I had a nightmarish vision of having to give mouth-to-mouth to a three-pound dog that is two-thirds sphincter and one-third teeth. What if I blew on the wrong end?

“A rat?” Susannah shrieked as well and jumped up on the toilet lid, which, fortunately, was in the down position.

“Not a rat,
your
rat. The malicious mongrel that inhabits your Maidenform.”

Susannah jumped down. “His name is Shnookums, and you know perfectly well that he isn’t a mongrel; he’s a purebred Rus-sian toy terrier. And if you must know, he’s up in Johnstown doing his studly thing.”

“His what?”

“I’ve been renting him out for stud service, to generate a little HELL HATH NO CURRY

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more income—one that I can spend as I please. I told you. You see, you
are
losing it.”

“People actually
pay
to have that thing do the terrier tango with their dogs?”

“A thousand dollars a pop, or pick of the pups. I always take the money, because I could never love another dog as much as I do my Shnooky-booky.”

Thank heavens there weren’t any flies hovering over the tub, because I might have inhaled them. “A
thousand
dollars for
that
?”

“He has impeccable lines, Mags. Besides, he was third runner-up in Best of Breed last year. His kennel name, by the way, is Volga Mist’s Prince Shnookums.”

I heard her words, and understood their meaning; I just couldn’t comprehend them. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me, dear. Did you say he has a title?”

“Think of it as a beauty contest for dogs, but it’s much more than that. You see, they have a breed standard, to which the dogs have to conform—oh, never mind, you’re not going to get it, so why should I even try to explain?”

“But I
am
interested. Did you just say Shnookums has a title?

Should I have been calling him Your Royal Highness?” Sometimes the Devil just has to insert a bit of sarcasm. I try to fight it, I really do.

“He has lots of show titles, but Prince is just a name I gave him.”

My nose itched, which is always a signal that I’m about to have a moneymaking thought. “Hmm. If an ugly beast—and I mean that kindly—can make a thousand dollars a pop for doing something he likes to do against my leg for free, how much money could one make with a good-looking dog? You know, like a golden retriever or a lab?”

For some strange reason, Susannah was miffed. “I take that back, what I said earlier. You’re not losing it; you’ve never had it.”

62 Tamar

Myers

“At the risk of sounding proud, may I remind you that I made straight As in college?”

“I’m not talking about intelligence. You have guests coming here from all over the world, but you’re still a country bumpkin, and you’re the greediest woman I’ve ever met.”

I reeled in shock, which is a dangerous thing to do when standing in a soapy bath, especially one with thirty-two powerful jets. “I am most certainly not a country bumpkin!”

“Yes, you are. I bet you didn’t know there was such a thing as a dog show until just now.”

“Of course I did; you’ve mentioned them before. I just didn’t know there were bucks to be made in the barking biz.”

“That’s just like you; all you ever do is think about money!

And what for? You have oodles, but you never spend it. You’re the cheapest woman in the universe, you know that? You can pinch a penny till it screams.”

“Not only that, but I once made a nickel beg for mercy.”

“And that’s the other thing you do that drives me up the wall.”

“What? Squeeze my dimes so hard I stunt their growth? I always wondered why they’re the smallest coins.”

“You’re always sarcastic, that’s what. I hate it, I hate, I hate it!” My sister stomped from the room, leaving soggy footprints on my bathroom carpet. I shook my head in shame. When I had the inn restored, after the devastating tornado that flung me face-down into a pile of cow manure, I should have sprung for tile, or at least a good-quality linoleum. Susannah was right; I am cheap.

But waste not, want not, right? One must save for the proverbial rainy day—or string of rainy days, given how inaccurate weather forecasts generally are. Besides, what Susannah didn’t know is that I’ve saved up a hefty amount of money for her retirement.

She is never, ever, going to be truly in need. Neither is anyone else I love, including my pseudo-stepdaughter.

“You can thank me later,” I hollered after her.

Immediately my words came back to haunt me.

10

Lamb Curry

Ingredients

1 cup yogurt

5 cardamoms (whole)

¼ teaspoon turmeric powder

2–3 teaspoons ginger-garlic paste

1 teaspoon cayenne pepper

3–4 medium tomatoes, finely diced

1 teaspoon cumin powder

1–2 tablespoons tomato paste

1 teaspoon coriander powder

2–4 green chilies slit down the

Salt to taste

middle, but kept intact with stem

1 pound lamb, cleaned and cubed

to make it easier to remove from

1 tablespoon oil

curry after cooking.

3–4 medium onions, finely sliced

1 teaspoon garam masala

4 bay leaves (whole)

¼ cup coriander leaves, finely

4 cloves (whole)

chopped, for garnish (optional)

Yield: 4 servings

Preparation

1. In a bowl mix yogurt, turmeric powder, cayenne pepper, cumin and coriander powders, and salt. Marinate 64 Tamar

Myers

lamb in this mixture for ½ hour or more—the longer, the better.

2. In a heavy-bottomed pan, heat oil over medium-high heat and sauté onions, bay leaves, cloves, and cardamoms till a light golden brown.

3. Add ginger-garlic paste and fry for a few minutes.

4. Add tomatoes, tomato paste, green chilies, and garam masala and mix thoroughly. Add a little warm water now and then if mixture gets too dry or starts to stick.

5. Add marinated lamb mixture. Mix well. Let lamb cook 15 minutes. Add a little warm water. Mix. Cover, lower heat, and cook till tender (approximately 45 minutes) and oil separates.

6. Garnish with coriander leaves. Serve with rice or naan bread, accompanied by a nice salad and raita.

Notes

• Work with chilies carefully and wash your hands immediately after. The heat is in the seeds, so you may remove them before using the chilies. Chilies and cayenne pepper may be adjusted to taste and other peppers may be substituted, but sparingly. It may be safer to start with 2, taste along the way, and adjust. The curry will marinate with the green chilies, so remove them from leftovers to prevent further spiciness.

• Beef, chicken, or both may be substituted as well.

• For a variation, just add cut pieces of eggplant in step 4.

If using potatoes, add them to step 5 to avoid ending up with mashed potatoes!

• Discard whole spices, that is, cloves, cardamom, and bay leaves, before eating.

• In step 5, when adding water, adjust it accordingly: more water if you want a slightly soupy curry to enjoy HELL HATH NO CURRY

65

with rice and bread, or less water to keep it a bit on the dry side. Your choice.

• For a special regal flare, after step 5 you may also add ¼

cup heavy cream, a pinch saffron that’s been soaked in 2–3 tablespoons of water, and ¼ cup blanched almonds that have been ground. Allow to simmer for about 10

minutes and enjoy Shahi Korma!

• You could also forgo the yogurt and still have a delicious curry. In that case, after sautéing the onions till golden brown, add the ingredients in step 4, then the meat, then all the spices, allowing cooking time of a few minutes in between each addition. Let the flavors cook and blend together for sufficient time; this will prevent a raw spice flavor. Add desired amount of water, mix, cover, lower heat, and cook till meat is fork tender.

11

“What’s Auntie Susannah so mad about, and whatcha want me to thank ya for?”

Alison Miller, my fourteen-year-old charge, had somehow managed to slip into my room on cat’s feet. Normally the child clumps around like a drunken elephant, not that I’ve seen a whole lot of those with which to compare her. At any rate, she’d propped herself against my bureau for support, since like most adolescent children, she seemed to lack a working spine.

“At what point did you come in?”

“Just when she ran out.”

“And you’re already too tired to stand up straight?”

“Sheesh, Mom, all ya ever do is pick on me. I’m a teenager, in case ya haven’t noticed.”

“Trust me, dear, that observation has not escaped me.”

“So, ya gonna tell me or not?”

“Not. It isn’t your business.”

“It is, if I gotta thank ya.”

“I’ve changed my mind. But I do want to know why you’re home from school so early.”

“Half day, that’s why. Something to do with a ballgame all the HELL HATH NO CURRY

67

way over in who-knows-where. Ya know I don’t like sports. Anyway, it was in the flyer I brought home the other day. Didn’tcha read it?”

“Don’t be silly, dear.”

“That means ya didn’t.”

“But I was going to,” I wailed. I know, I’ve promised to lay off the wailing, but sometimes I have no choice.

Alison regarded me with eyes the color of her father’s, my erstwhile bogus husband. They are a bewitching blue, and I think there should be a law against them.

“So, can I go over to Jimmy’s?”

I cleared my throat several times. It’s a trick I learned, after becoming a pseudo-mom. It gives me a little extra time to think.

“Jimmy? I thought we settled that. I mean, I thought he—

uh—was interested in someone else.”

“Yeah, but he dumped her, and now he wants to date me again.”

“You are too young to date. And Jimmy is too old for you.

Alison, we’ve been through this a million times.”

“Okay, no need to get your panties in a bunch. Can I go with ya, then?”

“Too late, dear, I’m engaged. You should have asked sooner.”

The beguiling blues widened for a second, and then she burst out laughing. “Good one, Mom. No, I want to go detecting with ya.”

“
Excuse
me?”

“Auntie Freni says you’re working your
tuchas
off on a new case, and since I don’t have school this afternoon, I want to come with ya to watch ya grill your suspects.”

“Freni actually said
tuchas
? Where did she learn that?”

“Same place you did: Grandma Ida.”

“She is not your grandmother! Not yet, at any rate.”

“So, how about it? Can I come?”

To tell the truth, I was immensely flattered. From what I’ve 68 Tamar

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heard, most fourteen-year-old girls wouldn’t be caught dead hanging around their mothers. Perhaps I was doing a better job than I thought.

“I don’t grill anyone; I merely put the screws to a few deserving individuals—oh, all right, you can come. But you have to be quiet. No interrupting me with questions, or touching their stuff.”

“Deal.”

“And try not to lean against their walls either, and if they ask you to sit, don’t throw yourself on the chairs or couches. Lower yourself properly, like a lady.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. So who are ya going to screw over first?”

“
Excuse
me?”

“Them’s your words, Mom, not mine.”

I was in for a long day.

Thelma Unruh, the natural blonde, lived the closest, but I decided to pick my victims alphabetically. Besides, Caroline Sha lives on the tippy-top of Buffalo Mountain, where the views are stunning.

Hopefully, a drive up the mountain would lift my spirits. Who knows, I might even burst into a spontaneous rendition of “Climb Every Mountain,” one of the few secular songs to which I know the words.

As we twisted and turned up the narrow road that led to the old Sha homestead, I had a field day sharing the sights with my foster daughter. The fact that Alison seemed genuinely impressed was an unexpected blessing.

“We don’t have nothing like this in Minnesota,” she said. “At least not where my parents live.”

“This is where our ancestors lived for generations, dear. This land is your land. See the valley there? Your great-great-great-great-great-grandfathers and grandmothers settled it almost two hundred years before you were born.”

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“Did they chase off the Indians?”

“Of course not, dear; they were pacifists. They let others chase them off. A generation earlier, two of your direct ancestors were captured by the Delaware tribe and adopted as full-fledged members.”