She did not particularly care whether he paid; it wasn’t her inn. But
at his words she lifted an eyebrow. “What sort of challenge?”
“A very special one.” He slipped a hand into his coat like an
old-fashioned pistolero, but before Franca could worry he pulled out a
bulging sack made of what looked like deerhide. He set this on the table — carefully, Franca noted.
“You are willing to follow a recipe? So many chefs of your caliber
think themselves above the direction of others.”
She lifted her chin. “I was head chef for Parliament once — before
that bastard Berlusconi, anyhow. While I was there I had to make Florentine
dishes like a Florentine and Venetian dishes like a Venetian and the Madonna
help me if I did them wrong. If the recipe is sound, I can follow it.”
Rated G. Warning: Food descriptions may be intoxicating. Do not listen before grocery shopping.