Page 46 of A Recipe Called Home
Turning to leave and throwing her jacket over her shoulders, her gaze caught on Miles pushing open the side door for the woman from earlier. For just a second, their eyes met, and Jules stood frozen to the floor, heart beating so loud she could feel it in her face. She held her breath, hoping he’d stop and come back to talk to her. Instead, he gave a barely perceptible nod and disappeared into the blackness of the night.
***
Winnie showed up almost twenty minutes late the next morning, but Jules couldn’t be mad as her cute red VW Beetle crawled up the drive. She wondered if that was the real reason Winnie bought it, to ease the frustrations she caused by her terminal lateness. Either way, Jules couldn’t contain her excitement to spend all day with Winnie in the city. It had been years since they’d last gone on an adventure together.
Cruising through town with the top down, they soaked up all the sun they could before fall set in. Although the city was just a quick forty-five-minute drive from Riverbend, it seemed a world away from the sleepy farm town. As they drove, the cornfields faded into the rearview mirror, giving way to crowded neighborhoods of townhouses lined with billboards for casinos and local radio stations.
First, they headed to Millennium Park to recreate a silly picture they had taken back in middle school with the park’s famous “bean” sculpture. In it, Winnie crouched on all fours while Jules kneeled on her back, kissing the underside of the bean. They both still had a copy.
Now, however, it would be a test of their agility to recreate it, which they did before falling over in a heap of laughter. They didn’t stay long, deciding to ditch the crowds of tourists and make their way to Wicker Park, where they’d spend the afternoon before dinner and the comedy show.
As they walked around the hip neighborhood, the sun reflected off the sidewalks and glass shop windows, casting the day in a bright glow that matched their moods.
Along the streets were dozens of independent shops that accompanied a few large brand names like Levi’s and Urban Outfitters. Jules had never been a huge fan of shopping, but she had a soft spot for consignment and second-hand shops, which were aplenty here. They ducked in and out of various shops and art galleries throughout the neighborhood, enjoying the ease of being together. She had to remind herself to not go overboard on account of her current unemployment.
As the afternoon wore on, they split up when Winnie got lost in the massive Levi’s store while Jules wandered down a quiet brick-laid backstreet. She was just getting ready to head back to the main road when she saw a weathered sign that read, “Spine & Spoon” hanging above a peeling green door tucked into the side of an old rowhouse.
Curious, Jules opened the door, which let out a pleasant jingle. A long, narrow room with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on each wall stretched in front of her. Another handwritten sign at the back of the shop read, “Chicago’s Only Cookbook Store.”
Could it be that she found herself in a bookstore full of books about cooking? Who knew such a thing even existed?
Amazed, Jules started at the left side of the narrow room and worked her way around in a loop, gliding her hands over the spines of hundreds of cookbooks. At first, it seemed like a disorganized mess, but she realized the sections were grouped by topic. Everything from French and Italian cooking to books about famous chefs and restaurants to kitchen equipment manuals sat tucked in the shelves, waiting for someone to dust them off. This store had it all. Her earlier warning not to spend anything went out the window. At least a book or two would be coming home with her.
She texted Winnie to meet her there after she bought her denim. At one point, Jules sat on the floor in a bright corner, stacks of books around her as she held each one to her face, examining it; she wanted to read them all, but she had to be reasonable. She could only buy what she could carry, after all. These books were crafted out of passion and expertise, and Jules could feel the knowledge pulsing through the pages, alive and breathing in its own way.
After a while, she stumbled on a section of books about Italian food in Chicago throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. One book was printed in all black and white and featured restaurants from the early to mid-nineteen-hundreds, complete with well-known recipes from each. Although it didn’t mention her great-grandfather’s restaurant, she knew Grandma Rosa would love it. She threw it on top of the pile that she’d designated as her “take-home” stack.
Deciding that was enough, she made her way to the register when the door jingled again and Winnie stepped through with a large shopping bag looped over her arm.
“Oh my, look at this place,” she said, taking in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
“Isn’t it amazing? A bookstore just for cookbooks!” Jules almost squealed. The lady behind the counter smiled and said they got that reaction a lot.
Winnie grabbed a cookbook by Ina Garten and flipped through it, shuffling up to Jules to show her. Pointing at one page with a recipe for homemade pizza dough, Winnie said, “You know you could do this.”
“Do what? Make pizza?” Jules asked, not paying attention. Of course she could make pizza.
“No, silly." Winnie slapped her shoulder. “You could write one of these.”
Jules’, now alert to what Winnie was saying, blew out a quick, “Me? No way! I don’t know the first thing about writing cookbooks.” Waiving Winnie off, Jules turned back to the lady waiting for her payment.
“No, Jules, I’m serious. You could really do this. You know how to write, you’re an outstanding cook and you have your grandma to help you. I think you should consider it. Why not?”
“You’re crazy,” said Jules, although the thought seemed to already be worming its way into her brain. Maybe…she did have all those recipes just sitting at home.
All throughout dinner and then the show, Jules kept coming back to the conversation. She didn’t know the first thing about writing a book, let alone a cookbook, but she could feel its allure. It would be the perfect marriage of creativity and skill. She loved to cook, and she was a decent writer, but how would she go about it? How did you even get a book deal these days; wasn’t it hard? The questions kept bubbling up in her head as she laughed along to the improv actors on stage. Although the show was hilarious, her mind was elsewhere.
“That was a fun show. I think my abs are going to be sore tomorrow. I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard,” Winnie said as they navigated their way back to the car. Jules agreed. Even though she’d only paid half attention, it was worth the drive.
“Thanks for coming today. I miss having adventures with you."
“I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, Jules. You know that,” Winnie said, as they climbed into the clown-sized car. “Plus, I’m a sucker for dinner and show.”
“Oh, don't I know it."
Making their way out of the dark city streets and back onto the highway, Jules asked Winnie what she thought she should do about Miles after recounting the last two conversations they’d had since she returned from D.C.
“Well, I can tell you’ve been thinking about him. You’ve avoided saying his name all day,” she said with a heavy dose of side eye. “But I think you’re asking the wrong question. You need to ask yourself what you really want, not what you think you should do because it’s the sensible thing.”
