Introducing Rita Calabrese in The Secret Poison Garden
April 28, 2018 by marianne h donley in category Apples & Oranges by Marianne H. Donley tagged as Cozy mystery, Maureen Klovers
A Slice of Orange is please to introduce you to Rita Calabrese, the sleuth in Maureen Klovers’ new culinary cozy mystery The Secret Poison Garden. The mystery is available for pre-order and will be released on June 14, 2018. We have an excerpt from the book and Rita’s recipe for pasta all’arrabbiata, angry style sauce servered on strozzapreti—“strangle the priest” pasta.
Enjoy!
Rita Calabrese is the guardian angel of the bucolic Hudson Valley hamlet of Acorn Hollow—and of her lovable but exasperating famiglia. She’s always fortifying her down-on-their-luck neighbors with secret deliveries of home-grown vegetables and ravioli alla zucca, sneaking cannoli into her gruff husband’s lunch, and meddling in (or, as she would say, “improving”) the lives of her three grown children.
But now, on the eve of her sixty-sixth birthday, Rita’s looking for a meaningful second act—and finds as a reporter for the local paper. Her profiles of Acorn Hollow’s eccentric citizens, including the soft-spoken biology teacher with a secret poison garden, soon make her the toast of the town. But when the beloved football coach is murdered and Rita’s investigation uncovers not only a messy love triangle, but also rumors of her ne’er-do-well son Vinnie’s involvement, she finds her newfound journalistic zeal on a collision course with her fierce maternal instinct.
From
The Secret Poison Garden
Maureen Klovers
Rita has recently discovered that her oldest son, Marco, is having an affair and her youngest son, Vinnie, is a suspect in the death of the town’s beloved football coach, and she communicates her anger through her cooking….
Rita could not remember the last time she had been so furious with her children. Furious, and disappointed. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she chopped a large yellow onion. Each time her enormous knife hit the butcher block surface with a satisfying sharp, quick chop, she remembered yet another time her children had infuriated her.
Chop.
There was the time that Vinnie and Gina had repurposed the wise men and animals in nonna’s presepe—the one that had been lovingly carved by nonna’s nonno—for a Jurassic Park tableau. She shuddered to think of the dinosaur scales they had drawn on the camels in green permanent marker.
Chop.
There was the time that Vinnie had built a skateboard ramp off of the roof of the garage while she was at bridge club—and broken his ankle right before what was supposed to have been Rita’s first trip to Italy. Instead of traipsing through the vineyards of Tuscany, she’d spent the next two weeks waiting on him hand and foot.
Chop, chop, chop.
The onions were now reduced to little slivers. Her eyes no longer stung with their potency, but the tears kept coming nonetheless.
Rita scraped the onions into the frying pan, and the pan—a seething, searing-hot mixture of bacon fat and butter—crackled its angry response. “My thoughts exactly,” Rita murmured.
No, this time was different. All of the previous times had involved just Vinnie, or occasionally Gina and Vinnie. But never, ever Marco. About the worst thing he had ever done was to ruin his dinner with a few extra cookies.
Marco had never even cheated on a test, so it seemed completely out of character for him to cheat on Susan. Then again, the widow had warned her, hadn’t she? No one is ever who he or she seems.
Rita had initially thought to make a simple penne with marinara sauce for dinner, but such a meal was no match for her mood. Tonight, she thought grimly, is a night for pasta all’arrabbiata. Arrabbiata literally meant “angry.” Her mother and nonna had made pasta all’arrabbiata for two reasons: either to signal that they were angry—and the angrier they were, the longer they left the red chili pepper in the sauce—or to make their husbands come un leone so that they could fare un maschio. Rita still blushed when she recalled their words; she thought of her father and nonno as sweet, harmless old men—hardly “lions.”
Hopefully Sal would not misinterpret the meal, since she had no desire for a lion in her bed tonight. All she wanted was to make Vinnie sweat—literally. She dumped a palmful of blazing hot chili pepper flakes into the pan and gave Marco a call.
“I saw Courtney D’Agostino today,” she shouted over the roar of the food processor as she puréed the tomatoes.
“Oh?”
“Coming out of the Sunshine Café. She looked terrific. I wonder who she was meeting.”
“Huh.”
His nonchalance was maddening. If he was wracked by guilt, he certainly was hiding it well.
“Ma, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a patient.”
“Of course you do,” she huffed. “Say hello to Susan for me,” she added darkly. “She’s a sweet girl.”
Marco sounded baffled. “Yes, she is. Later, ma.”
Rita stabbed the “off” button and rooted around in the cupboard for some penne pasta, then changed her mind. She was more than arrabbiata today—she was arrabbiatissima.
And the only way to make pasta all’arrabbiata even more arrabbiata was to make it not with the traditional penne but with strozzapreti—“strangle the priest” pasta. Curly and slightly irregular, her nonna claimed that it was so dubbed because it was beloved by gluttonous priests who would eat so many that they would practically choke to death.
When Sal and Vinnie trooped through the door half an hour later, Rita served them plates piled high with steaming strozzapreti pasta and some very hot arrabbiata sauce—so hot that Sal nearly choked after his bite.
“Did you have a good day, cara?” he asked suspiciously as he reached for his water glass.
“No,” she said, glaring at Vinnie.
“Anything on your mind, ma?” he asked nervously, pushing the pasta around on his plate.
Without answering, she countered, “Anything on yours?”
“Uh, no. Just work, you know, the usual. Everything’s good.”
“I’m your mother, Vinnie.”
He shot a perplexed look at his father, who raised his eyes to the ceiling and shrugged.
“Yeah, I know, ma.”
“If you’re in trouble, Vin, I can help.”
“Ain’t got no trouble, ma. I swear.”
They ate the rest of the meal in silence.
All’arrabbiata
All’arrabbiata (“angry style”) sauce derives its heat from chili peppers. Italian grandmothers traditionally made this sauce by simmering a whole chili pepper in the pot, but using chili pepper flakes more evenly distributes the spice.
While this sauce is traditionally served with penne pasta, try it with strozzapreti (“strangle the priest” pasta). The name packs an angry punch just like the sauce…and the long, hearty strands are delicious!
¼ cup olive oil
1 yellow onion, chopped
½ carrot, diced
6 cloves garlic, minced
2 cups pancetta (Italian bacon), diced
6 anchovy fillets
4 lbs. very ripe San Marzano tomatoes, peeled, seeds removed, and chopped
1 tbsp. sugar
1 tbsp. balsamic vinegar
¼ cup fresh basil leaves, torn into small pieces
½ tbsp. dried oregano
2-3 teaspoons chili pepper flakes
In a medium saucepan, on low heat, combine olive oil, onion, carrot, pancetta, and anchovies. Cook until onions are translucent. Then add garlic for an additional 2 minutes, stirring occasionally. Pour this mixture into a slow cooker.
Boil water in your largest pot. Once water is at a rolling boil, turn off heat and immediately place all tomatoes into pot. After one minute, remove and wait until these are cool enough to handle. Peel tomatoes by hand (the hot water should have made the skins wrinkly and easy to remove). Discard skins. Cut tomatoes in half lengthwise and scoop out seeds. Purée half of the tomatoes in a blender and dice the other half. Then place both the diced and the puréed tomatoes in a slow cooker.
Add sugar, vinegar, basil, oregano, and chili flakes to the slow cooker. Turn on low heat and cook for eight hours.
Maureen Klovers has held numerous positions in government, including a stint as a U.S. intelligence officer, and was a political commentator on DC 101’s talk radio show “Neighborhood Stuff.” Ms. Klovers has traveled extensively in the United States, Europe, China, India, and Latin America. She’s hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu, been escorted through a Bolivian prison by a German narco-trafficker, and fished for piranhas in Venezuela. She received a Bachelor of Arts in International Relations (with a focus on Latin American politics) from the College of William and Mary in 1999 and a Master’s of Public Policy and Master’s of Business Administration from Georgetown University in 2006. She lives with her husband, Kevin, in Arlington, Virginia.
For more information or to sign up for her newsletter, please visit www.maureenklovers.com
MIRROR, MIRROR: A WRITER’S REFLECTION BY VERONICA JORGE
April 22, 2018 by Veronica Jorge in category Write From the Heart by Veronica Jorge tagged as art, reflection, revelation, words, writing
The painter stares at the canvas waiting for an image to appear. Patiently, he waits until a faint imprint of a landscape or a face emerges. He then grabs a brush and dabs it into the paint on his palette, making haste to reach the canvas with his brush to capture the image. The artist contrasts shade and light. He tightens or increases space. His brush moves rhythmically or scratches across the linen to make the colors and texture warm or cool. The work he renders leaves the viewer feeling airy or heavy.
That’s how I feel when I write. I stare at a blank page as though something secret lay hidden deep within the fibers and emptiness, that by patiently waiting will reveal itself to me. So I wait…until a word, a phrase, or a picture appears.
Could it be that the blank screen or journal page is a powerful mirror able to enlighten my own ideas and though
ts? Is it I who write on the paper; or does the paper draw out what is inside of me?
My words pour out and my hand races across the page. My mind tries to keep up with both for they seem to move of their own volition depicting moments dark and light. Paragraphs heavy laden with emotion yield and give way to joy and humor, while spacing slows or hurries the reader along.
Finished, I sit back exhausted and, ignoring my headache, I read what I wrote. Awestruck, I ask, “Where did this come from?”
My trembling fingers turn the leaf to uncover a new blank page and my sweaty palm smooths the journal sheet flat. Pen in hand, I sit ready to capture another treasure. My eyes dilate seeking and waiting for new wonders to behold.
See you next time on May 22nd.
Veronica Jorge
4 0 Read moreTracy Reed, The Featured Author for April
April 21, 2018 by marianne h donley in category Apples & Oranges by Marianne H. Donley, Featured Author of the Month tagged as Featured author, Sophisticated Romance, Tracy Reed
Author: Tracy Reed
A California native, novelist Tracy Reed pushes the boundaries of her Christian foundation with her sometimes racy and often fiery tales.
After years of living in the Big Apple, this self proclaimed New Yorker draws from the city’s imagination, intrigue, and inspiration to cultivate characters and plot lines who breathe life to the words on every page.
Tracy’s passion for beautiful fashion and beautiful men direct her vivid creative power towards not only novels, but short stories, poetry, and podcasts. With something for every attention span.
Tracy Reed’s ability to capture an audience is unmatched. Her body of work has been described as a host of stimulating adventures and invigorating expression.
Find Tracy on Social media:
https://www.facebook.com/readtracyreed
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tracy-reed
https://www.instagram.com/readtracyreed/
https://twitter.com/readtracyreed
https://www.pinterest.com/readtracyreed/
The Mighty Pen vs The Purposeful Keyboard by Jenny Jensen
April 19, 2018 by Jenny Jensen in category On writing . . . by Jenny Jensen tagged as creativity, handwriting, writing
When was the last time you wrote anything in longhand? Jotting a note, shopping and to-do lists don’t count.
Since writing, no matter what tool we use, is the expression of ideas does the tool you use affect those ideas? If you write out your novel in longhand would the creative process be the same as if you’d clicked it out on a keyboard? Would it be the same story?
Reams have been written (by hand or keyboard?) about the cognitive difference between the two methods. I’ve read articles by neuroscientists who point out the different mental skills each requires; a keyboard is automatic once you’ve learned where each key is and that makes it fast enough to capture a word the second it pops to mind, while handwriting is linked to the creative part of the brain, problem solving and critical thinking. And it takes a bit more time, time for your brain to make more sense of those rapid-fire thoughts. But there’s no denying the ease of the keyboard.
Cursive isn’t taught in schools much anymore so it’s pretty clear we favor the keyboard over pen and paper. Cursive handwriting, where the pen is not raised between characters, has been replaced with learning to use a qwerty keyboard. Are there advanced classes covering the various methods of texting — thumbs versus one-fingered hunt and peck? I could do with that.
A friend of mine died recently. It wasn’t quick or unexpected. I sat down to my keyboard and in 15 minutes clicked out a letter to her husband. There was a lot I wanted to say in as few words as possible and I hoped the words would bring him some comfort. It wasn’t right at all. By the third draft I realized the words might as well have come from Miss Mourning’s Official Book of Sympathy Letters. My words felt clinical. That’s when I took up pen and paper.
I don’t know if it was the weight of the pen in my hand, the feel of the paper or the sight of the words mirroring my thoughts as they appeared beneath my hand. Maybe it was the time the act of writing allowed me to consider before the thoughts appeared as words, but the first handwritten attempt was exactly right. The words were genuine and personal and I knew they would touch my friend’s husband in a good way.
There have been thousands of wonderful writers since the advent of the typewriter — the first keyboard. It’s obvious that the method hasn’t harmed creativity. I do wonder if the works of Louisa May Alcott or Dickens would have been different if they’d had Microsoft Word. (I suspect they’d have loved it for the revisions alone.) Of course there are those contemporary authors like Joyce Carol Oates, who only write in longhand. George R.R. Martin is another. He must have developed Olympian hand muscles by now. The pen trumps the keyboard for some mighty talented writers.
I’m sharing these wandering thoughts because I did learn a lesson with that letter. If you find yourself stuck over a scene, uncertain where to take a plot or floundering over some critical dialog, take up pencil and paper and write it out by hand. There’s a more direct, more personal connection to heart and mind that may well help the right words flow – provided you’ve been taught cursive.
2 0 Read moreTracy Reed, Featured Author of the Month
April 14, 2018 by marianne h donley in category Apples & Oranges by Marianne H. Donley, Featured Author of the Month tagged as Featured author, Sophisticated Romance, Tracy Reed
Author: Tracy Reed
A California native, novelist Tracy Reed pushes the boundaries of her Christian foundation with her sometimes racy and often fiery tales.
After years of living in the Big Apple, this self proclaimed New Yorker draws from the city’s imagination, intrigue, and inspiration to cultivate characters and plot lines who breathe life to the words on every page.
Tracy’s passion for beautiful fashion and beautiful men direct her vivid creative power towards not only novels, but short stories, poetry, and podcasts. With something for every attention span.
Tracy Reed’s ability to capture an audience is unmatched. Her body of work has been described as a host of stimulating adventures and invigorating expression.
Find Tracy on Social media:
https://www.facebook.com/readtracyreed
https://www.bookbub.com/authors/tracy-reed
https://www.instagram.com/readtracyreed/
https://twitter.com/readtracyreed
https://www.pinterest.com/readtracyreed/
