The School of Essential Ingredients Read Online Free PDF Page B

far end of the second row; Claire started in their direction, but saw a beautiful woman with olive skin and eyes the color of melted chocolate tentatively taking the chair next to them. In the chair beside her, almost hidden in the corner of the room, sat a man whose sadness seemed to have been pressed into his shirt.
    Claire took a chair in the front row, next to a fragile-looking older woman with silver hair and bright blue eyes, whose fingers played absentmindedly with a purple pen. From her seat, Claire scanned her fellow students, looking for personalities, relationships. Carl and his wife were together, but as far as Claire could tell, the seats were otherwise filled with people seemingly unhooked from—or in some cases more likely never hooked to—partners.
    Looking about, Claire realized that she knew nothing of the people around her, and they knew exactly as much about her. The strangeness of it caught her. It was hard to remember the last time she had gone anywhere without her children, or her husband. Even those few times, she had been with people who knew her as a member of a nuclear family, a role as much a part of her identity as the color of her hair or the shape of her hands. When was the last time she had been someplace where no one knew who she was?
    She wondered what her family was doing at home, if the baby had taken his bottle, if James was rubbing Lucy’s back as she went to sleep. Would he remember to move his hand in clockwise circles? Would he know that the baby always kicked off his blanket, and go back in and cover him up?
    How strange, she thought. These people here, they looked at her and thought she was alone, she whose children were with her even in her dreams.
     
    “MY name is Lillian. Welcome to the School of Essential Ingredients.” The woman stood behind the wooden counter, facing the students in their chairs. Her eyes were calm, her smooth, dark hair held loosely together at the base of her neck; Claire guessed she was probably thirty-five years old, just a few years older than Claire herself. Claire watched Lillian’s hands move gently across the utensils and pots on the counter as she talked, like a mother playing with her child’s curls.
    “The first question people always ask me is, What are the essential ingredients?” Lillian paused and smiled. “I might as well tell you, there isn’t a list and I’ve never had one. Nor do I hand out recipes. All I can say is that you will learn what you need to, and you should feel free to write down whatever comes to mind during class.
    “We’ll meet once a month, always on Mondays, when the restaurant is closed. You’re welcome to come to the restaurant on other nights and learn by eating what others are cooking, but on the first Monday of the month the kitchen is yours.
    “Everybody ready?” The class nodded obediently.
    “Well then, I think we’ll start with the beginning.” Lillian turned and walked to the back door. She walked outside, letting in a draft of air, and returned carrying a large Styrofoam cooler in her arms. Claire could hear its contents clattering softly. She looked at the box, then around the room. In the back, Carl smiled and whispered to his wife, who nodded.
    “Crabs,” said Lillian.
    The older woman with the blue eyes leaned toward Claire. “Well, that’s starting off with a bang,” she commented dryly.
    Lillian lifted the lid and drew out one of the creatures. Its shell was the color of dried blood, with black pea eyes perched on the front edge. Its antennae shivered, reaching out for input, and its front pincers waved, ludicrously out of proportion to both its body and the situation, as it searched for air in an ocean of oxygen.
    “Are we going to kill them?” asked the black-eyeliner girl.
    “Yes, we are, Chloe. It is the first, most essential lesson.” Lillian’s expression was quiet, calm. “If you think about it,” she went on, “every time we prepare food we interrupt a life cycle. We