• Recipes
  The Apprentice's Pot au Feu Creamy Morning Eggs Alexandre's Omelette Raviole de Fois Gras Monkey Brains Cocktail Chef's Own Sweet and Sour, Hot and Cold Eggs Ris de Veau aux Morilles Colette's Seven Hour Lamb

From Chapter Forty

The waiter, followed by two commis bearing silver trays, advanced with almost comic solemnity like acolytes participating in a ritual in a vampire movie. The waiter reverently removed a small metal platter of sweetbreads from the tray and placed it piously before Karine Bergeron. The first commis retreated three steps and was replaced by the second. The waiter turned and repeated the process for Martin Fleuret. "Ris de veau poêlé et châtaignes médaillonées à l'effilade de truffes noires des coteaux du Saumurois," he intoned as if in incantation.

Both Karine and Martin were silent for a moment as the humus aroma of the truffles blended with the tartness of the sweetbreads and nudged the boundary of corruption and decay.

Martin looked deeply into Karine's eyes with the liquid tenderness of a puppy. "We won't be eating like this tomorrow night." He gave her hand on the table a squeeze.

"I'm nervous about leaving like this," Karine said. "You're more or less a suspect. I really don't think we can go without the permission of the authorities."

"That's just why we're going. We've been over it a hundred times. Soon the weather will turn. The sea will start to chill and the trade winds will lose their strength. If we ask permission to go, we'll be stuck here for months. We won't be able to leave until the spring. That's an awful time to go. The sea will be cold and the weather fluky. Even dangerous. We have to go right now."

"But what about the murder investigation?"

"What about it? They'll find the culprit soon enough. There's nothing we can do to help. It has nothing to do with us."

"I don't know. Isn't it illegal? You and I were both warned not to leave France."

"Who's going to know? The boat is provisioned and ready to go. We just hop in the car around two in the morning and we'll be floating out on the tide at dawn. There'll be no one to stop us. Once we're at sea we'll be invisible. When we get to the other side we'll log on to some newspaper's archive and read all about how they caught the killer in some old news story. They'll have forgotten all about us."

"But if we do something illegal can't they impound your bank accounts or something?"

"Legally they might be able to, but I took the precaution of moving most of my money to offshore accounts. I have enough so we can live abroad on a boat almost forever if we want to."

"You make it sound so final. As if we won't be able to come back."

"Dear, you're overreacting. Don't you want to make this trip? Think of us in three weeks in the Caribbean sun, without a care in the world. Just you and me and nothing else."

"Of course I want to go. It's just that I'm nervous about sneaking out like this. I'm sorry. It's just me. I'm sorry." She reached out for his hand. "These sweetbreads are astonishing. I never thought anything could taste as wonderful as this."

Ris de veau–sweetbreads–are a darling of the three star chefs because of their subtle delicacy. The are rarely seen in the amateur's kitchen, probably because rinsing them is such an arduous procedure or, more likely because–yuck–they're offal.

Ris de veau poêlé et châtaignes médaillonées à l'effilade de truffes noires des coteaux du Saumurois is an imaginary dish, but even if it weren't it would hardly be something to try at home, kids. The following recipe is one of the French classics and every bit as good–well almost–as Chef Labrousse's version.