Recipes for Romancing my Heroes

Recipes for Romancing my Heroes

by

MARSHA CANHAM

Copyright 2018 © Marsha Canham

ISBN 978-1-928075-06-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

If you did not purchase this copy please remember that most authors are ordinary, hard-working people who need to eat too. Thank you for respecting our hard work

Table of Contents

Foreword

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

This is dedicated to Michelle Canham, Payton Canham, and Austin Canham, who don't read recipe books but might wonder some day how Grammy made that special rib sauce.

To my good friend Jill Metcalf who has become my new Eagle Eye.

Further, to all of my friends and family who have sat around my kitchen table and shared the good food, good wine, and good company.

And as always, to my son Jeffrey, who never pushed a plate away from my table unless it was empty.

Foreword

One of the more popular tropes in a romance novel is the inclusion of at least one hearty, detailed meal set out for the characters. This is, in part, to show they are human and need to eat in order to continue swashing and buckling, and in part to show we authors have done our due diligence as to what people ate in that particular time period. I am no less guilty of having my characters dine on such exotics as stuffed swans, syllabubs, wild boar in mustard sauce. I have written novels set in Medieval England where tomatoes were considered poisonous and turnips were king. I've also researched foodstuffs in 18th century Scotland and in the 17th century Spanish Main as well as the Old West. If I come across an odd-sounding delicacy while researching a story—like black eggs—I do try to incorporate it into the requisite meal. As well, most of the cooking in previous centuries would have been done over open fires—no convenient microwaves or convection ovens to make things easier. Only the very rich had access to ice so most foods were either eaten right away or preserved in salt or dried.

Meals on board sailing ships were even more rustic, with open fires being heartily frowned upon. Small iron braziers—forerunners of the cast iron hibachi—and large iron cauldrons comprised the common shipboard cooking facilities, which meant the crews dined mainly on stews and biscuits. The meat was pickled and salted to the fifth level of hell. Biscuits were unleavened and packed into barrels where, after two months at sea, they were infested by weevils, mold, and worms.

Scotland had haggis and oatcakes as staples. The former made use of everything a sheep had to offer once the tasty bits of mutton were roasted off. That included the blood as a binding agent. To this day it is still steamed and served in the sheep's bladder, and if you've ever eaten haggis…well…it is no wonder Robert Burns felt he had to stab it repeatedly with a dagger.

In Medieval times, salt was a valuable commodity by which a man's station in life was measured. If his seat at the table was above the placement of the salt bowl, he was a knight or a nobleman. If he sat below the salt, he was of common stock, and therefore seated farthest from the manor lord and honored guests who sat at the head of the great hall on a raised dais. The most popular spice was mustard. It was used as both a preservative and as a seasoning to disguise the taste of some meats that might have gone off. It might possibly explain the origin of the phrase: the English have a hundred ways of cooking food, but only one sauce.

Being the curious sort, I wondered what the characters in my books would make of today's cuisine. I suspect some might balk at spaghetti, since it is made with tomato sauce. Others would not know what to make of egg rolls or mac and cheese, or for that matter, pasta itself.

So, for shits and giggles, I sat down and tried to think of what I would serve my handsome, lusty heroes if they came to dinner. I've included a brief excerpt from each book that serves to describe my featured guests and tried to match them up to some of my favorite recipes. As for the recipes themselves, they are ones I make quite frequently for family or friends, and some have even been closely guarded secrets that have not been shared despite all manner of begging and bribes.

As a word of warning, I will caution any reader who must follow a recipe precisely that there is rarely anything precise in what I cook. I taste as I go along, sometimes adding extra ingredients I think might improve the dish. Sometimes I even make substitutions if I don't have exactly what I need. Moreover, I subscribe to the NMSN method of cooking…No Measuring Spoons Needed.

However, for the sake of those who might want to try their hand at some of the recipes, I have estimated amounts as closely as possible. But again, taste, taste, taste, and adjust to your own personal likes and dislikes.

Chapter One, Dinner with Justin Cross

We start our fantasy feasting with the bad boy featured in China Rose.

China Rose was my first published novel and featured three lusty brothers all vying for the attentions of the same innocent young lady who had led, for the most part, a sheltered life in the country. She was betrothed from an early age to Sir Ranulf Cross, the eldest of the brothers, a renowned surgeon and peer of the realm who has no intentions of giving up his buxom mistress just because he is getting married. Middle bro, Eugene, is clever, cunning and sly. Not above resorting to blackmail, he seethes with jealousy for everything his older brother possesses, including his intended bride and the aforementioned buxom mistress.

The youngest brother is the adventurer who ran away to sea and whose escapades are a constant embarrassment to his two older brothers.

~

Excerpt:

China stopped and counted the doors, looking back, and looking ahead. When she was fairly certain she knew which one led to the dining hall, she crept over on soundless, slippered feet and quietly opened one of the double doors.

Just bring it in and set it on the table.

For the second time in one evening, China was startled by the sight of a strange man. This one was seated in a wing chair before the fire... a fire that was not blazing in the cantilevered elegance of the dining hall, but in a room lined on three sides with bookshelves. She had obviously miscalculated which doors to approach and was in the library.

So too was a man who was frowning and clearly annoyed by the interruption.

You are not the same wench I sent out for coffee. Never mind, I have changed my preferences anyway. He paused and lifted an empty glass. I felt the need for stronger stuff. Well don't just stand there, girl, fetch me another brandy and be quick about it, ere I die of thirst.

China made no move to comply. Something about him was vaguely familiar, though she could not immediately identify the reason why. The squareness of his jaw, the rather arrogant curve of his mouth, the way he raked her up and down and dismissed her as being of little interest set the fine hairs on her arms prickling to attention. His hair was light brown and had obviously lacked the attentions of a good barber for several months. His eyes were an indistinguishable color at that distance but they were heavily smudged beneath as if he had not slept in several days. His breeches had not seen soap and water in longer than China cared to guess. His coat was coarse, his neckcloth was unwound, his shirt gaped open halfway down his chest revealing a wealth of smooth dark hair.

Don't just stand there gaping, girl! The brandy tray is right behind you, just bring the bottle and I shall manage the rest.

China reacted instinctively to the note of command in his voice. She picked up the decanter of brandy and carried it over to the hearth, setting it on the table beside him then quickly withdrawing her hand and stepping back a pace.

Thank you. Now get out.

Perhaps it was the disdain in his voice, or the echo of the dismissal she herself had given in anger earlier; whatever the cause, it drew her temper out of hiding and she snatched the brandy off the table again just as his hand reached out for it.

"I do not know who you are, Sir, or who you think you might be to order me about, but I am not here for your convenience, I am neither a wench nor a serving girl, nor do I have to suffer your insolence."

He looked calmly up at her through eyes as gray as a cloudy sky.

Well, if you are not here for my convenience and you are not a serving wench, who the devil are you and why are you wandering around the house in the small hours of the morning wearing nothing but an invitation to trouble?

China glanced down, having forgotten she was in her robe and nightdress. She gasped and the heavy decanter slipped from her hand. It would have smashed to a million pieces on the floor had the stranger not leapt from the chair quicker than the eye could follow to snatch it in mid-air.

Be damned if we waste Ran's good brandy, he muttered. And if you are a burglar, madam, my compliments on your disguise. You'll have no need to draw a pistol on me.

He stood a full head taller than China and the dash to catch the bottle had caused his shirt to open further, baring an alarming breadth of chest, which looked to be solid muscle, all of it darkly tanned. He was no stranger to the sun, and standing so close, she could see that his hair was not so much a light shade of brown as it was bleached in streaks by sunlight.

She took a discreet step back. My name is China Grant if you must know. I am—

China? He arched an eyebrow. Like the country?

She ignored his sarcasm. I also happen to live here, Sir, and you have not yet told me who you are or why you are sitting here in Sir Ranulf Cross's library looking every bit like a burglar yourself.

The smoky gray eyes looked her up and down again, rather too boldly to keep a flush from rising in China's cheeks. You live here, do you... Miss Grant, was it? In what capacity, might I ask?

Not that I am under any obligation to answer, Sir, but I am Lord Ranulf's fiancé.

The newly filled glass of brandy was halfway to his lips but retreated again. The hell you say!

The hell I do, she replied, the anger staining her cheeks darker. And if you do not identify yourself to me at once, Sir, I shall scream loudly enough to bring the entire house down around your ears.

He chuckled. I believe you would do it too. Perhaps I should advise you, dear lady, I have been absent from England for several months, so you will have to forgive my manners. He bowed with an exaggerated flourish. Justin Cross, at your service.

The name deflated her indignation and left her staring. Justin... Cross?

The one and only, he said, amused by her expression. Black sheep and brigand, scoundrel and knave. No doubt Ran has other choice names for me as well.

Where gossip had been scant and colorless concerning her future husband, the two days she had spent with Constance Pickthall had been filled with stories surrounding the youngest of the three brothers. At various times in his twenty-eight year history, Justin had rained scandal down upon the good family name. He had been arrested once for destroying the interior of a gentleman's club in a drunken brawl. He had been caught in flagrante delicto with the wife of the Mayor of Portsmouth. In recent years he had taken his antics abroad to the American colonies, signing on to sail with the notorious privateer, Captain Jason Savage. Only tonight at dinner, Eugene had chanced to mention the name of their absent brother and Sir Ranulf's mood had blackened considerably.

Now that we are such intimate good friends, Justin said with a smile, will you join me in a nightcap and tell me all about the wondrous events that led to you becoming my stalwart older brother's fiancé?

China glanced nervously over her shoulder at the closed door. She was not at all certain she liked the idea of being alone with Justin Cross even if he was Sir Ranulf's brother. She was equally doubtful her fiancé would take kindly to discovering she had entertained his brother's company in nightdress and robe.

Justin laughed softly and took a deep swallow of brandy. Don't worry. I won't bite. Not until I know you a little better anyway.

I think I should return to my room now.

Why? Will someone miss you? He laughed again. Oh now, don't go swelling up again like a little quail. I am only teasing. What on earth brought you down here in the first place at such an unwholesome hour?

I was trying to find the kitchen.

In the library?

I thought this was the dining hall. She flushed as he took another sip to conceal his grin. I have only just arrived today and am unfamiliar with the many rooms leading off the gallery. I thought if I could find the dining hall, I could follow the servant's entrance to the kitchen. I was…going to heat some milk.

His gray eyes twinkled with reflected light from the fire. Having trouble sleeping, are you? There are other methods besides milk to assist with that.

China Rose © Marsha Canham

~

Since Justin was usually frequenting a pub or skulking through secret passageways at midnight, I chose finger food to entertain him rather than a formal sit-down dinner. I suspect he would enjoy my cream cheese pinwheels, my buffalo chicken wings, and my shrimp bruscetta. All three are quick and easy appetizers—my favorite kind—and all three go well with wine or beer. Bonus!

Cream Cheese Pinwheels

For these you need:

3 large (12") soft tortilla rounds

3- 8oz packages of cream cheese, softened to room temp

1/2 cup olive tapenade (more if you love olives!)

1 cup pepperoni chopped very fine

1/3 cup grated parmesan cheese

1/2 Tbl oregano

3/4 cup dried cranberries

zest of one orange

I bet you're wondering how all those things go together. Well, they don't. Haha. We're making three separate pinwheels… olive, Italian, and sweet. All three begin with the same base:

Place the tortilla shell on a square of plastic wrap.

Spread the softened cream cheese on the tortilla shell, going right to the edges.

For the olive pinwheel, evenly spread the tapenade on top of the cheese.

For the Italian pinwheel, evenly distribute the pepperoni, the grated parmesan and the oregano over the cheese. Here, I might also add some crushed red pepper flakes, depending on how spicy I want it.

For the sweet pinwheel, spread the cranberries and orange zest evenly over the cream cheese. Carefully roll the tortilla, snug enough to keep the cheese and ingredients in place, but not so tight as to squish stuff out the ends. Do not roll the plastic wrap WITH the tortilla, as someone whose name I will not mention did. Rather, use the plastic to wrap the rolled tortilla tight, twisting both ends like swizzle candy wrappers to seal them. Place the wrapped rolls in the fridge for at least two hours so they firm up. (You can make these a day ahead as well, but any longer and the tortilla turns to wet kleenex.) To serve, unwrap the plastic and cut into slices 1/2 inch thick.

You can also use your imagination and make them with any filling you have on hand. Tuna and pickle relish is delish. Crab and chives. Chopped shrimp and horseradish. YUM!

~

Speaking of shrimp, my cousin Ed loves my…

Shrimp Bruscetta

1 cup good olive oil

1-2 Tbls red pepper flakes