Tortue

When Edmund was a little boy in France all the other kids called him 'tortue'. Edmund was fat and slow, he waddled rather than ran and with his close cropped black hair and short round body he did look like a boxy turtle.

Edmund was raised by his grandmother, he called her Memere but thought of her as Maman. Memere was very poor after the war but found a way to spoil her precious little boy. Edmund grew up sucking the sugar tit and eating the best morsels of fatty meat. These were lean times in post war France and all the other kids were dirty and thin while Edmund was fat and clean. The kids were not mean to him but did laugh when he tried to keep up with their swift play. Poor Tortue would get sweaty and red in the face trying to follow the antics of the urchin horde.

In high school Edmund was sent away to apprentice in the kitchen's of Paris. He loved being around all the food but was not a very good student, the food was very distracting. Somehow he muddled through and learned the trade. He came to America where it was rumored you could make good money in any kitchen if you had the right accent. He worked his way around the big cities and married a big fertile girl. Somehow they ended up in Independence, MO and he in my kitchen in downtown Kansas City. He waddled into my glassed in office at the Savoy Grill and presented his resume. I showed it to the owner and we laughed at his salary expectations. "Offer him half that." Said the boss.

I don't know what they taught him in France but it was not how to work in a busy American kitchen, filled with black chefs, Hispanic workers and an army of gay waiters. Edmund had always worked in the stodgy French system, even in big city kitchens of famous American restaurants run by old world chefs.

My boss, Mr. Don Lee took the time to mentor me so I took Edmund under my wing. American chefs are often busy and brutal but I appreciated the fine touch Edmund brought to the table. He had an affinity for flour and fat, he made the best butter crust, transformed our hard rolls and could make puff pastry at blinding speed. Being French Edmund also had a touch with offal, I convinced the boss to feature specials using sweetbreads, tripe, liver, kidney and tongue. I taught Edmund how to cut meat and deal with large amounts of seafood, crazy employees and the after hours life.

He liked to drink draft beer mixed with 7 up and hang around with the gay guys. I told him never mix alcohol with sugar and use the gays to meet girls.

Edmund's wife kept pumping out babies, their Independence apartment was always in chaos, with kids and babies and the wife's big family hanging around. Edmund needed money and time away from the crazy family so he took another job in the morning setting up a buffet line at a downtown department store's lunch room.

That next summer my little brother dropped dead and I could not bear to stay around town and watch my family grieve, so I arranged to take my grief 2000 miles away. I quit the Savoy, gathered in my profit sharing monies and invested in a seafood restaurant on St. Croix, U.S.V.I. I took Edmund to the center of the kitchen, turned around with a wave of hands and said, "This is all yours."

We worked together some years later. I was an investor and helped with the cooking. Edmund was the chef. The principle partner turned out to be a nut and Edmund was acting the European parvenu and pissing me off. He would go on about doing things the Frawns way; the Frawns way this, the Frawns way that. Finally I said, "Edmund when you say the French way do you not mean the fucked up way." He was incensed, "You say Fuck You to me?" "Yes," I answered, "Fuck You to you." I was able to pull my money out of that place. I still love Edmund, he was a lamb. The nut fired him a week later and the poor lamb has suffered his crazy family and many meager kitchen positions these last twenty years.

To make the perfect pie dough use only the best butter and leaf lard. If you can't find leaf lard buy a pound brick and stick it in the freezer for an hour. Take it out and cut the brick into thin slices, put the slices back into the freezer. For one double pie dough use 2/3 cup lard and 1/3 cup butter, 2 ½ cups flour, 1/3 cup ice water and a pinch of salt and sugar. Make sure all ingredients are cold and work the dough quickly with a pastry cutter or fast hands until the fat is loosely incorporated. You should see fingernail sized globs of flour coated fat and butter throughout. Add the iced water quickly, work till the flour forms a slightly crumbly dough. Cut the dough into two, wrap in plastic film and return to the fridge to rest for an hour. I like rolling the dough on a floured board or you can do it between two sheets of lightly floured wax paper (like my Mom). Fill the pie with your imagination.