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21 " Not an hour after Olivia was found, Portia and her mother were in the family's ancient pickup truck, bumping along the dirt roads of backwater Texas until they came to her grandmother's cafe, a place that had been handed down through generations of Gram's ancestors. The Glass Kitchen. Portia loved how its whitewashed clapboard walls and green tin roof, giant yawning windows, and lattice entwined with purple wisteria made her think of doll houses and thatch-roofed cottages.Excited to see Gram, Portia jumped out of the old truck and followed her mother in through the front door. The melting-brown-sugar and buttery-cinnamon smells reminded her that The Glass Kitchen was not for play. It was real, a place where people came from miles around to eat and talk with Portia's grandmother. "
― Linda Francis Lee , The Glass Kitchen
22 " Portia gasped awake with the taste of apples in her mouth- crisp green apples smothered in brown sugar and spice. She needed to bake.Lying tangled in the sheets, she tried to calm her racing heart. She tried to write off this urge, too. It was nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction to moving to the Big Apple. But no matter how forcefully she told herself she had stuffed the knowledge back down, she realized that she hadn't. Not really. When she would have smelled bleach and sundries cotton, it was the scent of apples and buttery caramel that swirled in her mind.The urges to bake and cook were getting stronger, the knowing coming back to life like simple syrup spun into cotton candy. "
23 " You're serious.""As serious as an accountant at an IRS audit."His face closed off, reminding her of the ruthlessness she had first noticed about him on the front steps. "You have no business opening a restaurant.""Says who?""Says the guy who watched you try to extricate yourself from a burger suit with a knife."Her mouth fell open. "Burger suits and restaurants are two different kettles of fish.""Kettles of fish? Now there's great business terminology.""Yep, Texas style.""You're in New York, sweetheart.""I am not your sweetheart, thank my lucky stars.""Another of your quaint Texas sayings? What was the last one I heard you use? 'Bless your heart'?"She sliced him a tooth-grinding smile. "While you might not like them, you can bet your backside that a cafe that serves the kind of fare we create in Texas would have people lined up around the corner. Or, as we say in Texas, till the cows come home. "
24 " Once the apartment was ready, Portia had begun to plan out what foods they would showcase in this little glimpse into a Glass Kitchen world. Her sisters couldn't help her with this part. Portia had let go, and dishes had come to her, all of which she wrote down and prepared to make. Then, at eight that morning, she got to work. Olivia and Cordelia served as sous-chefs; they started by making a decadent beef bourguignon. Olivia and Cordelia washed and chopped as Portia browned layer after layer of beef, bacon, carrots, and onion, folding in the beef stock and wine, then putting it in to slow bake as they dove into the remaining dishes. They opened all the windows and ran four swiveling fans Portia had bought and found that pushed the scent of the baking and cooking out onto the sidewalk. Then they had put up a fairly discreet sign in the window, hand-painted by Olivia: THE GLASS KITCHEN.Portia had gotten the idea while walking down Broadway and passing the French soap store. Scents had spilled into the street from the shop- lavender and primrose, musk and sandalwood- luring passersby inside. Portia had realized that the best way to get investors interested was to show them a version of The Glass Kitchen. The food. The aromas. She had realized, standing there on Broadway, that she needed to create a mini version of her grandmother's restaurant to lure people in. "
25 " Next thing she knew, Portia hurried into the Fairway Market on Broadway. The grocery store was unlike anything she had seen in Texas. Bins of fruit and vegetables lined the sidewalk, forming narrow entrances into the market. Inside, the aisles were crowded, no inch of space wasted. In the fresh vegetables and fruit section she was surrounded by piles of romaine and red-leaf lettuce, velvety thick green kale that gave away to fuzzy kiwi and mounds of apples. Standing with her eyes closed, Portia waited a second, trying not to panic. Then, realizing there was no help for it, she gave in to the knowing, not to the fluke meal inspired by Gabriel Kane, but to the chocolate cake and roast that had hit her earlier.She started picking out vegetables. Cauliflower that she would top with Gruyere and cheddar cheeses; spinach she would flash fry with garlic and olive oil.In the meat department, she asked for a standing rib roast to serve eight. Then she stopped. "No," she said to the butcher, her eyes half-closed in concentration, "just give me enough for four."Portia made it through the store in record time. Herbs, spices. Eggs, flour. Baking soda. A laundry of staples. At the last second, she realized she needed to make a chowder. Crab and corn with a dash of cayenne pepper. Hot, spicy. "
26 " She decided to make salmon baked in a touch of olive oil, topped with pine nuts, and served over spinach flash-fried in the salmon-and-olive-oil drippings. She added brown rice that she had slow-boiled with the herb hawthorn. Just as she finished, Cordelia arrived with a woman she had found standing in the sidewalk out front. "My husband has high blood pressure," she explained, negotiating the stairs down into Portia's apartment with care. "He's never happy with anything I make for supper, so I should tell you that you probably don't have anything that will work for me."Cordelia took a look at the meal, raised an eyebrow at Portia, and then turned to the woman. "This is the perfect meal for your husband's high blood pressure. Fish oil, nuts, hawthorn, whole grains."Next, a pumpkin pie went to a woman who couldn't sleep."Pie?" she asked in a doubtful tone. "Pumpkin," Portia clarified, "is good for insomnia."An apricot crumble spiced with cloves and topped with oats and brown sugar went to a woman drawn with stress. Then a man walked through the door, shoulders slumped. Cordelia and Olivia eyed him for a second."I know the feeling," Olivia said, and fetched him a half gallon of the celery and cabbage soup Portia had found herself preparing earlier.The man peered into the container, grew a tad queasier, and said, "No thanks.""Do you or don't you have a hangover?" Olivia demanded, then drew a breath. "Really," she added more kindly. "Eat this and you'll feel better."He came back the next day for more."Cabbage is no cure for drinking too much," Cordelia told him.He just shrugged and slapped down his money for two quarts of soup instead of one. "
27 " Without thinking about what she was doing, she pulled blueberries from the icebox and peaches from the fruit bin.She might have only been seven years old, but she was smart enough to know that her mother would have a fit if she pulled out knives, or did anything near the two-burner hot plate. Instead, Portia, pulled the peaches apart, catching the sticky-sweet juice on her tongue as it ran down her fingers. She found a slice of angel food cake wrapped in plastic and plopped the fruit on top. "
28 " I would be over the moon if you'd make me one of your famous apple cakes."Portia stared at the ingredients her sister had lined up with perfect precision on the scratched countertop. Apples. Butter. Brown sugar.Cordelia cocked her head. "What is it?""Nothing," Portia said, her voice weak. "It's just that I'm not in the mood to bake, is all."That was a lie. Her fingers itched to dive in, peel, and core, sift the flour, fold in the softened butter and brown sugar. Again and again since moving into the apartment she'd had to ignore her tingling fingertips and the smells of chocolate and vanilla that didn't really exist. She had thrown every bit of food in the apartment away, and it still hadn't helped."I don't believe you," Cordelia said. "You want to bake like nobody's business. I can see it in your eyes. "
29 " The images swirled through her. She needed to bake. Cake. A layered chocolate cake. With vanilla buttercream frosting.The images were as clear as four-color photos from a coffee table book on baking. She could taste the vanilla, butter, and cream whipped into a sugar frosting as if she had spooned it into her mouth. The chocolate smelled so real that a chill of awareness ran along her skin, pooling in her fingertips. She itched to bake. "
30 " The real question isn't "Why aren't you strong enough?". It's "Why do you keep doubting that you already are?". "
― Linda Francis Lee
31 " I don't remember exactly when books became my refuge, but it was in the pages of a world created out of thin air that I began to find pieces I recognized as myself. "
― Linda Francis Lee , Emily and Einstein
32 " In order to live a life truly worth living you had to have strength in the face of adversity, patience when confronted with challenge, and bravery in the face of fear. "