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Ingredients and Preparation

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Chapter 1: A Recipe for Disaster

Alistair Fournier stirred the pot of Mac and Cheese until the stick of yellow butter had

melted into an orange oblivion. He turned down the heat and reached for the stack of ceramic

bowls from the cabinet above.

“Hurry up, Alistair! I’m huuungry!” whined Olivia.

“Give me a big helping, Alistair! Pleeease!” whined Opal.

“Just a minute, you two,” Alistair said, scooping creamy orange noodles into small, round

bowls. “We need to leave some for the other kids.”

Olivia crossed her arms and stuck out her lower lip. Opal stood arms akimbo, eyebrows

furrowed.

Just then, Mrs. Vandekamp entered the kitchen, leading a teary-eyed Henry and a messy-

haired Lester by the hands. A subdued Molly, dragging her lilac blanket behind her on the

linoleum floor, trailed close behind. The troops have all arrived, Alistair thought, handing them

each a steaming bowl of food. Sometimes he pretended that he was working in a mess hall on the

army base, feeding the soldiers their nightly slop. The scenario made the daily routine a little

more interesting.

Mrs. Vandekamp was a foster mother for six children, ranging in age from 5 to 12,

Alistair being the oldest. She had her hands full taking care of the children all day and into the

evening as Mr. Vandekamp, the City Editor at the Impress Enterprise, the town newspaper . He

Comment [1]: J

Comment [2]: J




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scanned news wires, fielded phone calls, assigned stories, and crafted headlines until the paper

went to press at midnight. Often it was Alistair, when he was home from school, who would help

Mrs. Vandekamp “man the troops.” He liked to think of caring for the kids as a real job, like the

one Mr. Vandekamp had, instead of feeling resentful that he didn’t have as much time to do

things that other kids his age were doing, like staying after school to play kickball, riding bikes

around the block, or having Mario Kart tournaments until dinnertime.

(We find out that Alistair is a foster child. As is characteristic for YA lit novels, the

protagonist is experiencing “life complications.” The reader wonders why he is in foster

care. What has happened to his family? Alistair is an outsider, as he is different from other

kids. Reader may feel empathy that he can’t play after school like other kids. He has

responsibilities that other kids his age don’t have.)

For the last year or so, Alistair had been the one preparing meals for the family. Mrs.

Vandekamp was always too busy with the younger children. He didn’t make anything too fancy-

- maybe pasta, grilled cheese, omelets, or tuna sandwiches, but lately he had developed a

hankering to get a little more creative. He’d even checked a cookbook out of his middle school’s

library to see what delectable concoctions he could whip up next. Chicken Cordon Bleu?

Lasagna? Eggplant Parmesan? When Alistair had mentioned to the librarian, the old, frumpy

Mrs. Pratt, that he was wanted to know where to locate the cookbooks, she had looked at him

strangely and skeptically from over her horn-rimmed glasses. “Cookbooks? Why would a boy

like you need a cookbook? Don’t you want to know where the sports books are?” Alistair didn’t

like how she prejudged what kind of books he’d like. He thought about explaining that he often

Comment [3]: GENREJ




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made meals for the other foster kids at his house, and wanted to learn how to do a better job, but

decided it was easier to simply say, “It’s for my mom.”

(We learn here that even though Alistair has the responsibility to cook for the other

foster children, he enjoys it, and it’s a creative escape for him. Protagonists in other YA lit

books have a creative outlet, too. Also, the fact that Alistair is stereotyped by the school

librarian, who thinks that a boy his age should only be interested in sports books, not

cooking books, makes him relatable because everyone has experienced feeling judged and

stereotyped by another person . This teaches not to prejudge because you never know

what’s going on in another person’s life. The librarian didn’t ever consider that Alistair

needed the cookbook because he had to cook for the foster kids, or that cooking was an

escape for him.)

Thinking about his mother made Alistair long for the days before foster care, when he,

his mother and father, and his younger sister, Julissa, were one, big, happy family, living in a

small red-brick Cape Cod home on Maryann Terrace, complete with a big, flowering Dogwood

tree in the back yard. His mother and father were professional chefs, who owned a French

Restaurant outside of Pittsburgh called, Brasserie Child, named after the late, great Chef, Julia

Child. His parents had idolized her. His mother had kept Child’s famous, ground-breaking

cookbook, Mastering the Art of French Cooking, her copy dog-eared and splattered with oils and

sauces, by her bedside. Alistair wished that it had been given to him. He didn’t know who it had

been given to.

Comment [4]: GENREJ

Comment [5]: AUDIENCEJ

Comment [6]: PURPOSE J




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(Readers are presented with more information about Alistair’s former life/family. We learn

that his parents were both chefs, which explains why he enjoys cooking, and that his

mother kept Julia Child’s cookbook by her bedside, which makes it seem almost sacred.

Being introduced to Julia Child and her cookbook is important because she, and it, will

figure prominently in the rest of the story, in the same way that William Shakespeare did

in King of Shadows. We learn that his mother mother’s things have been given away,

which indicates that something has happened to her.)

Alistair’s mother, Clare, attended Le Cordon Bleu, a famous culinary school in Paris, and

met his father, Stanick, a strapping, young Frenchman in one of her classes. Alistair had loved

when Clare would tell him the story of how she and Stanick had been learning to make Boeuf

Bourguignon-- a savory blend of beef and vegetables braised in red wine—when they fell in

love. They had been placed in the same cooking group that fateful night, but didn’t have much

interaction with each other, until Clare’s knife slipped while cutting carrots, gashing her finger.

She gasped in pain as Stanick wordlessly dropped his half-peeled onion and knife with a clatter,

ran to her side, gently took her hand in his, and wrapped a clean compress over the wound. They

locked eyes, locked hearts, and six weeks later, locked aprons during a marriage ceremony on the

jardins de tuileries, the sprawling fields of tulips, surrounding the Louvre and le Place de

Concorde. (I tried to incorporate some information about Paris, and some of its places.

Though this is just name-dropping, it might inspire readers to look up what these places

are).

Comment [7]: Like how you’ve imitatedthis aspect of K.O.S. J

Comment [8]: J




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The locking aprons, Clare had explained, was a variation of the Celtic wedding ritual

“Tying the knot,” the origin of the expression that refers to getting married. As the Celtic

tradition goes, after the vows, the bride and groom’s wrists are bound together with five colored

ribbons, each symbolizing an aspect of marriage and their shared commitment. Clare and Stanick

had used five colored aprons and tied them together (not on their wrists) to symbolize their

union—in the kitchen and in their hearts.

After graduating from Le Cordon Bleu, Clare and Stanick worked at various eateries in

Paris, until Alistair came along two years later. Alistair had been named for Alistair Cooke, the

great British-American journalist and television personality, who hosted Masterpiece Theatre—a

show Clare and Stanick loved to watch on Sundays evenings, curled up on the sofa sipping red

wine as the magenta sun sank beneath the city. Alistair Cooke’s last name also stirred something

in the hearts of his parents, who, as chefs, were drawn to any names that related to their passion.

Stanick’s last name, Fournier, an occupational surname from the Latin word “furnarius”,

meaning, “man of the oven,” essentially meant “baker,” so his parents thought it would be clever

to name their child after a “Cooke,” so he could indirectly be both chef and baker. As an added

ingredient, they gave Alistair the middle name of “Frye.” To say the name Alistair, (pronounced

Alis-stir) Frye, was another nod at delicious cuisine. By the time his sister came along, three

years later, Clare and Stanick had already decided that if they had a girl, they would name her

after Julia Child. Always wanting to be unique, instead of plain Julia, they searched for

interesting variants of the name, and settled on Julissa. In homage of Julia Child’s husband, Paul

Child, Julissa’s middle name was Paula. (A quick autobiographical detail: we learn that

Julia’s husband’s name was Paul. I also included him in here, because he will appear later

in the story).




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The family lived in France for another couple of years, until Clare’s father died and left

her some property back in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. The family decided to move to the States to

build their own family restaurant. For Alistair and Julissa, life in Pittsburgh had been a lovely

blur of lazy afternoons playing frisbee and freeze-tag in the park across the street from the

restaurant, having the first samples of the Crème Brulee, macaroons, and strawberry crepes on

the daily dessert trays, and spending evenings lying on their backs in their makeshift fort—two

big, blue quilts draped over sturdy oak chairs—as Clare and Stanick read them bedtime stories

by flashlight. Then one day, when Alistair was nine, something went terribly wrong. (Included

some information about traditional French desserts, and some details about Alistair’s

childhood, which other children could probably relate to).

It was a rainy, overcast afternoon in April. A gray mist hung in the air. Alistair and

Julissa had been dropped off around the corner from Brasserie Child after school, as usual, but

on this day, something didn’t feel right. Alistair had an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach all

day, but tried to ignore it, especially as he and his sister trudged up the hill, into the restaurant,

when the feeling grew stronger. Once through the doors, the familiar bell on the door jingling its

merry tidings, everything seemed normal again.

“Bonjour! Mes Amours! Alistair! Julissa!” Stanick had called out to them above the din

of the restaurant. They ran toward their father, like usual, with open arms, and empty stomachs.

He kissed them both on the cheek and asked, “Hungry?” Without giving an answer, Alistair and

Julissa were already running back to the kitchen, through the swinging doors, to see their mother,

who they knew, at this time, would be finishing up preparations for the dessert tray. She wore an

apron smeared with pink and green icing. “Hi loves!” She bent to kiss each of them on the check.

Comment [9]: I also like how you’ve magood use of “summary” and “scene”—movingbetween showing the reader particularmoments in Alistair’s present day kitchen andsummarizing past events over “a couple of

years” in the same number of sentences




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“I’ve made a special chocolate crème brulee, especially for you today! Would you like to taste

it?” “Yes!” Alistair and Julissa cried in unison. “Okay, it’s right here on the tray,” Clare pointed

to the silver platter sitting on the counter across from her. “I need to go to the back room and

help your father set up chairs for a private party tonight. Eat your snack back here, and then you

can go to the park. Be good! And wear your raincoats!” She smiled at them, hazel eyes

twinkling, and walked through the doors into the restaurant. (I included a few French words

from Stanick to expose readers to another language. If they’re curious, they can look up

what he said to them. More French words and phrases later in the story.)

“Let’s eat!” Julissa declared, grabbing a fork. They dug into the light, creamy chocolate

dish, closing their eyes to savor the taste. “This would be perfect if there was a little more burned

sugar on top,” Alistair commented, licking his lips. “Can you get me the small torch, so I can

melt more sugar?” he asked Julissa. She looked in the cabinet, and in the drawer next to the sink.

“It’s not there. Can’t you just eat it without all the sugar on top?” “No! That’s the best part!”

Alistair exclaimed, eyes scanning the kitchen to find the gadget. He noticed a pack of matches on

top of the prep counter. “Here, I’ll just use these,” Alistair said, picking up the matches. He

sprinkled a pinch full of sugar over the top of his dessert and struck the match, orange flame

glowing. He lit the sugar, then suddenly cried out in pain as the flame ate its way down the stick,

its hot tongue licking his fingertips. The match went flying out of Alistair’s hand, as he shook his

hand to stop the pain. “Are you okay?” Julissa rushed to his side. “Did you burn yourself?”

Alistair stopped moving his hand, turned it toward him, and analyzed his fingertips to find them

unscathed. “Nah, it just stings. Could have been a lot worse!” He looked around for the match

that had gone flying from his hand. “Did you see where it went?” Julissa started walking around

Comment [10]: J




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the kitchen. “I don’t see it. It must have blown out when you dropped it.” Alistair scanned the

room for another moment, and then shrugged. Julissa must have been right.

“Let’s just eat this and go to the park. Maybe we’ll see Jimmy and Lance. I think they’d

like to play catch with you,” Julissa said, her cheeks growing red, as she took another bite of

Crème Brulee.

“How about you finish the dessert? I sort of feel like that Crème Brulee was more trouble

for me than it is worth!” Alistair said with a laugh. “And you know that you don’t need to

convince me to go to the park with you just so you can see your boyfriends ,” he said the word

with emphasis, and shot her a look that told her that he knew she had crushes on the boys in the

park.

“Well, let’s go then!” Julissa put down her fork, and grabbed their frisbee out of her book

bag.

“I bet you five bucks you’re going to find out their last names so you can add them on

Facebook!” Alistair said.

“Huh? What’s Facebook?” Julissa asked with a puzzled look on her face.

Alistair smirked as he lead her out the door. He glanced over his shoulder, taking one

more look around the kitchen to make sure everything was alright, and said, “Don’t worry about

it. I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

(I added a reference to Facebook so readers could relate to it, since I’m sure they

use Facebook, too).

Comment [11]: Love the irony! J





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An hour later, when Alistair was silently crouched behind a bush, playing Ultimate Hide

and Seek with Julissa, Jimmy and Lance, when the sound of fire truck sirens sliced through the

air like lightning on a hot summer day. The ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach that had

been dormant for the last hour, erupted, coursing throughout Alistair’s body like lava. The sirens

sounded close. Very close. Across the street? Slowly, he stood up, sharp branches snagging his

plastic raincoat.

What he saw next would haunt him for the rest of his life. The events played through his

mind like a slideshow in slow motion: Gray smoke swirled. Streams of water arced through the

air. People screamed and cried. Orange flames leapt, their fiery talons clawing, clawing, clawing-

--engulfing every last inch of Brasserie Child in an inferno of molten ash.

The world went black.

Alistair awoke with a start into a pool of darkness. He blinked a few times, as his eyes

adjusted to the surroundings. Slowly, the outline of a tall wooden armoire came into view, then

the outline of a book bag hanging from a peg on the wall. Underneath him, he felt the soft

cushion of a mattress; itchy, flannel sheets draped his body. Alistair was in his bedroom at the

Vandekamp’s house. His heart felt heavy. He must have dreamt of the fire. Just as he did every

night. Alistair wiped beads of sweat from his forehead, exhaled loudly, and rolled over. The fire.

How it had changed his life. (Readers should be able to relate to having bad dreams about

something that’s happened to them in their lives.)


And perhaps identifying with the guilt ofthinking they had something to do with anunpleasant event or outcome J




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Both his parents had died in the flames. They had helped to evacuate their customers, but

had stayed behind themselves to make sure that everyone was out. As the police report

concluded, a beam from the ceiling had fallen and trapped them in a back corner of the

restaurant, near the kitchen. The fire fighters didn’t reach them before the gas stove exploded.

Alistair and Julissa had been shipped off into the foster care system, as Clare had no

remaining immediate family in the country, and every other relation had too many children of

their own to take them in. It was decided not to send them to Paris, even though Stanick had

family there. The social workers thought it would be best to keep the children in a familiar

environment, at the same school, and with the same friends for stability and support. Julissa, only

six at the time of the tragedy, was traumatized, and outwardly blamed Alistair for what had

happened, as she was the only one who knew that it had been his match that started the flames.

The children were separated, because Alistair’s presence around Julissa caused her to go into fits

of hysteria. Alistair hadn’t seen her since a few weeks after the incident. He missed her. She was

his only family. How he longed to find her, but they wouldn’t tell her where she was. She would

be nine-years-old now. He wondered what she looked like? Did she still have the same long, jade

hair? Or did she have it cut short? Did she still like to play Ultimate Hide and Seek? Did she

forgive him now? The questions swirled through his mind like food being stirred in a bowl.

(Much of Alistair’s life complications come out here. Not only did his match start

the restaurant fire, his parents died in the flames. Alistair feels pain and loss for his

parents, but also incredible guilt from what seemed like an innocent mistake at the time

(dropping the match). We also learn that this tragic accident is what has separated him

from Julissa. Readers should be able to feel empathy for Alistair, but also relate to feeling




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guilt over something they’ve done, or possibly relate to what it feels like to lose a family

member. Being estranged from a sibling may relate to readers, too. I hope readers will feel

more attached to Alistair after learning his backstory).

Alistair had been in counseling himself for the tragic loss of his parents and the guilt that

sometimes fed on him so much that he would sit in a corner of his closet, behind the hanging

clothes, and sit for hours in the dark listening to his headphones. But he never admitted to

anyone that it was his match that was the catalyst for disaster. He vowed to carry that secret with

him to his grave. For the most part, he was able to block it out. He kept busy with school, and at

home taking care of the other foster children, and of course, cooking them meals and cleaning up

the kitchen afterward. The only time he was so vividly reminded of his past, was in his dreams.

Nightmares were more like it.

When he was cooking in the kitchen at the Vandekamps all those evenings, something

magical would happen to him: he felt closer to his parents. As if he could almost feel his

mother’s presence, looking over his shoulder as the prepared ingredients. As if he could almost

feel her hand on top of his, showing him how to whisk egg yolks or grate cheese. He could

almost hear his father reading his mother the recipe out of Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Almost hear his father whistling as he peeled carrots and potatoes.

Alistair felt something moist trickle down his face. He touched his forehead again, to see

if he was still sweating. When his hand felt a smooth, dry surface, he realized that the moisture


Love how this also creates a potential conflictfor the story: how to find Julissa and atone forthe tragedy J




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was coming from his eyes. Anguish slid down his cheeks until his dreams once again took him

captive.

The next morning Alistair awoke before the sun filled his bedroom with a warm glow, the

color of his mother’s homemade butter cream icing. He tiptoed downstairs to the Vandekamp’s

kitchen, being especially careful as he crossed a patch of creaky flooring near the other

bedrooms. He pulled his tattered robe righter, as the draft from the poorly insulated windows

stung his body. Directly in his line of vision, on the shelf above the stove, he saw what he

wanted: Mrs. Vandekamp’s copy of Mastering the Art of French Cooking. Its turquoise

checkered cover almost seemed to sparkle like buried treasure. He had always felt that the book

gave him a cosmic connection to his parents in an oddly spiritual way. After the painful

memories of last night’s dream, all he longed to do was open the book, flip through its dusty

pages peppered with black and white sketches, and let it all wash over him like a soothing stream

of nostalgia. If only he could just close his eyes, smell the paper, and imagine his parents, as he’d

often found them, pouring over the pages of the cookbook in mornings before he left for school,

drinking coffee out of thick porcelain mugs, deciding what recipes they could try at the

restaurant. Other times while paging through the book, Alistair liked to think that as he studied

one of the pages, his fingers brushing over the words, tracing the outlines of the sketches, that

once, his parents had looked at the very same page, studied the very same recipe, and touched the

very same picture. It was his only tangible connection to what was lost in a puff of smoke.

As Alistair grabbed a stool to stand on, he swore that he smelled a pot of Boeuf

Bourguignon simmering on the stove. He climbed on the stool, and reached out for the book,

when suddenly, the stool wobbled. Alistair struggled to regain his balance, grasping the counter

Comment [15]: Love this line! J




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with his left hand, but the stool slid out from underneath him. As he felt himself slipping

backward, Alistair made a desperate swipe at the cookbook. It pulled away from the shelf as

gravity conquered Alistair’s body, pushing him backward like an invisible hand. The book flew

open, pages fluttered. It landed with a lump on top of Alistair as his head smacked the floor.

Once again, his world went dark.

(Hopefully this ending will leave readers’ hanging for what’s to come next!!)

Here’s the general idea for what I have planned for the rest of the story:

When Alistair wakes up, he’s in Paris, France in the 1950s. (Evidently, the cookbook

that fell on top of him had some sort of magical ability to help him time travel). He finds

himself on the sidewalk in front of Le Cordon Bleu. The head chef brings him inside, and

once they learn that this boy is lost, confused, and without parents, one of the training

chefs, says she will take the boy home and look after him. That chef is Julia Child. She lives

with her husband, Paul, who works for the American Embassy in Paris. The Childs never

had children of their own, and really attach to Alistair, who becomes the son they never

had . Alistair, in turn, feels very attached to the Child family, since he’s been without a real

family of his own for a long time. While living there, Julia and Alistair cook together every

day. Getting to know Julia, and learning to cook with her, helps Alistair feel closer to his

real parents, who both loved her, and cooking.

Learning the art of cooking helps Alistair feel a sense of accomplishment and

identity. It helps to fill the hole in his heart. He also tracks down his father’s parents and

Comment [16]: !!!!

Comment [17]: Brilliant! Love this twist




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family, who are living in Paris, and gets to know them, though he doesn’t reveal his true

identity.

When Alistair magically reappears back in the year 2011 again, with a renewed

sense of identity, a passion for cooking, and a sense of family, he decides to find his sister,

Julissa, and contact his father’s family in Paris, and his mother’s remaining family in

Pittsburgh. He realizes how important it is to reconnect with the only family he has left.

That’s the gist of it!

King of Shadows was a definite inspiration for me, as well as a memoir I read by

Julia Child (co-written by her nephew) called My Life in France, all about the time she and

Paul lived in Paris in the 50s, when she learned to cook at Le Cordon Bleu, and started

writing Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Also, the reason “preparation and ingredients” is written on the headers is because I

had the idea to divide the various parts of the story into parts of a recipe . The

intro/background info is the “preparation and ingredients” part…I hadn’t decided what

the middle part of the story would be. I guess “Cook for 3 hours” or something like that,

and then “Let cool for 25 minutes” or something would be the aftermath/wrap up. I need to

think that through a bit more, but that is the general idea… it seemed like a good idea at

the time, but now I’m not so sure!

It would also be neat to provide some recipes for foods mentioned throughout the

story in the appendix.

Comment [18]: Sounds great! J

Comment [19]: GENREJ

I figured this was the idea—or perhaps likesections of a cookbook? “Appetizers andstarters,” etc.

Comment [20]: Or at the beginning/endeach section J

Stuart, I loved reading this and hope you’llcontinue with it! The PURPOSE youidentified—to engage with a historicalfigure/time period and a craft, and to tell astory of emotional/familial relationships, like

K.O.S.—creates a wonderful setting for thesituation and characters to whom yourAUDIENCE can clearly relate; I especially likhow you’ve imitated elements of the GENRE(and your study of the author), creating an“outsider” character who must come to termswith his adult responsibilities via a magical trito the past J

Rubric below:Thanks for your good work—have a greatsummer and good luck next year! J




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Criterion 4.0 3.0 2.0 1.0

P urpose – Thoroughly and clearly interprets research into final product X

A udience – Uses research to design a product suited to young adults X

G enre – Uses techniques and conventions of the genre suited to the task X

E ngagement – demonstrates self-awareness and willingness to take risks X

Grade: 4.0

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