Alice Fleck's Recipes for Disaster Read online

  BOOKS BY

  RACHELLE DELANEY

  Clara Voyant

  The Bonaventure Adventures

  The Metro Dogs of Moscow

  The Circus Dogs of Prague

  The Ship of Lost Souls

  The Lost Souls of Island X

  The Hunt for the Panther

  Text copyright © 2021 by Rachelle Delaney

  Jacket art © 2021 by Morgan Goble

  Puffin Canada, an imprint of Penguin Random House Canada Young Readers, a division of Penguin Random House of Canada Limited

  All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher — or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency — is an infringement of the copyright law.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Title: Alice Fleck’s recipes for disaster / Rachelle Delaney.

  Other titles: Recipes for disaster

  Names: Delaney, Rachelle, author.

  Identifiers: Canadiana (print) 20200211412 | Canadiana (ebook) 20200211420 | ISBN 9780735269279 (hardcover) | ISBN 9780735269286 (EPUB)

  Classification: LCC PS8607.E48254 A79 2021 | DDC jC813/.6 — dc23

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020936741

  Edited by Lynne Missen

  Cover and interior design by Emma Dolan

  www.penguinrandomhouse.ca

  a_prh_5.6.1_c0_r0

  For Eric

  Contents

  Cover

  Books by Rachelle Delaney

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Author’s Note

  Acknowledgments

  On her very last day of elementary school, Alice Fleck arrived home to find an unexpected gift.

  “Open it!” Her father pressed a rectangular box into her hands as she dropped her backpack near the door. James Fleck’s gray eyes were bright and his ginger hair bed-headed despite his best attempts to tame it.

  She lifted the lid and gasped. “A phone? You’re kidding!” She held it up in awe.

  “Congratulations on finishing sixth grade!” James beamed. “I’m proud of you, sous-chef.”

  “But…but…” She stared at the shiny black cell phone in her hand as if it might suddenly disappear. “What about the kaleidoscopes?”

  According to Alice’s father, some young people in the nineteenth century had been completely and utterly obsessed with kaleidoscopes. They carried them everywhere they went, and sometimes ended up bumping into trees or walking into horse-drawn carriages with their kaleidoscopes pressed to their eyes. James maintained that this was a true story, an important piece of history, though Alice found it hard to believe. He also maintained that cell phones were like the kaleidoscopes of the twenty-first century: a menace to society.

  “I stand by my theory,” he told her. “But you’re starting middle school soon, and I heard somewhere that cell phones are a necessity in middle school.” He raised a ginger eyebrow at her.

  She shrugged innocently. “I wonder where you heard that.” She’d only mentioned it a few hundred times over the past year.

  “I can’t imagine. Anyway, it’s a time of big changes for us, so it seemed like the time for this too.”

  Alice didn’t like the sound of big changes, but she did like the feeling of the phone in her hand. She gave him a huge hug.

  “It’s secondhand,” he added, sounding apologetic. “It belonged to Hana — she was getting a new one. But it’s in very good condition. You know Hana.”

  Alice felt her smile fade. She stepped back, mumbling that she didn’t really know Hana at all. But he didn’t seem to hear.

  You got a phone, she reminded herself. Who cares who it came from? Gone were the days of being the only kid who couldn’t send text messages or squeal over a new suite of emojis. It was as if she’d just stepped into the modern era.

  She began to ask if she could run across the street to show her friend Mat, but a knock at the door interrupted her.

  James smoothed his shirt, which he’d ironed that morning but now looked as though he’d slept in it. “That must be Hana now!”

  “Now?”

  “I invited her for dinner. Did I not mention that?”

  Alice shook her head — he most definitely had not. She’d been hoping they could spend the evening by themselves, maybe catching up on their favorite cooking show, Culinary Chronicles, or trying out a new recipe. They’d recently found one for a croquembouche that appealed to them both. James was excited by its history; the croquembouche was traditionally served at French weddings. Alice was excited to try building a cone-shaped tower of cream puffs bound together with threads of spun sugar.

  But now James was flinging open the door and exclaiming “Hana!” as if he hadn’t seen her for months when it had probably been only a few hours. So Alice had no choice but to bid her plans for the evening goodbye and steel herself to greet Hana Holmes.

  Her father’s new girlfriend.

  Hana and James had met at the university, where they both worked in the Department of History. James was a culinary historian, which meant he studied the history of food. Culinary historians could also be called food historians, but James preferred “culinary historian” for the same reason he liked to call his and Alice’s hair “ginger” instead of “orange.” It just had a nicer ring to it.

  Hana studied the Victorian era, the period from 1837 to 1901, so called because Queen Victoria had ruled over Great Britain back then. She’d explained this to Alice the first time they’d met, back in April. And Alice, who’d just learned that her father had been dating Hana since February but hadn’t bothered to tell Alice, had informed Hana that she knew what the Victorian era was, thank you very much.

  Hana had been making regular appearances at inopportune times ever since.

  She bounced through the front door, smiling as usual, and cried “Alice!” as if seeing her was the most exciting part of her day.

  Alice forced a smile that she hoped looked genuine but not too friendly.

  Hana Holmes looked nothing like any historian Alice had ever met. Most of her father’s colleagues dressed in tweed and corduroy and were usually in need of a haircut. Hana wore jeans and T-shirts, often paired with matching nail polish (today, a candy-apple red). She had straight and shiny black hair and bangs that grazed her eyebrows so perfectly Alice suspected she must trim them every day. It made her even more aware of her own hair, which, like her father’s, was utterly untamable. She pulled it into a braid each morning, but by lunchtime it was all frizz and f
lyaways.

  “Hana’s pretty cool,” Alice’s friend Mat Diaz had recently observed. They’d been sitting on Mat’s front step across the street, watching Hana park her sporty black car outside the Flecks’ townhouse.

  Alice had frowned. “How do you know?”

  He shrugged. “Cami said so. She said Hana’s about as cool as an adult can be.”

  Mat’s fifteen-year-old sister Cami was an authority on such things, so Alice couldn’t very well argue. But it didn’t change her opinion of her father’s new girlfriend. Hana Holmes was unnecessary. Alice and James had been perfectly happy without her.

  Still, she thanked Hana for the phone. That was only polite.

  “You’re very welcome.” Hana gave her a toothy smile. “And I have something else for you!” She dug into her tote bag and pulled out a box the color of pistachio ice cream. The name Ladurée was printed on the top in gold script.

  Alice lifted the lid, uncovering a row of dainty sandwich cookies, each a different color of the rainbow. “Macarons!” she gasped, forgetting to hide her excitement. She and her father had once spent a weekend trying to perfect the confections, which were as tricky to make as they were delicious: the cookies were made of almond meringue, sandwiched together with buttercream or ganache. According to James, macarons had been invented by Venetian monks in the eighth century. Back then, they were called “priests’ bellybuttons.”

  She felt like she’d been given a box of rare jewels. “Thank you,” she said again, wishing Hana weren’t quite so good with gifts.

  “We’ll have them for dessert!” James proclaimed. “What a treat.”

  Alice nodded, carefully closing the lid. “So what’s for dinner?”

  “Good question.” He ushered them down the hall and into the kitchen, where he picked up a cookbook from the counter: Magnificent Medieval Meals (Volume 12). “I saw a recipe for mutton stew that looked interesting.”

  “Hana’s vegetarian,” Alice reminded him.

  “Yes, of course.” He slammed the book shut. “I knew that.”

  “How about pizza?” she suggested.

  “Excellent idea!” he cried. “I have a recipe somewhere for the very first pizza ever made. Archaeologists found remains of it from seven thousand years ago!”

  “Did they?” Hana marveled.

  Alice could only guess what kinds of toppings the archaeologists had found on a seven-thousand-year-old pizza. “How about takeout?” She held up her new phone. “I’ll call.”

  Once the pizza had been ordered, she turned back to James. “Can I go to Mat’s to show him my phone? I’ll be back before the pizza gets here.”

  “Sure,” he said. “But first, let’s hear Hana’s news.”

  “Hmm?” Hana looked up from an ancient Roman spork she’d been inspecting — one of several very old kitchen tools they had lying around the house, and one of Alice’s favorites, because who needed a spoon and a fork when you could have both together?

  “You told me on the phone that you had news for us.” He sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for them to join him. Alice stayed standing, hoping it wouldn’t take long.

  “Oh, yes.” Hana smiled again, but this time her lips quivered ever so slightly.

  Was Hana nervous? Alice wondered, watching her fiddle with the Roman spork. Maybe her news was bad. Maybe she was about to tell them that she’d gotten a job in another city and had to move away. Alice pulled up a chair to listen.

  Hana drew a breath. “It’s exciting news. I hope you’ll like it.” She gave James an anxious look, and he nodded encouragingly.

  Alice hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed.

  “You know the Victorian festival we’ve been talking about?”

  “Yes, of course,” said James.

  “Victorian festival?” said Alice.

  “Hana will be lecturing at a Victorian festival in a few weeks,” James explained. “It’s a week-long event at an old manor in the country, where people will learn all about Victorian times. I’ve been thinking we should go with her. Sounds fun, right?”

  Fun wasn’t how Alice would have described a week-long Victorian festival, especially one James and Hana had been planning to attend without telling her. “Not really, no.”

  He ignored this. “So, what’s the news?”

  “Well…” Hana drummed her candy-apple fingernails on the table. “Remember when you two cooked that medieval peacock pie?”

  James tsked. “Once again, I’m so sorry you couldn’t try it.”

  “You didn’t miss much,” Alice told her. The meat had been as tough as leather, and James had insisted on adding so many spices that they’d had to gulp down water between bites.

  “Right.” Hana bit her lip. “And…remember how I took that video of you two making the pie?”

  Alice nodded, recalling how Hana had whipped out her phone to capture the action, and Alice had cringed down to her toes. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to see her making peacock pie.

  “You were just so delightful to watch,” Hana went on. “A father and daughter culinary history duo — I’d never seen anything like it! And James, you told that great story about the spice trade and that…that cinnamon bird!”

  Alice nodded again — she loved that story too. But she had no idea where Hana was going with this, and it was making her nervous.

  A terrible thought came to mind: what if Hana had posted the video online, and it had gone viral? What if people around the world were laughing at them, wondering what kind of weirdos spent a Friday night cooking a peacock pie? And who would kill such a beautiful bird? Alice still wasn’t sure about that — her father had ordered the peacock online, and it been delivered to their doorstep, already plucked like a grocery store chicken.

  She gripped the table, readying herself for the worst.

  “You’re going to be on Culinary Chronicles!” Hana blurted.

  They blinked at her.

  “I’m sorry, what?” said James.

  “The TV show?” said Alice.

  Hana gulped and nodded.

  “Um…” James looked at Alice, then back at Hana. “I don’t understand.”

  “Okay.” She pressed her palms together. “I’ll explain. About a month ago, I found out that Culinary Chronicles was being filmed at this Victorian festival. I know you two love the show, and I thought you’d be perfect contestants. I also knew you’d be free to go, since we’d talked about going to the festival together. Right?” She looked at James.

  “Er, yes,” he said.

  Alice glanced between them, wondering how many other things they’d planned without telling her. But she stayed quiet, still deeply confused.

  “So I sent the show’s producers that video. And they loved you! I heard back from them this morning. You’re in, both of you: James will be the lead cook, and Alice the assistant. Isn’t that great?”

  James’s mouth fell open. “Hana…”

  “I know I should have asked you first!” she hurried on. “But you wouldn’t have put together an application — I know how much you hate paperwork!” She laughed. “And I think this could be really good for you.” She grabbed his hand and squeezed it.

  Normally their hand-holding made Alice squirm, but now she had bigger things to worry about. “Hang on a minute,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Let me get this straight. We’re going to be on Culinary Chronicles, which is being filmed in a few weeks at a Victorian festival?”

  “Uh-huh,” said Hana. “Apparently this season is all about Victorian food. I guess every season’s different?”

  Alice nodded. Every season on Culinary Chronicles, a new group of amateur cooks gathered to recreate dishes from a particular time in history. She and James had seen every episode — he loved it when the host delved into little-known parts of culinary history, like the
bakeries of ancient Pompeii or the evolution of the nutmeg grater. Alice liked watching the contestants race against the clock to create interesting dishes.

  But she’d never wanted to be on the show. Not even a little bit.

  “So, what do you think?” Hana asked in a small voice.

  “I think…” James hesitated, then squeezed her hand back. “I think it’s amazing news. What a surprise. Right, Alice? Isn’t it an exciting surprise?”

  “It’s a surprise all right,” said Alice.

  “Oh, I’m so glad,” Hana cried. “For a moment there I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”

  “Of course we do,” James assured her.

  She turned to Alice. “Can you imagine what the kids at your new middle school will say when they find out one of their classmates is on Culinary Chronicles?”

  Alice opened her mouth, then shut it. She didn’t have to imagine — she knew exactly what the kids at school would say.

  Which was why they could never find out.

  * * *

  “This is my favorite episode.” James pointed at the screen of his old laptop, where the contestants were attempting to whip eggs into a soufflé.

  “You say that about every episode.” Alice picked a raspberry-red macaron out of the box and took a bite. It was sweet and tart, crispy and chewy all at once. Perfection.

  Hana had left soon after dinner, and James and Alice had retreated to the library to watch Culinary Chronicles. It wasn’t a real library, of course — just a corner of the living room furnished with stacks of books and two old reading chairs. But they’d called it the library since they’d moved to the townhouse two years earlier. After living in a tiny apartment for ten years, the two-bedroom townhouse felt like a mansion to Alice. And what was a mansion without a library?

  “They’re all my favorites.” James dusted sky-blue macaron crumbs off his shirt. “Ooh, this is where Mei-Ling explains the origins of the soufflé!” He leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees.

  Alice finished off her macaron. She felt better now that Hana had left but still unsettled by her news. She and her father would be competing on Culinary Chronicles. She tried to imagine it but couldn’t.