“Saddle up, Pard. We’re going for a ride.” Bosco Poon, my partner in work and business for thirty-some years, sauntered into my office and dropped a pile of winter gear on my visitor’s chair. “Don’t you look a sight?” I wanted to laugh but knew he’d kick my butt in one way or another if I did. He was sporting a camo tuque, a dark down parka, a red turtleneck and heavy bib overalls tucked into lace-up winter hiking boots. “I gotta do some surveillance in the west end. “ “So?” “Kenora’s off doing an interview and I need a second chair.” He headed for the door. I was just about done for the day, anyway, and I needed a break. My mind was as nimble as cottage cheese. I shucked off my loafers and office clothes, put on a turtleneck and a pair of lined jeans and suited up. I let Seta, our office manager aka ‘she who must be obeyed’ know that we’d both be out for a while. By the time I was done, Bosco was already in the parking lot with the motor running. His favourite 12-year old crap-brown van with the strategically placed rust spots and dents looked like a thousand other low-budget delivery trucks, but the interior was completely tricked out with ergonomic captain’s chairs, an electric motor that would keep us and our coffee warm even though the engine was turned off, front-rear-side mounted cameras feeding into a video system under the dash and fooler window coverings that made the vehicle look empty from the outside. “What’s going down?” He fiddled with his Bluetooth gizmo and peeled out of the driveway. “Check to see if the camera feed’s working.” Which I did. “Supplies.” We had our mobile radios, cell phones and flashlights under the seats. I checked the insulated box between the front seats. It was stocked with a pair of steel thermoses, bottled water, a padded box containing sandwiches and brownies wrapped in cellophane. I knew from the smiley face sticker across the fold that Kenora, one of my private investigators, had baked them. I flipped through the papers on the clipboard hanging from a magnet on the coin tray. By the time I finished my inventory, he was wheeling onto the Gardiner Expressway westbound. “Looks fine to me. What’s this about?” “I’m looking for a Rumanian dude I used to know. Worked auto accident injury insurance scams.” “You needed me for this?” “Seems he’s graduated to defrauding banks. I got a tip about a location in the Junction. Plus, it’s been a while since we had a chat, Bud.” “Chat? Sounds like you’re been in therapy.” “Nope. Working at being married again. Figuring that out.” “Okay, I’ll play. Whaddya want to ‘chat’ about, child-rearing?” “No.” “What? “ “You, Chum.” “Why?” “I’ve been picking up some weird vibes lately.” “Like what?” “You’re preoccupied. Pulled in. I’m not the only one to notice, by the way.” “Who else’s noticed? “Never mind. Your PSA up or something?” “No.” “Business problems?” “No. This last year’s been the best ever. More clients, more investigations completed.” “Uh huh.” Bosco waited until a southbound dump truck passed then pulled a left from Keele Street onto Glenlake Avenue. “So what’s been chapping your ass lately?” He got occupied searching for a parking spot on Oakmount Avenue. “Nothing.” He positioned the van in halfway down a line of rehabbed row houses, tight between a dark Mercury Marquis and a rusted Ford Taurus. “You hear about…” “Don’t care. What’s wrong with your life right now?” “Geez. What’s with the Q&A?” Instead of answering, he fired up the electric generator then took his time arranging his parka behind his head. He flipped open the storage box, pulled out one thermos for himself and handed one to me. I knew his would be one quarter Eagle brand condensed milk, his stakeout staple. Mine would be black, extra strong. I jammed the thermos back into the box. For some reason, I felt jacked up enough already not to need more caffeine. He wasn’t going to let go. “You lost the ability to form rational thought?” “This place brings back memories.” He grunted. And waited. He was good at that. The area he’d chosen used to be part of our patrol zone when we were teamed up in 12 Division. Lots of B&Es, thefts from parked cars, fence line disputes, some ethnic sports grudge stuff. We were on the west side of the park and I knew it was a long cold walk to Keele Street and a bus stop. Did they still run after midnight? I hunkered down, figuring I’d outwait the stubborn bastard. Half an hour passed. Bosco mainly stared out the window. Hungry, I fished out a sandwich, then had a brownie and a cup of java. “You put this together?” “Yeah, with some help.” “It’s good. Remember those clapped-out surveillance vans we spent so much time in?” “Uh huh.” “Did I tell you the one about…” “You forget I asked you a question?” He was getting testy. I couldn’t figure out why. I thought things had been going okay overall. “What the… you gonna talk about paradigm shifts next?” “Don’t demean our friendship with that crap, Bro.” He turned his body towards me, propping his knee against the gear shift. He folded his arms tight across his chest and leaned against the car door. In the light reflected from the street lamp, his face looked more like an axe blade than usual. “Tell me what’s going on. You’ll feel better.” Bosco was going all Reid Interrogation Technique on me. I could keep trying to fake him out, but that had about as much chance of success as me getting him to do a line of blow or an Aqua Velva shooter. If I really pushed back, he’d punch me in the mouth and make me walk back to the office without my coat. “Just say it.” “Fine,” I said. “Hanging around with Audrey and Kenora has made you soft.” “And whatever’s got your globes all shrunk up’s got you so confused you don’t know whether to crap or wind your watch.” “I wish I still smoked.” “Audrey’s the best thing that ever happened to me. Kenora’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. Admit it.” “Ok.” I turned my head to stare out the side window. Bosco’s relentlessness was beginning to give me the heebie-jeebies. “I know you better than your mama ever did, Jake Barclay. Quit fuckin’ around. What gives?” I blew out a breath, fogging the window. “It’s real simple, Bos. I’m losing my edge.” “What do you mean, ‘edge’?” “When I played high school all and varsity hockey, they used to call me the ‘Cleaver’, because I could cut through anything that got in my way. Lately, it’s like I’m getting soft. Soggy. Maybe it’s an age thing.” “Pecker dysfunction?” Now that made me laugh out loud. He said it all serious and leaned in with a Sigmund Freud stare, all thoughtful and frowning. “Hell, no. You?” “My wife just had a kid who looks exactly like me. So, no. Backatcha.” “I’m…You know what my life used to be like? How I caught Sara-Jane in bed with Lloyd Schomberg after I helped put him away for that boiler-room operation in Woodbridge? Her showing up in the office brought all that shit back, but worse.” “WGAF? She’s been gone for what? Eight, nine years? Why the rebound jim-jams now?” “Kenora’s determined to find that little shit of a brother-in-law of hers.” “So?” “I don’t want her contaminated by anything having to do with my ex-wife.” “Why would she be?” “She’s so bloody-minded. And naïve. Thinks she can solve shit with research and a smile.” “She’s doing okay so far. You getting all Sir Lancelot for her?” “Yeah. That’s what’s wrong,” I said, turning to face him. “She told me you guys had the ‘partner talk’. I never had a relationship with anyone I worked with before.” “Me either. You envious or something?” “I don’t know, Bos.” He poured himself more coffee. Even with the heater on, the air was cold enough so that the hot brew steamed up the windows on the inside. “Is it kind of funky weird or does it make you horny all the time?” Before I could answer, he held up his hand. “Let me tell you what I see. When there’s more than three or four people around, no one who didn’t know you as well as I do or her, for that matter – they wouldn’t be able to tell something’s been going on. She’s deferential, you’re respectful. Most of the time, there’s not much direct eye contact beyond what’s necessary. But when it’s just the three of us, I’ll tell you, every once in a while, it’s like the two of you are connecting with some laser-rope-thing and the room feels real small and I get invisible. Then it’s gone.” “I know. I’ve never had that experience before. No demands, no crazy, either.” “When I told Audrey about it, she got all mooshy and had to blow her nose and then she started kissing me like my face was candy. I’ll be honest. I got wood.” “Kenora does that to me. Watching her mouth when she talks… I mean, I want to hear what she says…” “Most of the time, eh? Bet I know what you’re thinking about the rest of the time.” “True. I guess what freaks me out is that it’s so…undramatic. She’s such a pleasure to be around. I feel comfortable. But she’s not, you know, doing anything to make that happen. When that Mitch guy was stalking her, some of the shit that went down was making me crazy. But I had to let her find her way. She made me promise not to intervene.” “And you left it alone.” “Yes. Then I found out you were pulling some strings in the background. Thanks for that, by the way.” “Nothing to it, Partner. I got your back: I got her back. You guys have mine. It is what it is. You remember the last time you were happy? Not sloppy, Oprah-happy. Deep in your guts.” I bought some time by fussing with the thermos then refilling my coffee cup. “It was after Kenora’s dad’s funeral, when she found out a big piece of information about the mystery man. Then at her house, after her ex had sent back all the cards and family pictures with her face cut out of them.” “Why then?” “I could be there for her, even though she didn’t expect me to do anything. She wants nothing from me.” “And?” “And I want to give her everything. She’s so good for me. To me. I’m scared shitless that I’ll mess it up.” Bosco wiped his mouth with a napkin, tidied up the centre console then stared into my eyes. “You won’t.” He started the engine. “When we were on the Job, you were the steadiest dude I knew. Seldom put a foot wrong. Always reliable.” He did a quick shoulder check then wheeled the van into a U-turn. “Learn to trust yourself again. That’s all any of us want my friend.”
Fall is upon us so I’ve been preserving corn relish and canning black currant jelly made from the berries I picked from the garden in July. Today, I thought I’d try something different. I picked up two huge bunches of kale, crinkly and firm, from the Otterton Farmers’ Market. I usually add it to smoothies so I can feel virtuous, but I wanted a main dish or an appetizer to motivate me to eat more of this incredibly healthy leafy green. I searched for ‘kale’ and found a recipe for Roasted Kale Chips. Simple, fast and oh, so addictive! Heat your oven to 350 degrees. Wash and spin dry the kale. Tear large pieces off the tough middle stem then toss in a large metal bowl with a couple of teaspoons of olive oil (Kirkland brand is quite good) and a sprinkle of salt and pepper. Spread a piece of parchment paper on a large baking pan then arrange the kale in a single layer. Pop into the oven on the top shelf and bake for about 10 minutes, checking after 7 minutes to test how crispy the chips are. When they’re done to your liking, take them out and let the pan cool on the stove, then pile them on a plate and dig in. You’ll be surprised at how complex the flavours become after roasting. I think the chips would make a great garnish, too, because of the crinkly edges and bright colour. I found that you can use less salt to start, because the drying process concentrates the flavour. I think they’d be amazing with another taste favourite – crushed fresh garlic swirled into the olive oil in the bowl before you add the kale. You’d have to watch the temperature, though, because garlic burns quickly and when it does, it gets very bitter. No one likes bitter garlic or a bitter companion! A big plus – if you carefully slip the kale chips into Ziploc bags, you can freeze them. They make a bright green garnish for bland-coloured foods or when sprinkled over or curried carrot sweet potato soup.
The last few months, I’ve been perfecting my recipe for gravlax, that tasty, cool, marinated salmon half that is buttery-rich on the tongue. Until I knew better, I thought some of the product you can buy in the stores were fine, but once I got up the courage to start curing my own, I was shocked at how tasty it can be. I’ve tried wild salmon and farmed salmon as a base and my unsophisticated taste buds can’t tell the difference. Skin on, skin off. No difference. So I buy a slab of salmon (farmed, I know, maybe not good for the ocean ecosystem, I know) from Costco, trim the thin pointy end (it’s good grilled for supper), rinse the fish, blot it on paper towels and leave to air-dry in the fridge while I assemble the cure mixture. Buy (or cut from your garden) a large bunch of fresh dill. Dill seeds won’t work – you need the fresh stuff, clipped with your kitchen shears into 1/4-to-1/2-inch lengths. The dill from our garden has already started to blossom, so I threw those in as well. Equal parts of kosher salt and white sugar – about ½ cup of each. Add a few tablespoons of brown sugar, for a more complex sweetness. Toast about a tablespoon each of white peppercorns and black peppercorns and a teaspoon of coriander seeds in a heavy frying pan until they start to pop. Turn off the heat and let them sit for a while fuming under a lid, then grind/pound into a mixture of fine and coarse bits. The fragrance is intoxicating! Toss into the bowl of mixed sugar and salt and blend well. Spread two long sheets of clear wrap on the counter, overlapping the edges. If it looks like you’ve made too much cure, then you don’t have to use it all – it will keep in a lidded jar until the next time you need it. Make sure you label it so folks don’t mistakenly add it to their coffee. Sprinkle a thick layer of the cure mixture over the wrap then scatter on lots of the chopped dill. Lay the salmon on the bed of cure/dill and sprinkle the rest of the cure/dill on top, making sure the edges will be coated. Wrap tightly and insert into a large zipper bag. Place on the bottom shelf of the fridge. You can put a weight on top or not – again, I don’t notice any difference either way. Flip the bag over once a day for 3-5 days. When the gravlax has cured sufficiently, the texture will be firm instead of raw-flabby. Peel off the messy wrappings and, if you like, remove some of the coating for a less-green product. But remember, that’s where the intense flavour comes from! Then it’s ready to slice thinly on the diagonal and serve on a slice of fresh dark rye with a skim of butter. You can create pretty open-faced sandwiches with sliced boiled egg, red onions or whatever strikes your fancy. Layer the ingredients on Swedish crispbread. If you like the mustardy gravlax sauce (Ikea’s is not bad), add a dollop of that. It’s easy to make from scratch, too. Gravlax can be frozen, unsliced, then thawed in the fridge overnight. There’ll be no change in texture. Use immediately. It’s okay to ooooh and ahhhh and smack your lips. It’s that good. And your guests will think you’re a genius. Which you are. It’s that simple – and that good.