I went back to Julian’s recipe for vichyssoise. For one-hundred-ten-plus-four-for-good-measure people, we were going to need many piles of chopped leeks and onions. I retrieved one of my professional knives and got to work.
Just before seven, I started melting unsalted butter into golden pools in my stockpots. Julian tossed in the leeks and onions, and told me to go rest my leg. He would stir everything and make the fudge sauce at the same time.
“Better to have just one person standing in front of the stove,” he said. “Fix yourself another espresso and put your feet up.” He glanced at the ceiling. “When I hear the boys, I’ll shoot the French toast into the oven.”
I agreed, then offered espresso to Boyd.
He said, “Thanks, but I only drink real coffee.”
“I can make that for you,” I said
