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“Marie Antoinette would have loved this place!" Piper Donovan stood agape, her green eyes opened wide, as she took in the magical space. Crystal chandeliers, dripping with glittering prisms, hung from the mirrored ceiling. Gilded moldings crowned the pale pink walls. Gleaming glass cases displayed vibrant fruit tarts, puffy éclairs, and powdered beignets. Exquisitely decorated cakes of all flavors and sizes rested on pedestals alongside trays of pastel meringues and luscious napoleons. Cupcakes, cookies, croissants, and cream-filled pastries dusted with sugar or drizzled with chocolate beckoned from the shelves. "It's unbelievable," she whispered. "I feel like I've walked into a jewel box---one made of confectioners' sugar but a jewel box nonetheless.”

“They took the elevator up to the eighth floor. Charbonnel et Walker Chocolate Café was tucked between Ladies' Shoes and the Home and Gifts Department. Bathed in pale pink paint and lit by crystal chandeliers, the enchanted corner was dominated by a counter featuring a conveyor belt that transported plates of croissants, brownies, scones, muffins, and every imaginable truffle under glass domes. Dark and milk chocolate, strawberry, lemon, pink champagne, mint, cappuccino, and buzz fizz with its distinctive orange center. Sparkling glass cabinets temptingly displayed hundreds of the treats lined up in precise rows. They could be consumed on the premises or purchased to take away. A gold seal on the candy boxes signaled that the Queen of England was a fan.”

“The customer quickly turned the lock on the front door before following Mike to the workstation and watching as the butcher slid a fat smoked ham back and forth, back and forth across the razor-sharp blade of the meat-slicing machine. Mike caught each thin slice and piled it on the round, sesame-seeded bread that lay split open on the counter. He repeated the process with salami, depositing it on the ham. Next a layer of capicola, followed by pepperoni, Swiss cheese, and provolone. "Looking good," said the customer, observing from the other side of the counter. "Thanks again for this." "No problem," said Mike. "We Royal Street folks have to help each other out when we can." "How many muffs do you think you've made in your life?" asked the customer, setting a shopping bag on the floor. The sandwich maker laughed. "I couldn't even begin to tell you." He reached for the glass container of olive spread he had mixed himself. Finely chopped green olives, celery, cauliflower, and carrot seasoned with extra-virgin olive oil, all left to marinate overnight.”

“One of the buffet tables was laden with assorted muffins, scones, bagels, and croissants accompanied by butter, cream cheese, and flavored jams. There was a create-your-own-omelet station and platters of maple sausage, crispy bacon, and hash browns. Quiche lorraine and brioche French toast with mixed berry compote and whipped cream rounded out the breakfast part of the buffet. For those who preferred something other than morning food, there was a second table featuring mixed green salad with pomegranate vinaigrette, grilled salmon, chicken picante, roasted vegetables, rice pilaf, a craving of roast beef, lobster Newburg, and shrimp scampi.”

“As Piper walked inside, she surmised that the place was part restaurant, part delicatessen, part butcher shop. One long wall was taken up with a sprawling glass-front refrigerated case housing all sorts of meats and cheeses waiting to be sliced. There were aisles of shelves lined with balsamic vinegars, oils, rice, pastas, salts, and seasonings. Customers sat eating sandwiches at several round tables to the side of the room. "What'll it be?" asked the teenager behind the counter. "I'm not sure," said Piper. "What's in a muffuletta?" The young man recited the ingredients. "Salami, pepperoni, ham, capicola, mortadella, Swiss cheese, provolone, and olive salad.”

“They shared the monkfish-liver pâté and the finely chopped tuna and scallions with ginger sauce. "Remember the time we had puffer fish at that restaurant in New York?" Isaac asked as he tasted the monkfish. Elliott slowly shook his head as he answered. "How can I forget? I was scared to death. Every time I have liver, no matter where it comes from, the puffer-fish liver crosses my mind. I sat there praying that the chef knew what he was doing when he cut out the poison part." "You didn't seem scared," said Isaac. "That's because I didn't want you to think I was unadventurous. We had just met then. I was trying to impress you." "Well, you did," said Isaac. "I'd been in town for only a few months, and I thought you were such a sophisticated New Yorker. I was trying not to seem like a rube." "You know," said Elliot, "I read that Japanese fish farmers are mass-producing poison-free puffer fish." Isaac shrugged. "Kinda takes the mystique away, doesn't it? I mean, where's the thrill? Where's the risk? You might as well be eating tuna.”

“Magazine Street was a sea of green. Piper reveled in the pleasure and satisfaction of having finished the scene in her first feature film as she made her way through the crowds and watched the floats decorated by New Orleans marching clubs. The float riders threw carrots, potatoes, moon pies, and beads to the onlookers gathered on the sidewalk. Pets joined in the festivities as well, sporting leprechaun attire and green-tinted fur. Under a bright sun and a clear blue sky, families and friends were gathered for the opportunity to celebrate one of the biggest street parties of the year. Some set up ladders along the parade route, climbing atop for the best views. Others scaled trees and found perches among the branches. "Hey, mister, throw me something!" yelled a man next to Piper. Waving hands rose in the air as a head of cabbage came hurtling from the float. Everyone in the crowd lunged for it. The person who snagged it was roundly congratulated for the catch. "What's with the cabbage?" Piper asked the man standing next to her. "They aren't supposed to throw them, just hand them out. Somebody could get hurt by one of those things." The man shrugged. "But the tradition is to cook them for dinner on St. Patrick's Day night.”

“As soon as the meeting was adjourned, Piper sprang eagerly from her seat and went over to look at the netsuke. Minute scales were precisely carved into a tiny coiled snake. Every whisker appeared on a sleeping calico. A writhing dragon licked flames with his jagged tongue. But the netsuke that fascinated Piper the most was a monkey perched on a rock as it wrestled and held down the tentacles of a small octopus. The hairs of the monkey and the expression on its face were equally detailed. Even the tiny suction cups on the octopus's tentacles could be seen. "That's one of my favorites." Piper looked up to see Cryder standing there. "In the Japanese legend," he continued, "the octopus was a physician to the Dragon King of the Sea and prescribed a monkey's liver to heal the king's daughter. But the smart little monkey evaded capture.”

“She looked out the taxi window at the picturesque Creole cottages and brick Spanish Colonial houses on the way back to the bakery. Piper could understand why New Orleans was an attractive location for filming. The culturally rich neighborhoods and diverse locations, from bayou to big city, provided vivid backdrops. There were willing extras of all shapes, sizes, and ethnicities available, as well as state-of-the-art sound stages and plenty of skilled crew members. Piper also knew that Louisiana offered attractive tax incentives to the film industry to bring in business to New Orleans. The city was working hard to earn the moniker "Hollywood of the South.”

“Blazing bamboo torches lit the way to the tiki hut beside Sarasota Bay at Mote Marine Aquarium. The thatch-roofed pavilion sheltered wooden picnic tables wrapped with raffia skirting and crowned with centerpieces of conch shells filled with sprays of orchids. Potted palms and red hibiscuses had been placed around the perimeter of the outdoor room. The atmosphere was redolent with roasting pork and salt air. "This is ridic!" exclaimed Piper. "We're never leaving." She scooped a watermelon margarita garnished with a paper umbrella from the tray of a passing server. Jack helped himself to a Captain Morgan on the rocks. "To us," he said, raising his glass. Trays of skewered beef teriyaki and sweet-and-sour chicken were passed.”

“His supermarket rarely carried what he wanted anymore, so Cecil had gone to the butcher store around the block from the housing project where the owner was now in the habit of saving chicken feet for him. When he got home, Cecil set a pot of water on the stove. As soon as it boiled, he dropped in the four-pronged feet. After five minutes he took them out and rolled off the skin. Next Cecil pulled out the old black cast-iron skillet that had been his mama's, poured in some oil, and added the feet, frying them up until they were a golden brown. Throwing in some chopped onion and garlic and cooking them until he could see through the onions, Cecil added rice and covered the whole shebang with water. Some salt and pepper, bring to a boil again, put on a lid, and wait till the rice was fluffy and the chicken feet were tender.”

“From the Saturday afternoon Piper and her mother had gone to the animal shelter and spotted the little white dog with the floppy ears and a big brown patch around his left eye, they were goners. Piper had still been working on A Little Rain Must Fall, and it was the week before she attended her first---and last---Daytime Emmy Awards ceremony. She'd named the terrier Emmett in honor of the occasion, only later realizing how appropriate the moniker would be. The dog could just as easily have been named for world-famous clown Emmett Kelly. Happy-go-lucky and friendly, Emmett was very smart and responded exceptionally well to the obedience training Piper's father had insisted upon. But it was Piper's mother who cultivated the terrier's special talents, teaching him a series of tricks using food as a reward. The dog had already provided the Donovan family and their neighbors with hours and hours of delight and laughter when Terri came up with the idea of having Emmett featured in commercials for the bakery, which ran on the local-access cable channel. As a result, Emmett had become something of a celebrity in Hillwood.”

“Come on, I want to take you around to the back, to see St. Anthony's Garden," he said. Delicate bell clangs marked the half hour, and a mockingbird called through the still air as the group entered the garden. The green space was dominated by the tall white statue of a man with arms raised in welcome. "St. Anthony is known as the protector of childless women and finder of lost things," explained Falkner. "This area has had many functions over the years. It was a place for gatherings, markets, meals---even a dueling ground. Père Antoine, one of the cathedral's popular pastors, used the space as a kitchen garden to feed his monks. He also worked with voodoo priestess Marie Laveau to assist the large slave population, especially women and children." "A Roman Catholic priest collaborating with a voodoo priestess?" asked one of the tourists, mopping his brow with a handkerchief. Falkner nodded. "They had more in common than you may think. They both had a desire to heal, sooth, and do good works. They were both very spiritual people. Marie Laveau blended voodoo with Catholicism, especially regarding the saints.”