CP14 Departures by Cannoli Pie Editors

Volume 1.14 7 November 2011

“Departures”

A Tasty Variation on Literature, Photography, Food and Music

“Floating Ghost,” Eleanor Leonne Bennett

Slice It Up

Letter from the Editor

“How we move, you and I” 18 lines (Vivian Bird)

“Last summer, you never called me back. Why not?” 14 lines (Vivian Bird)

Floating Ghost (Eleanor Leonne Bennett)

“Storybook Love, Part I: Ivan Jenkins Ripley” 2,262 words (Daniel Ripley)

Cheddar Beer Soup: A Recipe (Joe Krauska)

About our Authors & Artists

Letter from the Editor Dear Friends, There seems to be a long and back-stepping departure taking place. It seems like the weather has been cold for months, yet it is warm (here) today. Trees are still green, yet the East Coast has already seen snow. As of yesterday it is getting darker sooner, and at least two kitchen appliances and one motor vehicle have sent me into momentary panics over punctuality. If I sat down and added up the distances close friends and family members have planed, trained and automobiled in the past month, the total would quite literally stretch to India and back—perhaps with a layover in Kansas or North Carolina. A single word for this might be change, though I had been hoping to avoid that cliché. At any rate, like Relativity-bending neutrinos, I am not certain of time, speed and energy these days. Perhaps these are not changes but preparations. Much the way oak trees retain leaves through winter to save energy for spring, these happenings lately presage growth. Vivian Bird experiences reverie and goings in her poetry. Daniel Ripley’s protagonist trudges hedonistically towards the biggest growth and change, and Eleanor Bennett harkens to the unknown in a surreal photograph. Unrelated to the above, Joe has combined beer and cheese to make soup in what is probably a missing page from the Genesis story. These are this month’s departures. As always, thanks and best wishes, Stephen Krauska Executive Editor

How we move, you and I Poetry by Vivian Bird I dreamt you were on a mission and left, all smiles, bundled up in the thick woolen sweater you stole from me. Someone waited for you in a car, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off you. I was in the middle of packing, going through all my old life, the photos. I packed so slowly that people were already moving in. That’s when you came and said good bye, just as easily as you’d say, “Let’s go to lunch.” I didn’t say a word but we hugged, and you danced back to the car. So funny, it seemed to shrink when you got behind the wheel, as if you were bigger than I’d always known you. You took off and I just stood there, thinking. You left in a hurry, without anything. I kept forgetting what day it was. You left to go find your reason. I kept packing mine away in boxes.

Last summer, you never called me back. Why not? Poetry by Vivian Bird Now that I think about it, I probably did kick sand in your face at the beach that day. Of course, I didn’t mean to. Spiteful, I was, but obvious, I was never. Your cheeks were dear to me. I like to think I always tried to protect them. I’d cover up the whites of them, never touching them. Didn’t want to break them. And that woman we made fun of, down the beach? The one with the towel over her head, over her face. We laughed about it at the time, But now all I can think when the image of her comes to me is, “Oh, thank God. I wouldn’t have wanted to ruin hers either.”

Floating Ghost Artwork by Eleanor Leonne Bennett

Storybook Love, Part I: Ivan Jenkins Ripley 2,262 words Short Fiction by Daniel Ripley On a Monday morning last April, Nancy Ripley and her friend, Evangeline Lajeunesse, arrived at a diner in the small town of Nevada, Missouri for an early breakfast after a night of drinking at a bar followed by a few shots of gin, vodka, and tequila after closing time while the two stood out in the middle of a ditch smoking cigarettes and listening to the radio. Their scrubs acquired stains and holes after each successive Pall Mall butt hit the ground. Missouri held an allure for Kansans; the best of both worlds, the worst of both worlds is an apt term a good Kansan would use to describe the Show-Me State. On Sundays Kansas turned dry while all good Christians attended Church to support the Lord with dedication and love instead of debased debauchery. Therefore, many Jayhawkers smuggled themselves deep inside enemy territory for a quick sip of liquor on the Bushwhacker side of the invisible line dividing free and slave state. Nancy and Evangeline filed themselves into the small twenty-four hour café around five thirty a.m. Nancy and Evangeline each a lit a cigarette upon sitting down at a booth situated near the eastern side of the café. Large glass windows surrounded the perimeter of the café, and each window had a curtain covering the glass. Beside Nancy and Evangeline a few people laughed at the duo’s appearance, at the two smokers in scrubs. Mercy Physician Group of Fort Scott, Kansas pontificated every day on the horrors smoking reeks and the destruction tobacco insures. Whenever Nancy took a smoke break at work she points at any passing doctor, puffs on a long drag, and says “Enjoy your Rolls Royce.” Nancy and Evangeline wore their current costumes because, indeed, they were nurses for the Mercy Physician Group. Fifty years old with grey running through her red hair, Nancy served as senior nurse; twenty-five year-old Evangeline’s black hair and thick glasses constituted an impressive age gap. The waitress appeared beside Nancy and

Evangeline. Evangeline ordered a glass of orange juice, a full plate of biscuits and gravy, and three scrambled eggs. Nancy ordered several strips of bacon and coffee. When the server brought the food over Nancy gave the waitress a cigarette for a tip, lighting the smoke before the waitress went away. “Eating a bit much, little girl?” Nancy said. Evangeline placed the scrambled eggs on top of the biscuits and gravy after which Evangeline kneaded and crushed the eggs deep within the white gravy. “Listening to them faggots at the bar annoyed me,” Evangeline said. She started on her food. Nancy nodded at the statement. She sipped on her black coffee. Good coffee rarely showed up in Kansas. While Nancy started on her bacon Evangeline continued to chew and crush her food. Nancy then dropped a piece of bacon on the disappearing mound. Evangeline nodded at this. “Good night?” “Of course. Damn time we did this again. The doctors work us too much.” “But then we’d have no pay.” “Bitch.” After this exchange Evangeline finished her food and the cup of orange juice. The waitress returned to the table to see if the women needed anything else. Evangeline asked for a second cup of orange juice. When Evangeline was given the second glass she sipped the juice before laying her head on the table. “Tired?” Nancy laughed at her comment. A middle finger extended from Evangeline’s right hand. “My boyfriend’s the reason I’m not fucking right now,” Evangeline said. “Hot guy at the bar?” “Yes,” Evangeline said. “Good. How many did you drink before closing time?” 6

Storybook Love, Part I: Ivan Jenkins Ripley cont’d Short Fiction by Daniel Ripley “Nine singles.” “Youth wasted on the young.” Once Evangeline finished her current drink she motioned the waitress over for a third time. The crowd remained light at this time of the day so the waitress quickly appeared. One cinnamon roll (large), texas toast (covered in syrup), and a bowl of orange ice cream (sherbert). This time Evangeline raised her head and popped her knuckles. “You still have room?” Nancy said. “Been hungry these past few months. All I can think about. Hey, at this time the parish back in Fort Scott will be holding morning mass. Want to come by?” “Nope,” Nancy said. “Why not?” “Not a family thing,” Nancy said. Her grandparents originated from County Londonderry. No proper Scotch-Irishwoman would be near a parish. “None taken,” Evangeline said. “I’ve been at daily mass for about a month now.” Once the waitress brought the new platter of food Evangeline ripped and shredded the food. “Too bad we gotta visit these damn Missourians for beer.” “Odd statement for a fellow southerner,” Nancy said. “Ain’t a southerner. Dad’s the one born and bred in Louisiana.” “So you don’t think of yourself as one?” “I’m a Kansan.” “But, Evangeline, you are forgetting something,” Nancy said, bending over slightly. This was a common trait of Nancy. She placed her hands on the table. Her eyes turned towards Evangeline’s. “Your family was born in Baton Rouge. 7

Therefore, by birth, you are a southerner.” “I have no memory of them fucking hick. Makes me Kansan bred.” “So what if my ancestors lived in a goddamn swamp? Yes, I’ve heard from Dad ‘No, Limey bastards kicked us out of Acadia. Oh no, we are suffering in this damn swamp.’ Well, for fucks sake if you really gave a shit about being around some fucking frogs then by all means buy a plane, hop on, and fly your happy ass over to gay Paris. Wow, oh look, my ancestors screamed in French. I speak English, and I have a fucking sunflower on the damn flag flying over my head. That makes me a Kansan.” Upon hearing this Nancy Ripley laughed. Her fist slammed up and down on the table several times. Several customers turned their heads around, looking at Nancy. Evangeline ate the rest of her food, waiting for her friend to stop. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Nancy finally said after several minutes. “That funny?” “Oh, just my children and their family trees.” Evangeline thought of a great response to what Nancy said when a man appeared behind Nancy. He wore a black suit and a red tie. The person stood out because the man had Nancy’s face, a slightly masculine version of Nancy’s face. Nancy turned around and smiled at the man. “Beloved mother, how good you see you,” Ivan Jenkins Ripley said. He kissed her on the cheek. “And Miss Lajeunesse, a pleasure as well.” Ivan kissed Evangeline on the hand. He took a seat between the two women, motioned for water from the waitress, and said “Why are you two beautiful ladies out at this time in the morning?” Evangeline’s eyes turned to Nancy. The older woman nodded her head before turning to Ivan. “I decided to take Evangeline out for breakfast. Day off and we enjoy this place,” Nancy said. “Yeah, it’s got the good stuff,” Evangeline said. “Indeed it does. I always eat here before the sacrament meeting, but I must congratulate you, Evangeline, on the blissful news I heard about you. Gabriel told me about how God has

touched you.” Evangeline placed her face on her hands, muttering Gabriel very quietly. “My man is that way.” “And where did you see Evangeline’s boyfriend at?” Nancy said, drinking her coffee in full view of Ivan. She sucked an extra couple drops down. “Well, I was at the grocery store picking up food for the ward, and I ran into Gabriel. I must say Evangeline, Gabriel is a very, very good man. One day you will make a great, great, mother, Evangeline.” The news landed on Evangeline. Gabriel Standish was running around telling everyone how Evangeline Lajeunesse carried his illegitimate child as Evangeline’s father phrased the term. The child is Standish’s, not yours. “Gabriel,” Evangeline said. Nancy sensed the tone in Evangeline’s voice. Nancy said “So, why are you here, Ivan?” “Picking up the missionaries. Didn’t I tell you that the last time we had dinner together?” “I’m trying not to think of that,” Nancy said. “Adrian just had a bad day. Oh, waitress.” The waitress returned to the table. Ivan asked for three cups of green jello. A minute later the waitress brought the food. Ivan kneeled his head for a short prayer. While this went on Evangeline finally raised her head up, motioning at Ivan. For most of Evangeline’s life Catholics of vary degrees came out of her life. Despite attending daily mass Evangeline never prayed before a bowl of jello. Nancy responded by pointing at her head and moving her finger in a circle. This stopped when Ivan raised his head. “Least you’re a godly man,” Evangeline said. The smile on Ivan’s face stood out the most to Evangeline. He just smiled all the time. People rarely appeared that happy. “God is the foundation of all creation. I was seventeen when I found my testimony.” “Testimony?” Evangeline said. “Ivan, it is very early in the morning,” Nancy said.

“Early in the morning on the third was when the Lord arose from the grave, Mother. Evangeline, a testimony is the sure and utter knowledge through the Holy Spirit that Jesus is the Christ, and his work is being fulfilled by the Church.” “Oh. Nancy, you never told me you got a few Catholics in your family.” Ivan suppressed a mild laugh when Nancy cut in. “Evangeline has a lot on her mind right now because of the baby. Maybe this is not the most appropriate time.” “I merely want to advise Evangeline, give her a little help.” “Everything’s fine,” Evangeline said. “Any help would be nice.” “This a hard time for you, Evangeline. Ever need help, give me a call.” Ivan removed a card from his pocket, laying it down on the table by Evangeline. “Thank you. You’re not so cold like Dad.” Evangeline smiled, and Nancy lit a cigarette. “Benedict Lajeunesse is a good man, honorable man,” Ivan said. “Tell me, why do you feel this way about your father?” “I’m taking a piss,” Nancy said. She slapped Ivan on the back before walking off. Evangeline craved a cigarette herself, but she did not want to smoke one in front of Ivan. He seems to be a good person. No need to blow smoke in his face. “He’s just pissed over Gabriel and me not being married. Fuck, give me a moment to adjust to what happened. I’m hungry all the time, my ankles hurt.” “It is all right. Remember, no matter what happened life is never a sin. No child deserves to be left alone in the dark or murdered before birth.” “Right. Mom gone and died while I was young. I just, I just feel alone at the moment. I ain’t got a lot to turn to. I kneel

Storybook Love, Part I: Ivan Jenkins Ripley cont’d Short Fiction by Daniel Ripley before the altar every day for the mass, I’m even at weekly confession. None of this, none of this can make me feel easier about this.” “I can tell you are the on right track,” Ivan said. “Did my mother ever tell you my children are adopted?” “No.” “Irene was born barren. Artificial insemination is a waste of time and money for her. My children were brought into this world by someone else, but Irene and I are the parents. They’re different but equal. Have you told your father of your concerns about your religiosity?” “Here’s the thing,” Evangeline said. She paused for a moment to finish her food and have a coffee refill. “I ain’t got doubts about God being up there. I’ve seen enough stuff in this world to convince me God’s looking up.” “I see,” Ivan said. “But I’m not feeling it at the parish. Why hasn’t God sent me some sign to help me out on this?” “Maybe the church you attend is not helping you out. See, there is one message of God. If these different churches are saying my way is right how do you know?” “Agreed,” Evangeline said. “The beauty of my church is how we are able to discern the work of the Devil from the work of the Lord. Tell me Evangeline, would you like to hear about my church?” When Ivan said this Evangeline pushed her chair back an inch or so. Evangeline felt uncomfortable. Thankfully, Nancy showed up. Ivan turned around to look at her mother. However, Nancy back handed Ivan across the face with her 9

wedding ring hand. “Ivan, why?” “But Mother.” “Say not a damn thing. Evangeline, we are leaving.” Evangeline nodded at Nancy before she followed Nancy out of the diner to the café. Once outside the bright sunlight shined down on Evangeline. “Thank you,” Evangeline said. “I must apologize. Marcus and I allowed him to convert to Mormonism. Been that way since.” The two sat down in Nancy’s car. Nancy started her vehicle, pulled the car into gear, and turned onto the highway. “You mean he’s got multiple wives? Crazy fuck,” Evangeline said. “What did he ask you about?” “I’m scared, Nancy. Fucking terrified of being a mother. I ain’t got it. I ain’t got it at all, fuck I’m going to fail.” “No, you’re not. That’s the alcohol in your system. Everything will be right.” “No, I’m fucked, fucked in my pussy and pregnant.” “Hey, hey,” Nancy said. She grabbed Evangeline’s left hand. “I’ll help you through this. “Fuck Gabriel.” “Don’t worry, we’ll be all right. Here, let me get you something?” “A shotgun.” “Ice cream cone.” “Where?” “We’ll be fine.” Nancy started the car. Evangeline laid back in her seat while Nancy drove the car onto the highway.

Cheddar Beer Soup Recipe adapted by Joe Krauska A few weekends ago we had 40 hours of rain. It was slow and steady, quiet and cold. I had planned on making my cheese soup then, but schedules collided and destroyed any hope of a warm cheesy bowl to fight off the chill in the air. I decided to make it on a rather balmy Saturday afternoon instead, and it was delicious all the same. I would certainly suggest this as a wonderful football soup, as there’s nothing better than eating cheesy soup while shouting at the TV! I’ve been fighting this recipe for years, and only in the last 18 months or so have I tried to make it again. It always came out dry and stringy, lumpy and watery in the past. Chemistry is a cruel mistress; it turned out, after some research, that beer is too acidic to melt real cheese, which tries to curdle right away. The solution to my cheese soup woes, then, was to separate the soup from the cheese melting. Problem solved! To start, I take a pile of delicious soup veggies, add a smaller pile of peppers, mix in some broth and beer and let that simmer for a bit. To get the cheese to mix in properly, I make a béchamel. Adding the cheese to the cooked and thickened milk allows it to melt completely, which prevents it from curdling later on when it’s added to the broth. I’m a cheese lover at heart (yes, I am a cheesehead), so I asked my grandparents to bring me some cheddar from the local dairy where they

live. You can use any combo of semi-firm cheeses; fontina, edam, etc. The harder a cheese gets, the more difficult it is to get it to melt properly. The best thing you can do is shred it very finely. For hard cheeses like parmesan, I use a microplane, which gives you super-thin, easy-to-melt shreds. I would limit hard cheese to no more than a quarter of the total cheese weight. I also like to avoid pre-shredded cheese, because I’ve found that the starches they add to prevent the cheese from clumping in the package also make the cheese more difficult to melt. Get a nice brick, no need for a long aged cheese, and shred it yourself. Of course, this recipe is adaptable. Use whatever beer you like, though I’d stay away from strongly flavored beer (Guinness comes to mind but even that may not be terrible). I’ve managed to use various micro brews from around the region, Sam Adam’s Boston Lager, or even Bud Lite (it was all I had around that night and time was short—still made a good soup). I imagine you could replace up to half the beer with a nice white wine and the rest with broth, and have another delicious variety of soup. You can use the vegetables you have or have access to. Parsnips might be a nice earthy addition now that I think about it. Veggie broth, as always, can be used in place of chicken. It’s a soup, so do with it what you will, just keep the cheese out of the beer until it’s melted!

Cheddar Beer Soup Recipe adapted by Joe Krauska Cheddar Beer Soup Serves 5 or 6 Ingredients 10 Tablespoons butter, divided 1 carrot, diced fine 2 celery ribs, diced fine 1 medium onion, diced fine 1 red bell pepper, diced fine 1 jalepeno, seeds and core removed, diced fine (remove the ribs if you want it less spicy) 10 Tablespoons flour, divided ½ and ¼ teaspoon ground black pepper ( some for the broth and some for the milk) ½ teaspoon ground mustard ¼ teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional)] 1 -12oz beer 2 cups chicken broth, warmed 3 cups milk, warmed (2% or higher, no skim!) 12 oz cheddar cheese, shredded fine Directions In a large heavy pot, over medium heat, melt 6 T butter and sauté carrots a few minutes until they start to soften, add the rest of the vegetables and continue to cook until they are all softened. Turn heat down a bit to medium low, and combine ½ tsp pepper, ground mustard and 6 T of the flour, sprinkle over the vegetables and stir, cooking for a few minutes (if it starts sticking to the bottom really quickly, 11

turn down the heat!) After it’s cooked for a few minutes, slowly pour in the chicken broth, whisking the whole time until it is no longer lumpy. Add beer, stir, bring to a boil, lower the heat to low and let simmer while the cheese sauce is made. Stir it occasionally, the thickened broth will want to stick if it sits too long. Combine remaining ¼ tsp pepper and 4 T flour, melt 4T butter in a 3 qt saucepan or saucier over low-medium low heat. When it stops foaming, whisk in flour mixture and cook for 3-4 minutes, we want to get rid of the uncooked flour taste (mine ended up with little specks in it because I over cooked the butter at the beginning). Slowly whisk in the warmed milk until all the lumps are gone (if you have some really stubborn lumps, a stick blender will do the trick). Turn the heat off and whisk in the cheese, one handful at a time, until each handful is completely incorporated, before adding the next. Pour the cheese sauce slowly into the broth, stirring it well to combine the two. Stir for one minute over the low heat, then turn the stove off and season with salt and pepper to your liking. Serve with some fresh bread and maybe a dollop of sour cream. Enjoy!

Whodunit About our Authors & Artists

Eleanor Leonne Bennett is a 15 year old artist and photographer whose artwork has won 17 first places to date. Her work has been exhibited in galleries and published in books, magazines and calendars in Europe, Asia and America. Her poetry has also been published. She is home-educated and a self-taught photographer. Vivian Bird loves palm trees and Old Hollywood. She writes every day. Daniel Ripley is a writer living in Emporia, Kansas. Joe Krauska is a family man and engineer. He cares for a lovely wife and daughter who look a lot alike. Joe is a devotee of wholesome cooking. He abhors both artificial ingredients and those he did not buy with a coupon. Claire Suellentrop is one of Cannoli Pie’s Co-Editors and works as specialty music director for 89.5fm WSOU. She spends most of her time listening to music very loudly, reviewing said music and critiquing grammar. We would be lost without her. Stephen Krauska is Cannoli Pie’s other Co-Editor. He is a Kansas expatriate living in New York. He pontificates at http://unronic.blogpsot.com. He is Assistant Editor of The College of Staten Island’s Caesura, swears oaths by The Outlaw Bible of American

7 November 2011, Volume 1.14 http://cannolipie.com