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TORO BRAVO
Mc SWEENEY’S
san francisco

mcsweeneys.net
Copyright © 2013 John Gorham & Liz Crain
Endpaper and cover art by Tyler Adams
Cover and interior design by Walter Green
All rights reserved, including right of
reproduction in whole or part in any form.
McSweeney’s and colophon are registered
trademarks of McSweeney’s, a privately held
company with wildly fluctuating resources.
ISBN: 978-1-938073-57-1
 TORO
BRAVO
STORIES. RECIPES. NO BULL.
OR, THE MAKING, BREAKING, AND RIDING OF A BULL

JOHN GORHAM & LIZ CRAIN

PHOTOGRAPHS BY DAVID L. REAMER
 CONTENTS

Foreword. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 7 Four Days On, Three Days Padron Peppers: 107

Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 Off: 77 Octopus à la Plancha: 108
The Makeout Room: 79 Butter Lettuce Salad: 110
TB Stands for Trailblazing.......12 Gazpacho: 112
Mom: 15 The Kitchen.........................80 Groundwork Greens: 114
Helen: 16 Ready, Set, Cook: 82 Radicchio Salad: 116
Gene: 18 Country Crock of Shit: 84 Potato Salad: 118
Granddad Gordon: 22 Solid Gold Ingredients: 85 Fennel Salad: 120
Mickey Spillane: 25 Tools of the Trade: 86 Avocado Salad: 121
Bill Hatch: 32
Tapas. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 122
There’s No Place Like PDX.......34 Recipes Salt Cod Fritters: 124
The Pink House: 37 Tortilla Espanola: 126
Pinchos.............................94
Anything Was Possible: 39 Fried Anchovies, Fennel,
Roasted Spanish Nuts: 96
By Any Means Necessary: 42 and Lemon: 130
Almonds Poached in Chili Shrimp à la Plancha: 132
Team Ron!: 44 Olive Oil: 97 Boquerones with Toasted
Chickenshit Mills: 52 Bacon-Wrapped Dates: 98 Bread and Piperade: 134
A “Spanish” Restaurant: 56 Sheep Cheese Balls with Rose Potatoes Bravas: 136
Ruby: 62 Petal Harissa: 100 Seared Cauliflower with
Tomato Bread; the BLT; Charred Salsa Verde: 138
Toro Bravo Rules...................64 Bread with Nettles and Sautéed Spinach with Pine Nuts
Always Share: 67 Fromage Blanc; Chanterelles and Golden Raisins: 140
Always Hustle: 68 in Sherry Cream: 102 Chard with Eggs: 142
If Your Lights Go Out: 73 Spring Onions with Butter-Braised Turnips with
Work Harder, Play Harder: 74 Salbitxada: 106 Mojo Picon: 143
 Harira: Lamb and Lentil Stew: 144 Braised Lamb with Apricots Fundamentals. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 272
Grilled Asparagus: 146 and Coriander: 216 Preserved Lemons: 274
Sautéed Brussels Sprouts with Smoked Pork Shoulder Pickled Beets: 276
Bacon Sherry Cream: 148 Sandwich: 218 Pickled Zucchini: 278
Grilled Corn with Cilantro Drunken Pork: 220 Vanilla Extract: 280
Pesto: 150 Moorish Meatballs: 222 Romesco: 281
Oxtail Croquettes: 224 Salbitxada: 282
Charcuterìa.......................152 Squash Dumplings: 228 Sofrito: 283
Equipment and Resources: 156 Lamb Ragu with Eggplant: 230 Mojo Picon: 284
The Professional Moorish Lamb Chops: 232 Tapenade: 285
Charcuterie Series: 158 Chicken with Jamón and Three-Chili Purée: 286
French Kisses: 160 Manchego: 234 Piperade: 287
Chorizo: 162 How to Break Down Pisto Manchego: 288
DIY Meat Curing Setup: 168 a Chicken: 236 Aioli: 289
Sherry Chicken-Liver Chicken and Clams Salsa Verde: 290
Mousse: 174 Cataplana: 238 Chicken/Fideos Stock: 291
Duck-Liver Mousse Terrine: 178 Bacon Manchego Burger: 240 Orange Marmalade: 292
Pork Rillettes: 184 Paella: 242 Marinated Olives: 293
Bacon: 186 Rabbit Fideos: 246 Tomato Sauce: 294
Merguez Sausage: 188 Béchamel: 295
Coppa Steak: 192 Cocktails. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 248
Jerez Negroni: 250 Desserts. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .296
Raciones. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 194 Flor De Caña Fix: 251 Chocolate Almonds: 298
Squid Ink Pasta: 196 Toro Martini: 252 Olive Oil Cake: 299
Spicy Octopus and Pepino: 254 Baked-Fruit Clafoutis: 302
Prawn Stew: 198 The Basque Kiss: 256 Panna Cotta: 304
Scallops: 202 To Your Health: 258 Caramel Sauce: 306
Halibut Cheeks: 204 Limoncello: 260 Crepes: 307
Advice for Cooking Casa Rita: 261 Lemon Curd: 308
Seafood: 206 Venus 75: 264 Hazelnut Ice Cream: 310
Moroccan Tuna with Botellazo: 265
Couscous: 208 Red Sangria: 266 Acknowledgments. . . . . . . . . . . . . 312
Harissa-Stewed White Sangria: 268 Index: People and Places.......315
Butternut Squash: 210 Breakside Brewery’s Index: Food .......................317
Hand-Cut Noodles: 212 Toro Red: 270
Ruby’s Noodles: 214
 FOREWORD
LIZ CRAIN

I met John Gorham for the first time restaurant—on the ground floor of a two-story
turn-of-the-century building in a low-foot-traffic
in 2008, while interviewing Portland area of Northeast Portland—was already packed.
chefs for a story about their tattoos. My boyfriend at the time had designed the
restaurant’s logo, a fighting bull, and inked it on
To put it plainly, John wasn’t a dick. John’s forearm, so we got a big smile and a nod
of recognition from John—cooking on the line—
He was the nicest and smartest of
when we entered.
them all, and I liked him immediately. Inside, it was dim and loud and all the chunky
crosscut tables—two-tops, four-tops, and the long
There wasn’t any throat-clearing
communal table across the room from the bar—were
or posturing with him; we walked crowded with arms, elbows, drinks, and plates. There
were just four people in the kitchen, where oxtail
around the block for our interview, fritters were getting golden in the fryer, drunken pork
laughing as we talked, especially was spitting on the grill, and paella was crowding the
burners. John, 130 pounds heavier than he is now,
when he told me about one of his orchestrated it all.
favorite tattoos—a chicken shitting Tyler and I ordered a couple of martinis and a
plate of bacon-wrapped dates for the wait, and were
out his sous chef’s name on his ass. seated an hour later. We ate a lot of big-flavored
I thought, This guy is crazy and really foods that night: salt cod fritters, manchego fritters,
seared scallops with romesco, radicchio salad (I still
fucking funny. have to get it every time I visit), and the coppa steak.
And, of course, when we thought we could eat and
The first time I ate at Toro Bravo was late in drink no more, John sent us out after-dinner glasses
the summer of 2007, not long after it opened its of slightly salty Manzanilla sherry that made us
doors in May. Even newly opened, the sixty-seat never want to leave.

7
Toro Bravo

I’ve loved Spanish food since I was a teenager, be better. If he takes a trip to Spain, it’s a guarantee
when I spent a spring working on a farm in Spain you’ll find new items on the menu as soon as a week
and, when work was over, traveling through the later: from the rabbit fideos inspired by a trip to
Southeast. I loved the simplicity of Spanish food— Barcelona just before the restaurant’s opening, to the
jamón thinly sliced and served at room temperature cocido madrileno inspired by the trip we took to Spain
with olives, griddled langoustines, served with heads together in September 2012.
and shells intact with a wedge of lemon. I loved About that trip: when we were wrapping up this
how everything tasted older and better, how most book, John took a group of us to Spain—me, Toro’s
foods were tangy and grassy with olive oil. In Spain, chef de cuisine Kasey Mills, charcuterie manager
the meat seemed to have more funk, the vegetables Josh Scofield, our photographer David Reamer, and
had more bite and flavor, and the seafood was both our McSweeney’s editor Rachel Khong. We had just
sweeter and saltier. Everything seemed more steeped five days to spend in Madrid and Barcelona, but we
in history, more storied. still managed to consume far more than five days’
That’s the kind of food John brought to Portland: worth of food and drink. On our trip we divvied
food that’s three-dimensional, robust, and rich with up pharmaceutical sleep aids over cocktails in the
personal history. The food at Toro Bravo adopts the Philadelphia airport, ate a cheese in Madrid that John
simplicity and comfort of Spanish cuisine: it’s served described as tasting “like licking a goat’s asshole”
in cazuelas and unfancy plates and bowls, all family- (in a good way), went to one of the last bullfights of
style. But John’s food isn’t strictly Spanish. It’s a the season (and watched a matador get gored), and
little brighter and fresher, more layered and complex. spanked bewildered Spanish men (okay, only I did
Since opening Toro Bravo, John has opened Tasty that). The trip was—in keeping with Toro Bravo
n Sons and Tasty n Alder—a neighborhood brunch style—nonstop. We must have averaged about three
spot and steakhouse-inspired eatery, respectively— hours of sleep a night. We wanted to see, eat, drink,
which, along with Toro Bravo, have become a few of and do everything we could. What I’ve learned,
Portland’s most perpetually slammed restaurants. so many stories, recipes, and insights later, is that
Now that I’ve spent the past two and a half running with the Toro Bravo bulls is always an
years working with John on this book, I can tell you adventure. If you want to keep up, you’ve got to open
this: John is extremely loyal, generous, passionate, your heart, and run like hell.
occasionally bullish, deeply curious, and always
learning, and constantly over-the-top busy. John
takes care of the people he loves. Stay on John’s good
side, and you won’t know a better friend or boss.
(Fail to, and, well, you’re fucked.) I’m lucky to know
him, and Portland’s lucky to have him.
Another thing you should know about John is
that he’s relentless: always wanting to push harder,

8
 INTRODUCTION
JOHN GORHAM

On May 18th, 2007, Toro Bravo to Savannah, back to Greenville, and

opened its doors at 120 NE Russell up to Newport News. By the time I
Street and served its very first meal. graduated from high school, I’d gone
But it was in the works well before to twenty-one different schools.
that. The story starts in Washington, All of this moving really took a toll on my mother,
DC, with my mother, who had me and she battled deep depressions her whole life.
There were weeks she couldn’t get out of bed at all.
when she was just a teenager. When I learned to cook at a very young age. I learned how
I was four, my mom married Gene, to flip eggs in first grade. In second grade, I bought a
cast-iron pan at a garage sale so I could make better
my adopted father, and that’s when French toast. Learning to cook not only gave me the
the moving began. Gene worked for feeling that I could survive, it also made me feel that
I could do anything.
Kroger, the grocery chain, opening All the moving meant that I never felt I belonged
new stores in different locations anywhere. Once things started to feel settled, we’d
be up and off again. For all the drawbacks of my
and never staying in one place for itinerant childhood—the chaos, the constant feeling
very long. Our moves went like this, of never belonging—I can’t imagine it another way.
During the holidays—regardless of where we
through Georgia, North Carolina, were—I’d visit my grandfather, who lived in DC. He
and Virginia: Savannah to Greenville loved a party, good food, and friends. Whenever I
visited Granddad Gordon we’d eat at steakhouses,
to Charlotte to Shelby to North old German restaurants, and crab shacks on the
Myrtle Beach to Myrtle Beach, back Chesapeake Bay. We’d go to European candy stores

9
Toro Bravo

for the best licorice, or hunt down the city’s best I got to Portland in 2001, and in 2004, when
burger. We’d watch Justin Wilson, the Cajun chef, my daughter Ruby was born, I knew that I’d be
together. He’d never let me order off the kids’ menus, calling Portland home. There were great ingredients
and always pushed me to try something different. to work with, and a young chef could make enough
We’d pass our plates so we could try as much as we money to buy a house in the city. For years, opening
could. Those times spent with Granddad Gordon a restaurant had seemed like such a pipe dream, but
taught me that good food was worth seeking out, and all of sudden, in Portland, it wasn’t. In Portland,
that sharing good food could make everything—at it was possible. The restaurant I’d wanted to helm
least momentarily—better. since I first started eating with my grandfather,
When I was fourteen, I got a job washing since I was cooking for my mother, since I was a
dishes at Teco Taco. It was my first kitchen job, and fourteen-year-old kid biking to a Mexican restaurant
I loved everything about it: the camaraderie, the to wash dishes—that restaurant was finally going
practical joking, the hard work. For the first time in to become a reality.
my life, I felt right at home. My next job was at a Toro Bravo opened on May 18th, 2007. Portland
barbecue pit called Parker’s, and I felt it again: that loved Toro Bravo right away, and who knows why.
feeling of belonging, that feeling that cooking was We were loud, different, and hard to pin down—a
exactly what I was supposed to be doing. “Spanish” restaurant, but only sort of. But you could
I still cook corn the way I learned to do it come—whoever you were, wherever you’d come
at Parker’s (page 150). There’s a lot of that, in from, whatever your personal history—to get full and
this book. I peel asparagus the way Jean-Pierre maybe get drunk, shoot the shit with your friends
Moullé taught me in my twenties; the coffee and laugh as loud as you wanted. Meanwhile, it
cake I bake today wouldn’t be the same if I hadn’t was everything I’d ever wanted, and what I’d craved
first made it, at age seven, for my mother. It’s growing up: a space to cook in and a community of
the places we’ve been, the people we’ve met, the people to cook for, to eat and drink and have a good
shit we’ve been through—good and bad—that time with.
makes each of us unique. For anyone who cooks, There isn’t a day that I don’t feel grateful to be
all that shows up in our food: the people we’ve able to work with all the people that make Toro Bravo
encountered, the places we’ve lived, the choices what it is, and bring their stories—their unique
we’ve made, our travels, our curiosity, our histories—to the table. And I’m grateful to everybody
obsessions. Something that appealed to me when who comes in, every night, to pass our plates of food.
I first started studying Spanish food was its You make this possible. I hope this book inspires you
diversity and variety. Spanish cuisine is influenced to cook a meal, invite some friends and family over,
by centuries of trade and travel. It isn’t any one and pass your own plates.
thing. It’s all over the place, and anything but
straightforward. That was something I knew more Only a few will understand this, but the real title of this book
than a little about. is Choo! Choo! Fat! The Train Ride to Flavor.

10
TRAILBL
TB STANDS FOR
LAZING
Toro Bravo

WASHINGTON, DC VIRGINIA BEACH, VA

NOVEMBER 14, 1972 1975–76
My mom was fourteen when she became pregnant A few months after the accident, Gene—who was
with me. Soon after her parents found out, they heading to Vietnam to work on aircraft carriers—con-
kicked her out of the house. In order to pay for vinced my mom to move in with his ex-wife and kids.
the delivery, she worked as a live-in maid for Some of my first memories are of living with my mom,
six months for the doctor who would deliver me. my stepsister Michelle, my stepbrother Brian, and their
The original agreement was that the doctor and mom Toby, in Virginia Beach. We’d all go to the beach
his wife would adopt me once I was born. When and get soft-serve ice cream after. That was our thing.
the time came, though, my grandparents couldn’t My mom and Toby—who was probably twenty-five or
go through with it. They decided they wanted my twenty-six at the time—got along well enough, but it
mother to keep me after all, and accepted her obviously wasn’t an ideal situation.
back into their home. Here’s an example: my mom had a poodle that
My grandparents had all daughters—my mom and Toby’s daughter Michelle didn’t like. Once, when my
her three sisters—and I was their first grandchild. I mom caught her beating the dog with a stick, my mom
don’t think it hurt matters that I was a boy. My dad went out, took the stick, and started beating Michelle.
was twenty-one at the time and he’d come around Our family still talks about it.
now and then, but he wasn’t—and never wound up
being—part of the picture.
I was two when Mom met Gene. She was sixteen
and Gene was twenty-seven, married with two kids, JACKSONVILLE, FL
and in the navy. My mom told Gene that if they were
1976–77
going to get serious, he had to get divorced, so he
did. Not long after that, my mom and Gene were out After Vietnam, Gene was stationed for the navy in
on a date—joyriding in his souped-up Mustang— Jacksonville. My mom and I went with him while
when a car T-boned them on the driver’s side at a Toby, Michelle, and Brian stayed behind. Gene was
two-way intersection. Gene was fine, but my mom— on the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower: a pretty famous
who was driving—was seriously injured, and had aircraft carrier. They’d go out for various missions
to be flown to the hospital. She came very close to for three to four months at a time, so I remember
dying. Because of the accident, she had chronic back that time in Jacksonville as being mostly my mom
pain for the rest of her life. and me together.
In kindergarten we went on a field trip to a nearby
restaurant: a steakhouse chain called Bonanza. We
daisy-chained there and toured Bonanza, and got to

14
 Trailblazing

Mom When I was sixteen, and my mom

was managing a drug store, she
she went to her psychiatrist—who
was a strict parent, and very Cath-
got caught going behind the phar- olic—and said, I will tell everyone
macy counter and skimming from that you got your daughter an abor-
My mom was in and out of rehab the top. It was a small town and tion if you don’t give me whatever the
my entire life until she died at age everyone knew about it. She was fuck I want. For a couple years my
fifty-one. She had two main issues: humiliated and ended up having a mom had access to anything she
depression and chronic pain from nervous breakdown. She felt like wanted. She was doing things like
the car accident. Chiropractors she couldn’t go home—couldn’t not getting out of bed two days at a
prescribed her pain pills, which face everybody—so she checked time, nodding out, wrecking cars.
she needed, but always went herself into the hospital. Not long after, I got a phone
too far with. According to the My mom returned a couple call at the restaurant where I was
coroner’s list, there were twenty- months later but she basically said working. My mom was in the hos-
two substances in her body at the screw it. After that, we’d see her pital. The psychiatrist that my
time of death. really fucked up, using heavily and mom had blackmailed into giv-
Growing up, there were openly and doing crazy shit. In the ing her pharmaceuticals ended up
so many nights my mom was end, my mom and Gene decided paying someone to beat the tar-
depressed that we had a name for that they were too embarrassed nation out of her. He just wanted
what that meant in terms of din- to stay in North Carolina. That’s the problem to go away. He’d been
ner. We called it “fend for your- when Gene quit Kroger, took his playing with something illegal and
self” night. My daughter Ruby is stock options, and bought a house wanted out. My mom was black
eight now, and by the time I was in Virginia. In Virginia, my mom and blue all over with serious head
her age no one took me to school. began seeing a psychiatrist. For trauma and was hospitalized for
Half the time I washed my own a while, she seemed to be doing several days. The guy who did the
clothes and cooked my own din- pretty well. I was seventeen, and job for the psychiatrist told her
ner. But even though cooking was dating this girl, April, whose best that if she said anything to the
a means of survival, there was friend was my mom’s psychia- cops about it, he knew her kids
pleasure in it as well. trist’s daughter. One day my girl- and would do the same to them.
I cooked for my mother when friend was over at our house, and I know the psychiatrist and a few
I could. Cooking wasn’t just a way while my mom was in earshot she times over the years I’ve wanted
to take care of myself—it was a talked about how her friend, my to say something to him to at least
way to show her that I cared for mom’s psychiatrist’s daughter, had let him know that I know, but I
her, too. Despite all of my mom’s had an abortion. never have. Probably because I
difficulties I was very close to her I didn’t learn this until years know, if I’m honest, that if I had
and loved her a lot. later, after my mom died: when my been him, I might have done the
mom overheard what April said, same thing myself.

15
Toro Bravo

Helen watch the cooks in the kitchen. Afterward we had

chopped steak for lunch. I remember thinking, then,
that cooking seemed pretty cool.

In Greenville, there was a woman named

Helen, a family friend who lived on a
small farm, and whose husband had
SAVANNAH, GA
recently, tragically passed away. He was 1979–80
electrocuted underneath their house
When I was six, we moved from Jacksonville to
while working on some piping. He hit
Savannah, where Gene and one of his good friends
a live wire and died instantly. Helen
started a pin-striping business together. We went
didn’t find out until a few hours later.
to a lot of big fish fries at churches and commu-
After Helen’s husband died I vis-
nity centers in Savannah: you paid a small amount,
ited her regularly, sometimes with a
grabbed a plate, and then it was all-you-could-eat
friend or with my brother, and I’d mow
fried fish, straight up. There were usually french fries
her lawn. I mowed people’s lawns for
and fried shrimp, salad, and tartar sauce, cocktail
money—I’d been doing that since I was
sauce, and lemons to go with the seafood. There was
twelve—but I never charged Helen.
always plenty of sweet tea to go around.
Helen lived far enough away from
Hurricane David, which hit Georgia in early Sep-
my family that she would always pick
tember of 1979, was devastating—especially to our
me up from home, have me mow her
neighborhood. Our house was okay but a lot of our
lawn, and drop me back off later that
neighbors’ homes were destroyed. We couldn’t drive
night. Every time, after we were fin-
out of our neighborhood until a week after the hur-
ished with the lawn, she would invite
ricane, because trees and debris blocked the road.
me and whoever came with me in for
There was no electricity and no water, so we’d walk
a home-cooked dinner. She cooked
to various nearby relief areas for supplies every day.
everything: tuna casserole, green bean
I remember my mom being very nervous about
casserole, meatloaf, fried chicken, and
the dry ice that we’d been given for our food. She was
baked ziti. Dinner usually came with
scared that I would touch it and get hurt. She was
a salad or two, and big cold pitchers
nervous about everything during the hurricane, but
of lemonade and milk. Everything was
Gene, on the other hand, was very relaxed. He actu-
always family-style—we’d pass plates
ally grilled outside during the eye of the storm. It was
and share. I remember thinking: This
sunny and beautiful and the eye probably lasted at
is how a family should feel. I’m still the
least half an hour, from what I remember. We’d gone
happiest and most comfortable around
fishing that week, so Gene got the grill stoked and
a dinner table like that.

16
Toro Bravo

Gene when Gene came home he stepped

on one, broke it, and threw it
over the sheets, and then remade
it. It was my first real practical
out. I was heartbroken—I was joke. My stepdad came home tired
really into Star Wars then—so from work, and went into their
Gene wasn’t home a lot because later that night I snuck out to the bedroom to take a nap. He
he worked so much, but when he garage and tossed one of Gene’s was a really hairy man, and a
was it was a police state. Growing wrenches in the trash. Another couple minutes later he came
up, if I ever left anything of mine time I was by myself in my room running out into the living room
in the living room, Gene would put listening to music when Gene with the sheet stuck to him.
it in the trash. I knew the rule, but came home, thought my music I was laughing so hard I could
my little sister was too young to was too loud, punched my stereo, barely stop, but I managed to get
always abide by it. She’d go into and broke it. I threw away his out, I didn’t do that. Of course,
my room and take out things of floor jack that night. I got in a lot of trouble.
mine to play with and then forget I remember Gene sometimes Gene did his best to isolate
to put them away. She didn’t know almost like a cartoon character our family by moving us around
any better because she was so with smoke coming out of constantly. There were plenty of
young—just a toddler. It happened his ears, running around and times that he could have opened
all the time: Gene would find screaming things like, Where’s and then managed Kroger stores
whatever it was and throw it in the my fucking wrench?! These days in one area for longer than he
trash. I took the eye-for-an-eye I try to rein it in and not be too did. I think he wanted us to be
approach. His hobby was restoring vindictive when I feel wronged dependent on him. He continually
old cars and on weekends he’d but it’s still sometimes difficult. moved us to new cities and towns
work on everything from old ’50s When I was younger, if you where we didn’t know anyone and
Impalas to Chevy pickups. There pissed me off I rarely took it had to start again from scratch.
was always a car in the garage that without a fight. One of the cool things that
Gene was working on and restoring The summer after first grade, Gene and I did together, though,
to make into a show car. Every when my sister was born, was was we had a vegetable garden.
time he’d throw something of mine an especially difficult time for In Charlotte, we had a great big
away, I’d go to the garage, take one me. My sister was born in June backyard, probably a quarter
of his tools, and throw it away, too. and I went from getting all the acre or so, and we grew our first
One of the first times I sought attention to none of it, and garden in it. We grew all kinds of
revenge like that was when my dealing with my stepdad all the vegetables in mounds: cabbage
sister got my Star Wars action while. My mom would make her and broccoli, tomatoes and
figures out while I was asleep and and Gene’s bed every morning, zucchini. I remember everything
took them into the living room. so one day I unmade it, took a did well.
She forgot to put them away, and jar of honey, spread the honey all

18
 Trailblazing

cooked up some of our catch. I remember him finish-

ing the fish just as the wind started back up again, so
we took it back to the hallway to eat. That’s where we
stayed throughout most of the hurricane.
Hurricane David destroyed a lot of the company’s
pin-striping equipment—after that, Gene started
working for Kroger.

GREENVILLE, NC
1980–81
Greenville’s where I had true North Carolina barbecue
for the first time. On our second day in town we went to
Parker’s Barbecue Restaurant, which years later ended up
being one of my first cooking jobs. The only barbecue I’d
had before was the sauce-smothered kind. I remember
thinking, Where’s the sauce? and hating it. I went up to
the counter and asked for real barbecue. Of course, they
told me, This is real barbecue.

CHARLOTTE, NC
1981
We lived in Charlotte for a few months, and it wasn’t
a great time for me. I did really poorly in school
because there were no walls. I could always hear and
see what was going on in all the other classrooms
around me, and it was impossible to concentrate.
One afternoon, my friend Scott and I went to the
park and started playing on one of those metal springy
animal things. Scott was on the front and I was on the
back, and we were rocking back and forth really fast.
Too fast. I fell off, and then Scott got flung underneath

19
Toro Bravo

and it kept on rocking as fast as it had been and hometown. It’s a really redneck area and a lot of
completely smashed in his face. In a heartbeat he was crazy shit went down when we lived there. My
unconscious and covered in blood. It looked like he had godparents Helen and Walter—an older black
no nose because his nose pretty much got smashed into couple who were in their fifties then, and who had
his head. I took off running to his house, which wasn’t been in my mom’s life for a long time—came and
far, and screamed at his parents, “He’s dead! He’s dead!” stayed with us for a few months because their son
because I honestly thought he was. By the time we got had moved to Shelby and gotten in a car accident
back to him he was in and out of consciousness and the that killed his wife. He was left to take care of the
ambulance had arrived to take him away. kids, so Helen and Walter moved from Virginia Beach
Scott went through numerous rounds of recon- to help out. They stayed with us for three or four
structive surgery for his nose and face for months months while their house was being built and twice,
afterward, and his parents blamed me. I was shunned we woke up in the middle of the night to crosses
by the neighborhood. His birthday was two months burning in our front yard: big wooden KKK crosses.
later, and his parents bought him a go-kart; everyone Gene went out both times and put them out. The
was invited to ride the go-kart except for me. people who’d set fire to them were never to be seen.
Here’s a happy story from our time in Charlotte. We also had our windows smashed in once while
My aunt Vicky was getting married and asked Helen and Walter were staying with us. At school
me if I’d be the ring bearer. I said yes, of course. So I was called “nigger lover” and made fun of. It was
we went up to Virginia for the wedding, and as a a crazy place.
thank-you gift for being the ring bearer my aunt’s Helen and Walter were really great cooks,
husband-to-be, Carl, who worked in a car lot, took and I remember Walter teaching me how to make
out a brand new Trans Am—the exact one that tuna salad his way. His tuna salad was much
was in Smokey and the Bandit—and took me to the better than my mom’s. Hers was basically just a
drive-in in it. I’ve always been a bit of a car geek. He bunch of mayonnaise and tuna whipped into a
let me sit in the driver’s seat and watch the second mush. Walter diced onions, pickles, and parsley,
Smokey and the Bandit movie that had just come and added paprika and fresh lemon juice.
out, The Cannonball Run. After the movie we did I went to three schools in third grade
doughnuts in the parking lot. That was one badass because we moved around so much while we were
night for eight-year-old me. in Shelby. But at one point, we lived right next door
to the grandmother of Richard Petty, the racecar
driver. Whenever he raced in Charlotte he’d park
SHELBY, NC his racecar in front of our house, and once he let
us sit in it. That was right around the time I
1980–1981 started regularly visiting Granddad Gordon on
You know that HBO show, Eastbound and Down? my own.
Shelby, North Carolina, is the main character’s

20
Toro Bravo

Granddad I remember trying raw oys-

ters with him for the first time
ing World War II, and knew that
chefs were respected over there.
Gordon on that trip. I didn’t like them—
they tasted bad to me—but it was
Maybe it wasn’t like that in Amer-
ica yet, but chefs were respected in
exciting to try them. Back then other parts of the world, and they
Growing up, we visited DC there were still a lot of taverns that would be in the States soon enough.
twice a year. During that time you could take a kid to, so I’d go Every conversation we had after that
I would always stay with my with my grandpa to them after he’d night at the crab shack was always,
grandpa. I called him Granddad. finished up with work. He’d have Are you still going to become a chef?
His name was Gordon. his drink and I’d sit at the bar with Are you cooking? Are you reading
The first time I flew in an air- all of the old guys. I remember a lot about food? As soon as I started get-
plane was on my own. I was seven of This is what it’s like to be a man ting jobs he was always asking me,
years old. I was flying from Vir- and Your word is your honor talks. What are you cooking? Are you mak-
ginia to DC to visit my grandpa. My grandpa had invested in a ing good food? He saw that I loved it
I wasn’t scared to fly, just really crab shack in Baltimore as a silent at that really early age, and wanted
excited. I got dressed up in a suit. partner. It was a huge space with to support that ambition.
At the airport they bumped me a nightclub, bar, and restaurant For years after that initial trip,
up to first class because I was a all connected. We went in one I visited my grandpa in DC for
seven-year-old in a suit. night during that first trip and three to four weeks every summer
Granddad Gordon lived right in got a bushel of crabs, and the next and for a few days every Christ-
the heart of DC, and looked like an time we went there, same trip, mas with my family. He’d come
older Frank Sinatra: tall, white hair, I remember eating so much peel- visit us too, and he and I would
always dressed up in suits and hats, and-eat shrimp that I got sick. always break away on our own
blue eyes. We ate out every meal. The nightclub was twenty-one- because he and my stepdad didn’t
My family went to restaurants from and-over but my grandpa snuck get along. They were very differ-
time to time, but on that trip we me backstage and we got to watch ent types of men.
did things like go to a steakhouse the dancing for a little bit. When
in downtown DC, and a German we went into the kitchen after our
beer hall in Baltimore with a polka meal, a really big, busy kitchen, I stayed with Granddad Gordon the
band playing. Afterward, we always I remember thinking for the first summer before he was diagnosed
danced. My grandpa’s first wife died time: I want to do this. I want to be with cancer. I was fifteen. He’d
when I was three, but his new wife a part of this. I want to be a chef. just moved down to Boca Raton,
really liked to dance. My grandpa At that point in America, there Florida. We went deep-sea fishing
had a deep love of food, dining, and weren’t celebrity chefs like there are and caught a mahi mahi. All of my
entertaining, and I was happy and today. But my grandpa had spent grandpa’s friends came—we grilled
excited to share that with him. time in Europe, in the military dur- the mahi mahi and had a big, cele-

22
bratory night of it. That was my last he’d said that he wanted us all to think of him whenever I eat
big dinner like that with him. I’m continually donate to the Ameri- black licorice, which we both
happy that my grandpa got to see can Cancer Society in his memory. loved and would hunt down
me start to make my way as a chef, He died when I was twenty-three, at candy stores. There was always
although I wish he had been able to and I didn’t have much money then, a lot of hunting down food with
eat at one of my restaurants. but I emptied out my bank account my grandpa. He’d say, This is where
When he passed away several and put everything, literally every you go for the best burger, and
years later, he didn’t want anyone penny, that I had toward the Ameri- so we’d go get burgers there.
to see him looking sick, so he asked can Cancer Society. Or, This is where you go for the
to be cremated. He was always a Whenever I eat mahi mahi, best steak, and that’s where we’d
very proud, big guy. For the funeral I think of Granddad Gordon. I also get steak.

23
Toro Bravo

off by throwing them into the back of the bus. The bus
MYRTLE BEACH, SC driver pulled over and kicked us off in the middle of
1982–85 nowhere. We both had two-liter bottles of soda, and we
sprayed the driver with them as we got off the bus.
I was nine when we moved to Myrtle Beach, where We were thirteen, and in the mood to make trou-
Gene opened four Kroger stores. I never stayed in one ble, so we walked into the first neighborhood that we
school more than a year there, because we kept mov- came to. We saw a trampoline in one of the backyards,
ing south, toward Murrells Inlet. so we hopped the fence and started jumping on it. We
There were peaks to my mom’s happiness—times lit more firecrackers as we jumped and they ended
when it was fun. In Myrtle Beach, she had the coolest up setting the nylon on fire. We took off running and
job in town. She was the sales rep for Hawaiian Tropic someone saw us and called the cops. The cops brought
and Ray-Ban sunglasses. Her job was to drive the strip us home, and the next day the school called our folks
and sell the two things that everyone on the beach about the school bus incident. Shit hit the fucking fan. I
wanted most: suntan oil and sunglasses. At the end of did community service—cleaning a park—for a couple
every summer, my mom got to keep the sales case for weeks, and was banned from the school bus for life.
that year’s Ray-Bans, which meant one of each type of After that I had to be very creative about how I got
sunglasses. She always let me choose one pair as a gift to school, which was twenty miles away. (I lived in the
for my teacher. white part of Savannah, and even though there was a
I’d taken French starting in second grade, and in school right next to my house, they bussed us to the
the seventh grade, for a project, I made crepes for black part of town so the schools would be racially bal-
everyone in my class. I’d never even eaten a crepe anced.) My parents were pissed and flat-out refused to
before, but I’d studied them in library books. They take me to school. They wouldn’t pay for me to take the
turned out great, and I remember thinking, I can make city bus either. A mom of one of the kids that I skate-
anything. That’s been my mentality ever since: it might boarded with worked at our school, and I could get
take studying and practice, but if someone else has a ride with them if I woke up really early and skate-
boarded to their house, forty-five minutes away. If I had
made it or is making it, I can too.
money I’d just take a city bus, but when I didn’t I skate-
boarded or figured out another way to get there.

SAVANNAH, GA I got my first restaurant job not long after. I found out
I could get a worker’s permit when I turned fourteen,
1985
so I did. I showed up at the busiest restaurant I could
When we moved back to Savannah, to the same neigh- ride my bike to—a Mexican restaurant called Teco
borhood where we’d lived before, I got myself kicked Taco—and asked to wash dishes. I told the owner that I
out of the school bus system. My friend John had a wanted to be a chef, and that I had to start somewhere.
bunch of firecrackers, and decided to start setting them They hired me and I was immediately hooked. I loved

24
 Trailblazing

Mickey slipped or fell. We’d get our

knives and screwdrivers—usually
salt bream. Every now and again
we’d get a big bass. I got a lot of
Spillane screwdrivers—and just pop the
oysters off. On the same beach
practice gutting and cleaning fish.
Growing up, my favorite
in the evenings we’d take raw seafood was always fried flounder
When we lived in Murrells Inlet, chicken legs and throw them out with tartar sauce. The best
we lived just down the street to the areas where the crabs were way to cook flounder—and any
from Mickey Spillane, the guy and hundreds would scramble like seafood—is the simplest way:
who wrote the best-selling Mike lunatics to get them. We’d get our flour, butter, panfried. One of
Hammer detective books. There nets and scoop the crabs up and my favorite North Carolina
are still a lot of Mickey Spillane into our buckets. We had crab pots restaurants that I always visit
fans out there. My brother Brian too, but rarely needed them. when I’m back there—that has a
and I had to go through Spillane’s horrible name—is Sanitary Fish
side yard to get to the beach, Market, on the pier in Morehead
where we liked to net fish; that’s City. Sanitary serves very simple
where the oyster beds were. We sea fare: fried oysters and fried
got to be really good friends with flounder with tartar sauce, hush
him. Back then Spillane was doing puppies. They do it right: plain
a series of ads for Miller Light, and and simple.
he had a Miller Light bar in his In Murrells Inlet we also had a
front yard that was always tapped lake right behind our house. There
with cold beer. Before shucking was this one tree that went over it
our very first oysters, we went When Brian visited in the that I would climb up, getting out
to his front-yard bar and snuck summers (he also visited his onto a limb to fish for sun bream
ourselves a couple pints to wash dad most Christmas holidays), and big-mouth bass. I’ve always
the oysters down with. From then we went shrimp fishing off the loved to fish; most of the men in
on we’d pour ourselves pints of beach. We’d use a big net, walk my family do. The fishing we did
Spillane’s beer to drink whenever it out for a bit, and then walk it was primarily coastal fishing—pier
we shucked oysters on the beach. back in to see what we got. We and beach fishing. We caught the
The oyster beds that we usually caught a couple flounder shallow fish. In the Southeast, we
harvested from were behind along with the shrimp, and that had a bounty to reel in: blue crabs,
Spillane’s house. There were a was just fine with us. We did a Carolina shrimp, rock crab, rock
shit ton of oysters out there, and lot of grilling—Gene really liked shrimp, and flounder. Fishing was
we’d wear Converse low tops to to grill—but when we caught a big part of growing up. Every
go out and harvest them. The flounder we usually panfried now and again I’ll go fishing, but
shells were like razors if you it. We also caught a lot of little it’s never the same.

25
Toro Bravo

the camaraderie. I loved the energy of nighttime rushes. outposts all around it so it’s basically a bunch of people
I had the feeling that finally I belonged somewhere. in one shitty place learning to fight. It’s very white
And then just as Gene always seemed to do, right when trashy; there’s no culture and nothing to do. It’s strip-
things were going well and I was starting to feel a part mall hell with no cuisine. Everywhere else that we lived
of something, he told the family that we were moving— had some sort of special local dish or food, something,
just three weeks after I’d landed my first job. but there was absolutely nothing in Newport News. The
day I arrived I started thinking about how the hell I was
going to get out. I really put my head down and worked.
GREENVILLE, NC
1986–88 GREENVILLE, NC
When we moved back to Greenville, North Carolina, I 1992
wanted to get back into a kitchen as soon as possible.
But the rules in North Carolina were different from Back in Greenville, I lived with college kids and had a
Georgia’s. I’d have to wait almost ten months. When lot of fun. East Carolina University is there and it’s a
I turned fifteen, I landed a job at a barbecue pit called big party school. I wasn’t going to school, but I went to
Parker’s (it’s still open). all of the parties. We had a huge old farmhouse in the
Again, I got the feeling that I belonged in a black part of town, because it was cheap as hell. It was a
kitchen—that this counter culture of people was its four bedroom for $350 a month. We each had our own
own sort of family. These were the people that bought room and mine was off of the kitchen, without any heat,
beer for me and my friends on the weekends. They so when it got cold I’d camp out in the living room. We
taught me tricks to make me a faster, stronger cook. did a lot of grilling out, but we didn’t cook too much in
They even shared their grown-up problems with me the kitchen, because it sucked.
and invited me to their homes for meals and drinks.

NEWPORT NEWS, VA
NEWPORT NEWS, VA 1992
1990–91
After Greenville, I moved back to Newport News to
My culinary program was in Williamsburg, Virginia, help open a country club called Kiln Creek, with the
and was essentially an apprenticeship—non-stop hard chef who’d been in charge of my apprenticeship. I was a
work. It was too expensive to live in Williamsburg, so I grunt and did a little bit of everything: banquets, fine-
made the commute back and forth from Newport News dining cooking, grilling for the golfers. I don’t think
every day. Newport News is the armpit of the United there was a position that I didn’t do. Because it was
States—the worst fucking place ever. There are military near the Chesapeake Bay, we were cooking a lot of crab,

26
seafood, and steaks. All of the members were part own- table turning. There was an Italian restaurant, one that
ers, so they sort of owned you. You could never refuse was trying to be fine dining, snack shops, and us. We
any request no matter how crazy it was. If a member had a big bar and were mid-priced. It was a resourceful
came in and asked for something that wasn’t on the kitchen. When the snow melted, rain would filter down
menu, you just figured out how to make it happen. through the ventilation hoods, so we had to put tarps
Up until that point I’d never had great beer. We had up, monitor them, and take them down and empty
Bass on tap at Kiln Creek and we all got really into it, them out all through the day.
and into the other microbrews and imports. That was
when I learned that beer wasn’t just Budweiser. After our contract was up, Courtney and I spent six
One day at the end of summer, I found out that my weeks traveling through Kentucky, Tennessee, North
mom had been severely beaten up. My chef had read Carolina, West Virginia, Georgia, and Pennsylvania in
about it in the paper and told me that she was in the our ’69 VW Bug. We’d met so many people working
hospital. When I visited her, she was so drugged she at the resort that, all along the way, we had friends to
was pretty much unresponsive. I knew that she was visit. Our Bug was acting up when we left Snowshoe,
embarrassed. I knew that she didn’t want anyone to and by the time we got to Lewisburg, West Virginia—
see her like that. It was a pretty big turning point for this little town of hippies—it needed some work.
me. That’s when I decided I had to leave. I wanted to go The mechanic thought we’d put bad gas in the car,
west. I got a job in Snowshoe, West Virginia, working in so I siphoned the gas out and while doing so swallowed
a ski resort kitchen, and from there I kept moving west. a shit ton of it. I’d obviously never siphoned gas before.
I went to a nurse and she told me to drink milkshakes.
Right afterward we went to this amazing Chinese res-
taurant, but I couldn’t eat a thing because my stomach
SNOWSHOE, WV hurt so much. We ended up staying in Lewisburg for
1993 four or five days, and then we set off again.
We were headed to Wyoming ultimately. We’d been
I’d met Courtney in Newport News. Her brother was waiting for our bonus checks, which we were hav-
my roommate while I was doing my apprenticeship. ing sent to my parents’ house. A week or two before
Courtney and I became good friends, started dating, we were planning to leave for Jackson Hole, I called
and moved to Snowshoe together. She got her first Snowshoe and asked when they were going to send
serving job there; I cooked at the same restaurant. our checks. They told me our checks had been cashed
The restaurant was part of a resort—a grill with a month ago. My mom had stolen our money. All of
simple scratch cooking: a steaks, burgers, and chicken it. We hadn’t budgeted at all and we’d expected that
sandwich kind of place. I learned how to handle big money to take us to Jackson Hole. We ended up having
pushes there. It was the busiest restaurant that I’d ever to sell our Bug and take a Greyhound bus to Wyoming.
worked at. We were the most approachable of all the It was a three-day-long bus ride. It was horrible. We
restaurants up on the mountain, and that meant a lot of saw the country through the Greyhound bus windows.

27
Toro Bravo

I’m sure now it wasn’t even that great of a bagel, but I’d
JACKSON HOLE, WY grown up eating Thomas’s Bagels out of a bag—most
everything came from the grocery store in a bag—and
1994
here I was, at a bagel shop, having a fresh bagel that had
In Jackson Hole, we worked at the Grand Teton Lodge been baked. I thought: Maybe I could live here.
Company. The food was way better than at Snowshoe. In 1996, when I was twenty-three, Courtney and
No one could have kitchens because it was a national I got married on the beach at Cannon Beach, Oregon.
park, but fishing and hunting were allowed, and if you Our officiant was this guy named Bill, who owned a
brought us your trout or game we’d clean it and cook bookstore and had a church called the Cowboy Rasta-
it for you. People would often give us cooks a trout or farian Buddhist Church.
two to take home. In Eugene, we did a lot of hitchhiking all up and down
There was a lot of game meat, of course: buffalo the I-5: we traveled to Portland, Seattle, San Francisco,
and deer. That was the first time that I got to work and Tahoe. We always tried to start at rest areas so we
with game like that. The chef there, Chef Walton, was could choose our rides—people it looked like we might
a really nice guy, and he lived at the resort during the get along with. Once, when we were at a rest area outside
year but had a house up in the mountains. For Court- of Olympia, having just gotten dropped off from Seattle,
ney’s birthday he let us take a big group of friends up a woman came up and asked us if we wanted a ride. She
there to have a feast and camp out at his house for a said she was bored and she had this brand-new Mazda
couple days. I remember making fresh pasta and roast- rally car of which there were probably only two hundred
ing different meats. We were still traveling, when we made. She’d just taken her boyfriend with his rally car to
could: we’d take trips to Utah, Wyoming, and Idaho. go to Europe to race. This was a full-on street-legal race-
car. She asked if we minded if she drove fast and we said,
Hell no. We went 130 miles an hour down the I-5 in this
EUGENE, OR souped-up, crazy rally racecar all the way back to Eugene.

1992–95
I was twenty when we pulled into Eugene on the Satur- GHANA, AFRICA
day night of its Eugene Celebration, a three-day annual
1995
event downtown. It seemed like everyone was out. Until
then, all the town festivals I’d been to were usually In Eugene, I befriended a Malaysian woman whose
military based or rowdy with drunkards, but Eugene’s husband was living in Ghana. She asked if I’d go over
celebration had a real feeling of community: just peo- and help him open a restaurant in a casino that he’d
ple in the street, having fun. I loved it. The next morn- already opened. How could I turn that down?
ing we woke up and went to an artisan bagel shop. I got All of us—everyone who was working at the casino—
an onion bagel, and it was the best bagel I’d ever had. lived in the former president’s palace. It was in the same

30
 Trailblazing

compound as the casino, and surrounded by a huge ered in mosquito netting. We had congee in the morn-
fence topped with broken glass. There were a shit ton ings, and I liked to put diced pineapple in mine, and
of dogs in the compound (which was about the size of every now and again scallions and chicken. We’d get
a city block) that you didn’t want to mess with at all. these lobsters at the beach and she’d do this Chinese
They were mean-looking dogs. There’d been a coup and pineapple-fried lobster, almost like a General Tso’s.
that president had been ousted, and the top floor of the She’d pick the meat out, batter and fry it, and toss it in
palace had been bombed and was completely gone. He’d sauce. We’d beg for that. But probably my favorite dish
been the first post-apartheid president in Ghana. The in Ghana was groundnut stew from a restaurant near
palace was in serious disrepair. On the concrete-bunker- the airport: a chicken and peanut stew with hardboiled
type entryway, in huge letters, someone had spraypainted eggs, hot sauces, and pickles.
STOP SPEAKING ENGLISH. There were open markets and street carts. All the
We didn’t have washers and dryers in the compound; expat communities brought chefs over to cook their
there were Africans who hand-washed our clothes homeland cuisines. I ate some of the best French, Ital-
for us. Every item of clothing had to be ironed so that ian, and Indian food I’d ever had. Most importantly, I
it wouldn’t get maggots. Maggots liked to live in the learned not to waste food. There were a lot of hungry
elastic, and once they got in there they’d burrow into people all around us. The entire country understood
your skin. I lived with fifteen Chinese people who had what passing a plate meant.
never been out of China before and two Africans.
Next to the palace was the casino. The casino was
on the ground floor; the second floor was going to be EUGENE, OR
the restaurant and the third floor, the nightclub. The
1996–98
kitchen was makeshift: all propane and open fire. Not a
conventional kitchen in any sense. A Chinese woman Back in Eugene, I was hired as a daytime line cook at
cooked breakfast in the mornings for everyone in the Café Zenon, where Bill Hatch was the chef. Zenon was
compound while everything in the kitchen was cov- where I fell head over heels in love with food. The res-

THE BEST it up. At one point a friend liked good food and were me good in their book. We
and I wanted better weed, vegetarians. They grew a chopped down a huge pot
OF EVERYTHING
because all we were getting lot of vegetables in addition plant, wrapped it up, and
I traveled all around Ghana was brown. We met some to weed, and we had tea strapped it to the top of the
by car, and picked up a Rastas out in the farmland and ate lunch with them: a car to cure it ourselves. We
lot of hitchhikers until and we bought a plant from really good vegetable stew. were looking for the best of
someone told me I was them. They were all in their I had long hair then and everything.
going to get killed if I kept teens and twenties, and they that was enough to make

31
Toro Bravo

Bill Hatch taurant had lines out the door from eight
a.m. till midnight every day. We’d break
down three pigs and three lambs a week.
We made everything in house: breads, ter-
Bill was a skinny chef who drank coffee every day rines, ice creams, you name it. We saved all
until he shook. He was like a surgeon, though, our scraps for the very pigs we slaughtered
because the moment you put a knife in his over- weekly. We had a regular diner who owned a
caffeinated, shaky hands they’d immediately steady cattle ranch who would bring us cow heads
up. At the same time Bill was offered the chef- that we made into fromage de tête. Farmers
owner position at Zenon, he was also offered the would drop off their produce and talk to us
editor-in-chief position at the University of Ore- about what we were going to do with it.
gon’s Northwest Review, a prestigious literary jour- At Zenon I learned how to use a band
nal, which he ultimately turned down. That was saw and how to break down animals, how
always a huge worry for him: whether or not he to use a sausage caser, how to put pâtés
made the right decision. and terrines together. But maybe most
Bill had a master’s degree in literature, and read- importantly, I learned how to research.
ing and writing were important to him. He was an That was all Bill Hatch.
insatiable reader and researcher and instilled that
in me. He’d tell me what cookbooks to buy and how
to research cuisines and cultures. I’d write down all
the questions that I had throughout the day while
BAY AREA
cooking and then go home, pull out my books, read, 1998–2000
and take notes. It’s not so much that way anymore,
now that you can look up anything so quickly on When I was twenty-six, I went to Berke-
the Internet and gain knowledge so fast. ley to stage at Citron restaurant for Chris
Thanks to Bill, I was reading books and cook- Rossi (whom I’d replaced at Zenon when
ing from them and developing my own style. I real- he left for Citron). When I showed up, I
ized that with cooking, you could learn the rules, was told that Chris was out for the night
the techniques, and the science, but once you’d because he was getting a hot tub installed
absorbed those things—once you were at ease with at his house. The cook said, Here’s the
the basics—you could make food your own, make menu, here are your dishes, prep. If you have
recipes of your own. any questions, ask the guy beside you. We
So that’s what I learned from Bill. Bill also used were slammed that night. Chris came in an
to say, Routine maintenance is the only defense against hour into service and said, All right, you’re
the onslaught of chaos. Ask anyone at Toro Bravo. hired. If you want the job, come on down. So,
They’re still words I live by. a month later, that’s what I did.

32
 Trailblazing

Citron’s kitchen was tiny, and that’s where I

learned that you don’t need a massive kitchen to put
out a lot of food. The menu—which was French-bis-
tro-style—completely changed every two weeks and
always included a lot of charcuterie. We got truffles
in from Italy and France. There were always pounds
and pounds of foie gras in the walk-in. We were
working with very high-quality and exciting prod-
ucts. Chris’s brother was a hunter, and he’d bring in
ducks that he’d shot; we’d serve them in the restau-
rant even though they weren’t USDA approved. We
did what we wanted to do.
After Citron, I took a month and staged six days
a week at twenty to twenty-five different restaurants
in the Bay Area. I learned so much in a day, and saw
a wide range of ways a kitchen could be run. Toward
the end I staged for the a.m. sous chef position at the remember thinking, I never want to work in a kitchen
Fifth Floor when George Morrone was there. It just like this, or run the sort of kitchen with cooks so nervous
so happened the day of my stage was the same day and intimidated they’d go to these lengths in order to
they were named one of the top ten restaurants in please me. George never found out, and someone that
the world by the New York Times. night ate trash tartare.
George had gotten into a fight the night before with
the sous chef that I was staging to replace. George I worked at Restaurant LuLu for about a year with Jody
was a screamer and ran a very intimidated kitchen. I Denton. I liked LuLu a lot. It was scratch, Provence,
remember at the beginning of my stage, while I was family-style food with two wood-fired ovens and grills,
doing a bunch of knife work, the kitchen felt good, and a wood-fired rotisserie (we went through a cord of
as soon as George came in, everyone stiffened. Part wood every two days), and a really great seafood pro-
of the a.m. sous chef’s job was to set the line up and gram with a lot of shellfish and whole fish. LuLu was a
then expedite on slower nights until George came in massive restaurant with several kitchens. The year that
for the pop. I was expediting with George, and the guy I worked there, the San Francisco Chronicle named it the
on pantry was so afraid of him that when he ran out best French restaurant in the Bay Area.
of raw steak for the tartare he went back and pulled Most importantly, I learned how to expedite at
scraps of tenderloin from the trash. I walked in on LuLu. We were doing a thousand covers on a Sat-
him when he was doing it and he had this look of fear urday night, and there was only one expediter. You
in his eyes; he motioned for me to get the hell out. wore your headset and worked five different kitchens.
He was too scared to tell George that he’d run out. I It was insanity.

33
 PD
THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE
Other documents randomly have
different content
these precautions, we cannot conceal from ourselves that your life
was not worth a few hours’ purchase while you were in the
neighbourhood of those treacherous mountains. Neither would it be
now if you were imprudent enough to return.”
“I am not likely to do that,” said Lord Reginald; “not at all likely,
for very many reasons.”
“I should suppose not.”
“Oh, dear me, no; but the day is still young, what say you to a
stroll in the grounds?”
“Nothing would please me better, but before proceeding thither
will you just let me have a look at your picture gallery?”
“By all means—​with the greatest pleasure.”
Lord Reginald Ethalwood conducted the chevalier to the gallery in
which the late earl so loved to linger, and here it was that Charles
Peace, in an earlier day, succeeded in making such a wonderful
restoration of one of the portraits which now looked as fresh and
bright as when it was first painted.
As the old Frenchman passed through he came to a sudden halt,
and stood for some time gazing upon the portrait of the late earl.
“How lifelike!” he ejaculated. “What an admirable representation
of my late friend! I should have known it anywhere, and under any
circumstances. I never saw a better portrait.”
“It is wonderfully well done, monsieur. The artist has caught the
habitual expression of his features, which, to say the truth, were
generally tinged with a shade of melancholy.”
“Say, rather, thoughtfulness,” quietly remarked the chevalier. “The
late earl was thoughtful and meditative by nature. There were many
reasons for this, which it would be needless to dwell upon now.”
“You are quite right—​such was the case,” returned Lord Reginald.
 After passing through the gallery, the two friends rambled over
the grounds and in the woods on the Broxbridge estate, returning to
the hall to dinner.
De Monpres’ visit proved to be a great source of comfort to the
young earl.
The chevalier had been so mixed up in recent events that he was
specially welcome, and was made much of by the master of the hall.
The days passed pleasantly enough. The chevalier had a whole
fund of anecdotes at his command, and although advanced in years,
he was brimful of jocularity, sparkling repartee, and lively discourse
upon present and past events.
The visitors to the hall were quite charmed with him, and
Reginald looked forward to his departure with something like sorrow
and regret.
But De Monpres was too well satisfied with his present quarters to
dream of leaving them at present. He had passed his word to remain
in England till the arrival of Theresa Trieste, who had written a reply
to the earl’s letter, intimating that she would be with him as soon as
she possibly could. Theresa lost no time in carrying out her promise.
She had become an object of mark in her mountain home, and
the mountaineers regarded her with malevolent looks, in which
aversion, not to say hatred, formed the chief ingredient.
They did not attempt to molest her, or offer any positive insult,
but she was duly impressed with the fact that there was a general
feeling of discontent and animosity towards her in consequence of
the part she had played in the sanguinary drama.
No.
72.
 “HILLOA THERE, I’VE COTCHED HIM,” CRIED MR.
ASHBROOK TO THE DETECTIVE.

Theresa Trieste had lost her parent, and she was left alone in the
world, with no other protector than Lord Ethalwood.
To remain any longer in the chateau at the foot of the Jura
mountains was therefore quite out of the question.
She therefore gladly acceded to the request of Lord Reginald, and
made preparations to take a speedy departure from the home which
had now no longer any charms for her.
She believed, as many other women have done under similar
circumstances, in the honour and integrity of her seducer. Any way
she had no other alternative than to trust to his good faith and
consideration.
She hastened at once to England, and upon her arrival at Dover
she dispatched a letter to Broxbridge, making him acquainted with
the fact.
The Chevalier de Monpres had been commissioned to engage
apartments for the lady.
Strange to say, he took a suite of rooms in the house occupied by
Mrs. Bourne.
The last-named had long before this furnished her house in
Somerset-street in the best possible style, and, as it was a much
larger one than she required, she had deputed an agent to procure
her a lodger.
The courteous old Frenchman applied to the aforesaid agent who
recommended Mrs. Bourne.
De Monpres waited upon the doctor’s widow, with whom he was
greatly pleased, and at once engaged the suite of rooms on the first
floor.
He was at no loss to divine that Mrs. Bourne was precisely the
sort of person Theresa Trieste would, in all probability, get on with;
consequently he struck a bargain and engaged the rooms for the
young French lady, who was about to arrive from the Continent.
The earl and chevalier met Theresa at the London station, and
accompanied her to the widow’s house in Somerset-street.
She was greatly pleased with her new quarters, and her
countenance became irradiated with a smile as she gazed on the
handsome features of her lover.
She hoped for the best, and had not at this time any misgivings
for the future, for the earl demonstrated the strongest affection for
her, and was profuse in promises. Nevertheless, deep down in his
heart was the canker-worm of remorse.
However, he strove as best he could to assume an air of
cheerfulness, and after remaining for the best part of the evening
with his mistress he took his departure in company with the
Chevalier de Monpres.
 CHAPTER CXXXV.

SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF A LONDON

THIEF.

Alf Purvis, alias Mr. Algernon Sutherland, had, with the exception
of our hero, become one of the most daring of metropolitan thieves.
His genteel appearance and engaging manners were of essential
service to him in carrying on his nefarious practices.
In this respect he had the advantage of Peace; but with all these
qualities he was not nearly so cunning or artful as our hero.
Nevertheless, Mr. Sutherland was, in his own particular sphere, a
young gentleman of note and mark, who was greatly admired and
envied by villains of coarser type with whom he was wont to
associate.
He was known by the cognomen of the “Dandy,” in consequence
of his fashionable attire and finicking ways.
A more audacious, unscrupulous young scoundrel it would not be
easy to find. As far as pocket-picking was concerned he was a sort
of prodigy; but he did not confine his attention to this branch of the
profession, as he termed it; he had at times recourse to other means
to replenish his exchequer, and of late he had hit upon what he
deemed a most ingenious scheme to furnish him with the means of
indulging in his extravagant mode of living.
 The reader will doubtless remember the “Smoucher,” whose
acquaintance he made at the thieves’ haunt in Whitechapel.
The “Smoucher,” as he was termed by his familiars, was an adept
in penmanship, and had the faculty of imitating the handwriting of
any person in a manner which was at once remarkable and
surprising.
It occurred to Mr. Sutherland that he might make very good use
of the Smoucher’s ability, and he at once put into practice a scheme
he had pondered over for a considerable period.
Mr. Sutherland had an extensive circle of acquaintances, and,
strange as it may appear, he did, by some means or another,
contrive to push himself into certain coteries of respectable society,
one reason for this being attributable to the fact that he belonged to
one or more gambling clubs in the metropolis.
At these he picked up all sorts of acquaintances, good, bad, and
indifferent. He picked up also a vast amount of information at these
establishments which he made serve his purpose in many ways.
He occasionally lost large sums of money at the gaming table,
which had a certain amount of fascination for him, so that he was a
frequent visitor to these “hells.” The term is an old one, but it is
remarkably expressive.
In the course of play he became possessed of cheques for both
large and small amounts, and was, as a natural consequence, in a
short space of time very well acquainted with the signatures of
persons of wealth and position.
When aground for money, Mr. Sutherland sought the assistance of
the Smoucher.
That worthy performed the secret of removing the handwriting on
the body of the cheque by some chemicals.
 He also removed one or more of the figures, and then wrote in
figures to perhaps ten times the amount for which the cheque had
been originally drawn.
Mr. Sutherland paid his confederate handsomely for this little
favour, and then changed the cheque.
He had done this on very many occasions, and, strange to say,
had escaped detection. But the game was a risky one, and it was
only under pressing circumstances that he had recourse to this
species of fraud; but he was so extravagant, so reckless in respect to
money matters, that despite the large sums he gained by his
robberies, he was, like most of his compeers, continually in need of
a fresh supply of coin.
It was on one of those occasions that Sutherland or Purvis
endeavoured to put into practice a robbery on a much more
extensive scale than he had as yet attempted. He was not aware at
this time that suspicion had been aroused, and that the detectives
were at work to run him to earth.
He held a cheque payable at the Saltwich bank. It was for forty
pounds odd. This he took to the Smoucher, who, with his
accustomed skill, took out the handwriting, and substituted in its
stead four hundred pounds instead of the forty.
It was so admirably done that no one could detect the alteration,
and Mr. Sutherland, who knew perfectly well that the drawer of the
cheque had a large balance at the bank in question, hastened down
to Saltwich with the altered cheque. He had for his companion the
unscrupulous scoundrel, “The Cracksman,” as he was termed. This
personage has already been introduced to the reader.
Sutherland and his accomplice put themselves into the train and
booked to the nearest station for Saltwich.
Sutherland was to present the cheque while the Cracksman kept
watch and ward outside.
 When they arrived at their destination Mr. Sutherland made at
once for the bank. He was fashionably attired was of aristocratic
appearance, and had all the ease and self-possession of a person
who was accustomed to move in good society. And he had the
audacity of the old gentleman himself.
He walked into the bank with the greatest possible assurance and
presented his cheque, which was paid without a moment’s
hesitation.
He pocketed the money and met the Cracksman at an appointed
spot some distance down the road.
“It’s all right—​got the browns,” said Mr. Sutherland. “We had
better not be seen walking together. You make for the station as
soon as you see me turn down Hagget’s-lane. I’ll wait for you at the
station. Do you understand?”
“All right, Dandy. Best not be seen together till we are out of the
wood. All right, I’m fly.”
Sutherland walked rapidly on till he reached the lane in question.
He had not gone very far down this when he was accosted by a
stranger.
“You have paid a visit to the bank at Saltwich, I believe?” said the
latter.
“What business is it of yours whether I have or not?” returned Mr.
Sutherland.
“I ask you a simple question, and I must insist upon an answer.
Have you been to the bank?”
“If I have, what is it to you?”
“You presented a cheque drawn by Mr. Leathside, and the cheque
was paid?”
 “Upon my word, your insolence is most remarkable. What have
you to do with my business transactions? Stand aside, and let me
pass.”
“You will have to accompany me. I arrest you upon the charge of
obtaining money under false pretences,” returned the stranger. “It is
of no use you attempting to carry the matter off with a high hand,
Mr. Sutherland; you are my prisoner,” observed the detective, for
such he was. “You are my prisoner, and will have to answer the
charge preferred against you.”
As he uttered these last words he placed his hand on the Dandy’s
shoulder.
“Confound your impudence!” exclaimed the latter. “If you attempt
to detain me, I’ll lay you flat in a brace of shakes.”
“You had better go quietly. If you resist it will be all the worse for
you. I am a detective.”
“What do I care for that? You don’t suppose that I am in fear of a
detective.”
“You had better go quietly. If you are innocent, you have your
remedy; but once more I have to inform you that you will have to go
with me.”
“Upon my word, sir, I am astounded at your impudence. Arrested,
and for what, I pray?”
“I have already told you. For obtaining money under false
pretences—​for forgery. Come, Mr. Sutherland, don’t attempt to
deceive me, for that you will find to be hopeless. I have a warrant
for your apprehension. You are my prisoner.”
“Prisoner be hanged. If you attempt to molest me I’ll give you the
soundest thrashing you ever had in your life.”
The detective made no reply, he only smiled.
 Sutherland rushed past him and took to his heels, but the officer
gave chase and proved that he was as fleet of foot as the young
fugitive, whom he overtook, tripped up, and then seized with a firm
grip.
The Dandy by this time was duly impressed with the danger of his
position. He struggled most desperately to escape from the clutch of
the officer, but found all his efforts unavailing.
“You are a foolish young man,” cried the detective, “and are only
making matters worse by this violence, which will not serve your
purpose.”
“Unhand me—​let me go,” said the Dandy.
“Not if I know it,” returned the other.
Sutherland shouted out for assistance, and in a few seconds the
Cracksman came upon the scene.
“Have at him,” cried Sutherland. “Polish him off if you have any
care for me.”
With a yell of indignation the Cracksman precipitated himself
upon the officer, who was probably astounded at the strength and
savage ferocity displayed by his athletic assailant.
The struggle was a short but desperate one. The Cracksman
threw the detective, and when he was down pinned him to the earth
with his knee upon his chest.
The Dandy laughed. Escape seemed certain. The officer of the
law was at the mercy of the two thieves.
It is not possible to say how the conflict would have ended, but
assuredly it would have not been in favour of the detective had not
another actor arrived on the stage.
The noise of a horse’s hoofs were heard on the hard road, and in
a moment or so a farmer drew the reins of his champing steed.
 “What be this?” he ejaculated. “Two upon one—​that beant the
right thing. Look here, you ugly varmint, leave go of your man. Do
you hear?”
This last observation was addressed to the Cracksman, who, in
reply to the same, uttered an imprecation, at the same time pressing
his knee more firmly on the officer’s chest.
“If ee beant disposed to take heed of words, maybe blows will
suit ee better,” cried Ashbrook, for such the newcomer proved to be.
The speaker whirled round his riding whip, and with the butt end
of this he dealt a terrific blow on the side of the head of the
Cracksman, who howled with pain.
“Just you let ’im go, or maybe I shall give ee a crack on the crown
as’ll knock ee silly.”
The Cracksman sprang to his feet, and at once made at the
farmer, whom he endeavoured to pull from his horse.
But Ashbrook rained such a shower of blows on the head and
shoulders of his brutal assailant, that the latter, blinded with the
blood that flowed from the wounds, and staggering from the effects
of the punishment he had received, like a coward and bully as he
was, turned tail, and took to his heels.
Mr. Sutherland, seeing that the odds were against him, followed
the Cracksman.
“He’ll get clear off,” cried the detective. “He can run like an
antelope.”
“Who do ee want, then?” inquired the farmer.
“The young un, the swell cove.”
“I’ll ketch him,” cried Ashbrook, “please the pigs,” and he
forthwith put spurs to his horse and galloped after the fugitives.
 Of course the Dandy ran his hardest, but he was soon overtaken
by the horseman.
“Ye beant a goin’ to gi’ us the slip, ye circumwenting young
vagabond. Not if I know it,” cried the farmer, as he came up with the
runaway. “Hold hard, you scoundrel. The game is up, and so
surrender.”
“I’ll have my revenge upon you some time or another,” said
Sutherland. “What business had you to show your ugly mug here?”
“Don’t ee gi’ me any more of your cheek. If ee do, I’ll spoil your
beauty for the next three months at the very least.”
And with these words the farmer rode full at the fugitive, whom
he collared and dragged along for some distance.
“You will have to answer for this. I shall bring an action against
you for assault and battery,” cried the Dandy.
“Ah! oh! it be you, Mister Fortescue—​be it? Glad we ha’ met. So,
my beauty, you are run to earth—​eh? Don’t ee think to get away
’cause you see the ’pleece want ee, and what is more I want the
’pleece to ha’ ee, so it be no manner of yoose yer strivin’ to get clear
off. Hilloa there, I’ve cotched ’im,” cried Ashbrook, shouting out at
the top of his voice to the detective.”
Mr. Sutherland strove in vain to slip out of the hands of the
farmer, who was altogether too strong for him.
Panting and perspiring from every pore, the detective came up
with the runaway, and while the farmer held him the officer clapped
on his wrists a pair of handcuffs, and made him his prisoner once
more. He had now no chance of making his escape, and was
therefore fain to submit quietly.
“What be going to do wi’ him?” inquired Ashbrook.
“Take him before a magistrate,” was the prompt answer.
 “Ah, that be best. What be he charged wi’?”
“With forgery.”
“Oh, that be all, eh?”
“Yes, and quite enough too. I am greatly beholden to you, Mr.
Ashbrook, for the service you have rendered me, for without your
assistance I should have hardly known what to have done.”
“You’re quite welcome, Todd, quite welcome. I be glad I coom up
in the nick of time, seeing as how it might ha’ gone hard wi’ ee. But
ye’re a brave fellow and stuck to your man like a Briton, and I shall
just let un know how gallantly ye behaved.”
“I am sure I dont deserve this praise. I merely strove to do my
duty.”
“An ye’ve done it right well. As to this young varmint the sooner
he’s lagged the better, for he be a rank bad un.”
“Do you know him, sir?”
“Know him—​I should think I did. He passed himself off as a
gentleman, and I like a fool believed him, but we won’t enter upon
that now, Todd; ye’ve got yer man—​that be enough for both on us.
Where be ee goin’ to tek un to?”
“To Squire Kensett’s.”
“Aye, lad, that be the best thing to do.”
Mr. Todd marched off with his prisoner, and Ashbrook promised to
follow on to the house of the magistrate.
 CHAPTER CXXXVI.

THE JUSTICE OF THE PEACE AND THE

PRISONER.

Mr. Sutherland was run to earth.

It was the first time during his lawless career that he had been
brought under the ban of the law; nevertheless, he was by no
means so downcast as persons would suppose.
He had unlimited faith in his tact and address, which he hoped
would stand him in good stead on the present occasion.
He told Mr. Todd that he was perfectly innocent of the charge,
and assumed an air of quiet resignation which was quite charming.
He objected, however, to the ornaments on his wrists, and
begged as a special favour to have them removed.
Mr. Todd declined to oblige him, and said that he would have to
bear them till they reached the magistrate’s house.
Mr. Sutherland made a wry face, and declared that he was an
injured person, and that the indignity was quite uncalled for, since
he was a gentleman who was well able to meet the charge, and
leave the court without a stain on his character.
Mr. Todd only smiled at the last observation, and so the two—​the
prisoner and the detective—​walked on conversing in what might be
considered to a casual observer in a friendly and jocund manner.
They had not very far to go, for the magistrate’s house was within
three-quarters of a mile from the spot where the affray and capture
had taken place.
The magistrate and his wife were at this time seated together in
the old oak dining-room of their habitation. He was reading the
pages of a book on heraldry, watching from the window the broods
of rooks who were cawing as they flew from bough to bough.
These two persons lived in that which their tenants believed to be
a palace, but which was in reality little better than a prison. They
were forced to live in this great house, which they could hardly
afford to repair, surrounded by these lands which were taxed in
proportion to their extent, but which only yielded income in
proportion to their real worth.
The squire was always anxious. He was buried in hopeless
poverty, engaged in an endless struggle to keep up appearances.
His wife was always sad. Providence had given her but one real
blessing—​it was a son—​and for this son, who had died in his youth,
she had never ceased to grieve.
That is why her face was always pale and her eyes so hollow—​
that is why she lived but in a reverie, and so seldom spoke. Her
thoughts were always in the past; she had nothing to care for in the
present—​nothing to hope for in the future.
They lived together, and yet so isolated; they seldom spoke to
each other—​they never quarrelled. Misfortune, which had at first
made them cling closer to each other, had finished by making them
gloomy, taciturn, almost misanthropical.
They had now learned to nurse their own sorrows in their own
hearts, and never to give vent to their troubles by words.
 Such misfortunes, however, as they had become inured to were
now about to yield to another—​poignant, appalling, dangerous.
There was a sound of bustling and voices in the kitchen which
reached into the dining-room. The servant presented himself and
informed his master that Mr. Todd, of the local police force, wished
to speak to him.
The magistrate requested his domestic to show the officer in.
Mr. Kensett rose. His face, which had been before melancholy and
abstracted, now became dignified and severe.
It was necessary to put on the mask of self-composure which he
was obliged to wear before the world.
Mr. Todd entered and made a respectful obeisance.
“Beg your pardon, sir, and yours too, madam,” said he, in a
conciliatory tone; “but if you please, sir, I’ve managed to capture the
fellow who has been defrauding the bank by a false cheque.”
“Indeed, Mr. Todd; I am pleased to hear it,” exclaimed the
magistrate. “Caught the rascal—​have you?”
“Yes, sir. Mr. Wrench sent a telegram from Scotland-yard, and
directed us to watch for our man.”
“Quite right; very good of Mr. Wrench. He has done well. Where is
the culprit?”
“I have him here, your worship.”
“Oh here—​eh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“That’s better still. Bring him in; and you, my dear——” observed
the magistrate, glancing at his wife.
Mrs. Kensett obeyed his gesture, took the hint, and left the room.
 The magistrate was astonished at the aristocratic and
gentlemanly appearance of the young man who was conducted into
his presence by the police officer.
“Is this the accused?” said he.
“Yes, your worship.”
“Under what circumstances was he arrested?” was the next query.
The officer explained all those particulars with which the reader is
already acquainted.
“Have you searched him?”
“Yes sir.”
“With what result?”
“The four hundred pounds paid by the bank have been found
upon him.”
“The cheque is a forged one—​is it?”
“The signature is genuine, but the amount has been altered.”
“We shall want the drawer and the bank clerks to depose to this
fact.”
“They will be forthcoming, your worship. I don’t think there is
much mistake about the forgery.”
Mr. Kensett took a volume from his book-case, which he consulted
as to the law in such cases.
“What have you to say to the grave charge preferred against you,
young man?” said the magistrate, addressing himself to the prisoner.
“I deny it in toto,” said Sutherland, in an indignant tone. “It is
utterly false. I have changed a cheque, it is true. That I do not for a
moment dispute; but as to tampering with it I do not admit.”
 “Well, if you are innocent, I hope and trust you will be able to
prove such to be the case; but you will have to be detained.”
“Detain an innocent man! It’s most unjust!” ejaculated the
prisoner.
“Of that I am the best judge,” quietly observed the magistrate. “If
you had been innocent it is not at all likely you would have made
such a desperate attempt to escape. However, I should be sorry to
prejudge the case, and shall, therefore, forbear from making any
further observations. Mr. Todd, you will have to bring this young man
to the court by ten o’clock to-morrow morning, and be prepared with
what evidence you can by that time. Enough must be procured to
justify a remand, do you understand?”
“I quite understand your worship.”
“Am I to be locked up till that time, sir?” said Sutherland.
“Certainly, you must remain in custody till the morning.”
Sutherland approached the table, and taking a pen between the
tips of his fingers, wrote two words upon a slip of paper.
When the magistrate read these two words he became frightfully
pale.
“You see, sir,” said Sutherland, “this is information which would be
of material value to the cause of justice. I must, however, decline to
enter into the matter before witnesses, and——”
“Clearly so,” interrupted the magistrate. “It would not be desirable
for you to do so. I don’t desire it for a moment.”
“Then, sir, all I ask of you is to give me a private interview.”
“I am in duty bound to accede to your request. Mr. Todd, the
prisoner has secrets of importance to communicate, and will you,
therefore, be good enough to wait in one of the upstair rooms?”
 “Certainly, your worship.”
The magistrate rang the bell. A servant appeared to answer to the
summons, and Mr. Todd was conducted into another apartment in
the magistrate’s house.
When alone with the prisoner Mr. Kensett turned the key of the
dining-room, and looked inquiringly at Sutherland.
“Now, sir,” said he, “you have the opportunity of explaining
yourself. You have written upon this paper your grandson. I do not
know what you mean. I have no grandson, and if this is but a ruse,
a trick on your part, I shall take very good care that you shall be
severely punished.”
“It is no trick or ruse,” quietly observed Mr. Sutherland. “It is
nothing of the sort.”
“Well, sir, I fancy you will find it difficult to impose upon me.”
“I have no desire to do so, Mr. Kensett. On the contrary, I wish to
give you valuable information.”
“These are but idle words,” cried the magistrate, “a mere sound.”
“Permit me to relate to you a little story. I am sure it will not only
surprise, but will interest you much. With your kind permission I will
take a seat. Am I constrained to wear these handcuffs? They are by
no means agreeable.”
“Let me hear what you have to say. As to the handcuffs that is a
question which rests with the officer who has you in charge,”
returned the magistrate.
“They are needless appendages, but we will not discuss the
advisability of submitting me to this indignity—​so let it pass. So if
you are agreeable I will at once proceed with my narrative.”
“The incident which I am about to relate to you occurred seven-
and-twenty years ago, come next September. On the night of the
eleventh of that month a woman, with a baby in her arms,
proceeded through the bye-road leading to Saltwich. She was in the
depths of trouble, so I have been given to understand, and bore in
her arms a newly-born infant.”
Mr. Sutherland paused, and placed his hand on his forehead as if
to collect his thoughts.
The magistrate seemed to be almost stupefied with astonishment,
but forbore from making any observation.
The prisoner proceeded—
“The woman’s name was Isabel Purvis; she is the heroine of my
story.”
The magistrate uttered an exclamation of surprise and horror.
“Doubtless the name may be familiar to you, sir,” said his
companion. “Well, as I have already observed, she went by the
name of Isabel Purvis, but her real name was Kensett.”
“It is false,” cried the magistrate, “utterly false. She had no legal
right to the name of Kensett.”
“I don’t wish to contradict a gentleman in your position,” returned
Sutherland, “but I think you will find what I have just said is true in
substance, and, in fact, her real name was Kensett.”
“I am lost!” cried the magistrate.
“Lost in wonder, doubtless, but not yet lost, I trust, in the
extensive sense usually applied to that word. But this is digression.
To continue: It was a cheerless night, the wind was beginning to
rise, and moaned among the trees of the forest by which your house
is so gracefully encircled, the rain dashed in torrents against the
windows as if the very elements—​but you can imagine the rest.”
“I can do nothing of the sort, sir. I don’t know to what you would
allude.”
 “Well, Mr. Kensett, I assure you that I have every reason for
believing that what I am about to tell you is correct in every
particular. The woman placed her child on the doorstep of a house,
and then fled precipitately; but she did not escape—​she was
arrested by the village constable upon the charge of attempting to
murder her offspring. You were, on that night, seated in this room,
as you are now—​on one hand a book of the law to assist your
memory—​on the other hand a Bible—​before you a felon. You were
alone with this criminal, as you are alone with me now, and you
were in the power of this criminal, as you are now in mine.”
“In your power?”
“Most completely. But to my story. This woman, who was charged
with abandoning her offspring, was not so bad as people were led to
suppose. The father of her child was your own son—​was Mr. Robert
Everhard Kensett—​he went to sea, and the ship he set sail in
foundered, and all hands on board were lost.”
The magistrate uttered a groan.
“He was not only the father of the child but the husband of its
mother.”
“I never can—​I never will believe it,” cried Mr. Kensett, in an
agonised tone of voice. “It is not possible.”
“It is not only possible but an actual fact. You might have read
the Roman history, sir. It is possible that you might have heard of
Brutus, the first consul. However, it is very certain you did not
attempt to imitate him. You aided your daughter-in-law to escape
from this house, gave her some money and exacted a solemn oath
from her that she would never trouble you again. That is true—​is it
not?”
“I will not deny it. It is true.”
“Then it appears to me that you are in my power.”
 The magistrate tried to collect his bewildered thoughts.
“On that night,” said he, “there was a legal paper in the
possession of the prisoner. I was, therefore, in her power, but were
you to state these circumstances in court you would not be
believed.”
Sutherland smiled.
“I will not give you the second chapter of my story. You evince
but little curiosity, and are perhaps not anxious to have it completed,
but remember the words which I have written down, and to which I
have not yet given you the clue.”
“I will hear you to the end,” said Kensett; “but wait awhile, Mr.
Todd will wonder what has so detained me.”
He went to the door and called the officer by name. Mr. Todd
came down from the upstairs room.
“Ah, Todd,” cried the magistrate, “it appears that this young man
will detain me much longer than I had at first expected. You had
better have something to eat and drink. The servants will bring you
what we have in the house,”.
“Thank you, sir. It will be very acceptable.”
“Good. Then make yourself at home. When this young fellow has
finished his—​ahem—​confession, I will call you.”
“All right, your worship, I am in no hurry.”
Mr. Kensett shut the door and again turned the key.
 CHAPTER CXXXVII.

MR. SUTHERLAND IS TRIUMPHANT—​THE

AMICABLE ARRANGEMENT.

“Now, sir, you can proceed, if you please,” said the magistrate,
sternly. “I have consented to hear what you have to say in this
matter, but it does not necessarily follow that I place any reliance
upon this specious tale of yours.”
“Oh, dear me, no. Certainly not. You will, of course, take it for
what it is worth. I am not the first man by a good many who has
had the misfortune to be looked upon with doubt and mistrust.”
“You will be pleased to confine yourself to the facts, and not
indulge in extraneous or impertinent observations,” cried the
magistrate.
His companion bowed and said quietly—
“The facts are in themselves significant enough.”
“Are they?”
“Yes, I hope so. Let me see, where did I leave off? Oh, I know, at
that part of the narrative where you parted with this unfortunate
woman. Well, Mr. Kensett, she went her ways. She kept her promise;
for from that day to the present moment you have not seen or heard
anything of her. Is that so?”
 “Yes, that is so.”
The magistrate began to feel a vague fear, and shuddered in spite
of himself.
Mr. Sutherland continued—
“The child was taken to the union, where it remained for some
three or four years; then it was taken charge of by Mr. Searle, your
wife’s brother. I believe he elected to be its natural protector, and
placed it in charge of an old woman, whose name I do not at the
present moment remember, but she was, so I have been told, a
most worthy person, and did her duty, was mindful of her young
charge. Any way the youngster thrived, and when old enough Mr.
Searle apprenticed him to the late Mr. Jamblin, owner and occupier
of Stoke Ferry Farm. The farmer had instructions to bring the lad up
us an agriculturist. He obeyed the instructions given him by Mr.
Searle. By injudicious punishments and injudicious pardons he
taught this boy, whose father was dead, whose mother was a
fugitive, and whose grandparents dared not acknowledge him, to be
mischievous, discontented, and deceitful. Finally, he ran away from
his foster father, and a reward was offered for his apprehension, but
all efforts to regain this treasure proved ineffectual, and his relatives
resigned themselves with Christian resignation to his loss.”
Mr. Kensett was perfectly bewildered. He stretched his hand out
mechanically towards the bell.
Sutherland only smiled sardonically.
“On reaching London,” said he, “after leaving Stoke Ferry Farm,
the boy sold birds’ nests in the street, till he was adopted by a fence
or receiver of stolen goods, who instructed him in the way of
cheating, in which he soon became a proficient. He then passed into
the hands of one of the most notorious thieves in the metropolis.”
“Gracious Heaven!” exclaimed the magistrate, with a deep-drawn
sigh. “Can this be possible?”
 Sutherland took no notice of this last observation, but went on.
“In a twelvemonth,” he observed, “like Raphael and other great
artists the boy had surpassed not only the expectations, but also the
chefs d’œuvre of his master. At nineteen he became notorious—​at
twenty-one he became celebrated. Now he is a Claude Duval in
politeness, a Lovelace in intrigue, a Richard Turpin on the highway,
and will perhaps prove a Jack Sheppard among the prison locks.”
Mr. Kensett began to have a dim perception of the terrible secret
in store for him.
“This man,” continued Sutherland, “this glorious hero to whom
the London detectives, if they knew heathen mythology, would
attribute the ring of Gyges, which rendered its possessor invisible, is
myself, I, Alfred Purvis, alias Sutherland, alias Fortescue, who have
the honour of standing before you now.”
There was a pause. The magistrate was deeply moved.
Presently he said, in a tone of anguish—
“Do you mean to say, young man, that you are Alfred Purvis, who
ran away from Stoke Ferry Farm?”
“Most certainly I am,” answered the prisoner.
“It appears to me to be altogether incredible.”
“That is likely enough, sir, but it is a fact. You see, sir,” he said,
calmly, “how intricate and mysterious are the ways of Providence. By
a miracle I was saved from death in my infancy, and why? Most
probably you have committed some crime, which has never been
discovered. It is I who have been selected as an instrument of
retribution. I own I would have preferred that I had been some one
else, but——”
“Silence, sir, this insolence is altogether intolerable! Me commit a
crime! Are you mad to make such an assertion?”
 “Pardon me,” said Sutherland. “I did not make the assertion. I
only threw it out as a suggestion, as a possibility, but no doubt the
hypothesis is incorrect. It does not, however, in any way alter the
leading facts connected with the history of your humble servant. You
will find it difficult to set aside the relationship which exists between
us.”
Mr. Kensett rose from his seat, and paced the room with rapid
strides.
“It is enough,” he presently said. “There is no further need for
threats or taunts if what you have been saying is true.”
“It is true—​every word of it.”
“Well, if such be the case, you are the son of my son—​you have
my blood in your veins—​you are a felon.”
“That has yet to be proved.”
“I hope it never will be, for both our sakes.”
“I hope not.”
“Ah, but this is indeed terrible; I know not how to act.”
“Let me go!”
“I cannot do that. Do you think you will be able to prove your
innocence when the magisterial inquiry takes place?”
“You ask me a plain question?”
“Yes, I do.”
“And require a plain answer?”
“Certainly.”
“Well, then, Mr. Kensett, I don’t think I shall be able to prove my
innocence, and therefore it is advisable that you aid me to escape.”
 “I will save you if possible,” said the magistate, in a low voice.
“But how is it to be effected? That’s the question.”
“How!” cried Sutherland. “It is easy enough, I fancy.”
“Not without compromising myself; I am quite powerless in this
case, and yet——”
“You have no wish to see your grandson cast into a cell?”
The magistrate shuddered.
“Suppose you let me overpower you—​tie you to a chair, and then
get clear off.”
“Impossible!”
“Ah, it’s possible enough if you will only oblige me by taking off
these handcuffs.”
“I dare not do it. No, we will devise some better scheme.”
“I am at your mercy—​it is not for me to dictate. I leave the affair
in your hands.”
Mr. Kensett considered for some little time and then said—
“I do not approve of your scheme—​it is not practicable; but I shall
save you, Alfred Purvis—​save you for my poor dear boy’s sake.
Listen—​you will have to submit to a short term of imprisonment—​
you must be locked up for the night. In the morning you will be
brought before the police-court, and evidence will be offered to
justify me in remanding the case—​this I shall do.”
“And what then?”
“Apply for bail, which I will grant. If the case does not assume a
very serious aspect, possibly I may feel justified in letting you out on
your own recogniances. The rest is an easy matter. Go abroad; get
out of the way till the offence is blown over. You can do this, I
suppose.”
“I shall not trouble myself to come up for a second hearing—​you
may depend upon that,” said Sutherland, with a mocking laugh.
“And if I do this you will promise to lead a new life, and strive as
best you can to make atonement for your past errors. Will you
promise?”
“Oh! certainly. I pass my word—​that is sufficient,” replied the
prisoner carelessly.
“You are not sincere, and do not mean what you say.”
“I declare most positively I do, sir,” was the prompt reply.
“I wish I could believe you. Oh! but this is a terrible trial to me.
Even now I find it difficult to believe you are the boy who, years ago,
worked at Stoke Ferry Farm.”
I will give you proofs, sir—​incontrovertible proofs, if you need
them, before many days are over our heads.”
“Peace! silence! Let it pass on. I believe your story, and so that’s
enough. I see the likeness to my dead son when I gaze on your
features. Yes, I believe all you have said. I took no notice of you
when a child; now I would risk anything to save you from ignominy
and disgrace. Leave it to me.”
The magistrate went to the door, and called out in a loud tone for
Mr. Todd, who at once made his appearance in answer to the
summons.
“The prisoner is persistent in his declaration of innocence, Mr.
Todd,” said the magistrate, in his habitual official tone of voice.
“Is he, sir?” said the officer. “We know what that is worth.”
 “Yes—​oh, dear, yes—​of course, Todd. Still, I do hope the young
man, who is evidently well educated, may not be so bad as we think.
However, you must take charge of him, and bring what witnesses
you have to the court to-morrow morning. By the way, there is, I
think, hardly any necessity now for the handcuffs. They can be
removed.”
“Ah, certainly, your worship, if you wish it.”
Mr. Todd, with marvellous dexterity, removed the objectionable
ruffles from the wrists of Mr. Sutherland, who was deeply sensible of
this little favour. He was then marched off to gaol.
When he and his captor had gone, the magistrate fell into a chair,
covered his face with his hands and sobbed like a child.
He had hardly recovered himself from his first paroxysm of grief
when the voice of Ashbrook was heard in the outer hall, inquiring of
the servant for Mr. Kensett.
The magistrate pulled himself together as best he could, and
assumed an air of official sternness.
“Oh, your sarvint, sir,” cried Ashbrook, entering the parlour. “I be
a little late—​leastways later than I had intended. Beg pardon, squire,
but I hope I aint intruding.”
“Not at all, my friend, so pray be seated,” exclaimed Kensett. “I
am glad to see you.”
“Thanks. I ought to ha’ been a little earlier, but it can’t be helped,
I’ve been detained. I wanted to say summut about Mr. Todd. He’s
done his duty, and I am glad I coom up just in time to render him
timely service. However, what I wanted to make known to your
worship is this, Mr. Todd did his duty and fought like a brick.”
“Ah, I have no doubt. Todd is a most efficient officer.”
“He brought in the prisoner, I s’pose,” said Ashbrook.