Scarpetta`s Winter Table

8

The next morning, Marino did not serve Jimmy Simpson snow, as threatened, although he did jerk the boy around a bit by carrying a bowl of it into the house. He dribbled Mrs. Butterworth's maple syrup over it and stuck a soupspoon in the middle. Jimmy was warm with sleep and tangled in blankets on the couch when he opened his eyes and found Marino hovering over him, holding out the disgusting concoction.

"Snow cream," Marino told him.

Jimmy sat up, his dark tufts sprouting in different directions. He blinked several times, shifting into consciousness.

"Yuck," he said.

"How 'bout an omelet?" Marino asked. "Or you never had one of those, either?"

"I don't know."

Marino clicked on the TV. He opened the Venetian blinds to let the overcast morning into his cramped, slovenly living room.

"I think it's going to snow again," Jimmy said, hopefully.

"Clouds aren't low enough," said Marino, the weather expert. "When they get low like fog and you can't see the sky anywhere, that's when you know. I can feel it like rain coming. Could happen before the day's out, though."

"Will I stay here again if it does?"

"One of these days your mother might want you back," Marino said.

Marino's Southern-Style New Jersey Omelet

Marino was in a gray FBI sweat suit that did not completely cover his girth, and the feet of his white tube socks were stained orange from the insoles of his Cortex boots. He made his way into the kitchen, and soon enough had coffee brewing and was cracking eggs with one hand into a Tupperware juke container. The cast iron skillet was on the stove, and he wiped it with paper towels. He never washed the skillet with soap, and it was seasoned so well he didn't need to grease it

The bacon had been used up the night before in the chili, so Marino had to be a little more creative about breakfast meat. He decided on Hebrew Brothers kosher knockwurst, splitting two and browning them in the sillet These he put on a plate, which he covered with aluminum foil and placed in the oven on warm. He poured several dollops of half-and-half into the juice container of eggs, added salt and pepper; and vigorously shook the mixture until it was frothy. He poured it into the skillet, and instantly the eggs began to cook around the edges and bubble in the middle.

The secret was to cook slowly and wait until there was no raw egg left. Then he turned the burner down to 150 degrees. He sliced cream cheese into thick squares and placed them in the middle of the omelet, which he expertly folded. A minute later, he turned the burner off entirely, and several minutes later the cream cheese was hot, the omelet ready to serve. He divided it, but certainly not equally, and, with a nod to the South, spooned strawberry preserves on top. He added the knockwurst to each plate and carried breakfast into the living room.

"How 'bout setting up those TV trays," he said, nodding at a rack of metal folding trays parked in a corner near the window.

Jimmy opened two of them, situating one in front of the recliner, the other where he was stationed on the couch.

"You can put mustard on your knockwurst, if you want," Marino said, cutting into his omelet

"No, thank you."

"Let me know if you need more jelly."

"I like grape best," Jimmy confessed,

"Tough shit," Marino said.