By Gertrude Chandler Warner
Benny likes Saturdays simply because he doesn't need to visit tuition. yet one Saturday every thing turns out to move incorrect. Benny can't purchase the poster he wishes, after which he runs into Mrs. Sanchez outdoor the grocery store. Oh, no—you're now not presupposed to see your instructor on a Saturday! yet a trip to the recent snack store might swap every little thing. Will Benny's Saturday be a great day finally?
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Extra info for Benny's Saturday Surprise (The Boxcar Children: The Adventures of Benny and Watch Series, Book 8)
I knew that it wasn’t so much New York that he hated. New York was just an excuse, an external manifestation of his chronic restlessness. In our nine years together, we had moved from an apartment in Toronto, to a house in Miami, back to Toronto and a grand Victorian house that we renovated. But as soon as that renovation project was completed, he sought out another one, and we moved again, and then again. After the third renovation, we were off again, this time to Rio de Janeiro, where we spent three years, the longest we had ever spent in one place.
Not because I was trying to please him, but because I was truly in awe. For Edward, cooking was not just about satisfying hunger. Cooking was a passion and sometimes a serious art form, to be shared with a select few. He refused to provide tips or write out his recipes for people he felt had no affinity for cooking. As he poured some Malbec, he told me about another dinner guest who had raved about his chicken paillard. Oh, Edward, you must give me the recipe! But Edward told me he had no intention of sharing his paillard secrets with her.
It was labor-intensive, calling for dried apricots that had to be boiled and pureed, then chilled for several hours before they could be added to the stiffened egg whites. Edward had made us individual soufflés in little ramekins, putting them in the oven as we began our main course. He served them immediately after they were done, their puffy meringue swirls tinged golden brown and looking like the whimsical domes of some dreamy cathedral from a fairy tale, dusted with confectioners’ sugar and topped with freshly whipped cream.