“A delectable banquet for the reader, celebrating the things that matter most–family, friendship, food, and the healing power of love.” —Susan Wiggs, New York Times bestselling author
The Lost Recipe for Happinessby Barbara O'Neal
In this sumptuous new novel, Barbara O’Neal offers readers a celebration of food, family, and love as a woman searches for the elusive ingredient we’re all hoping to find….
It’s the opportunity Elena Alvarez has been waiting for–the challenge of running her own kitchen in a world-class restaurant. Haunted by an accident of which she… See more details below
In this sumptuous new novel, Barbara O’Neal offers readers a celebration of food, family, and love as a woman searches for the elusive ingredient we’re all hoping to find….
It’s the opportunity Elena Alvarez has been waiting for–the challenge of running her own kitchen in a world-class restaurant. Haunted by an accident of which she was the lone survivor, Elena knows better than anyone how to survive the odds. With her faithful dog, Alvin, and her grandmother’s recipes, Elena arrives in Colorado to find a restaurant in as desperate need of a fresh start as she is–and a man whose passionate approach to food and life rivals her own. Owner Julian Liswood is a name many people know but a man few do. He’s come to Aspen with a troubled teenage daughter and a dream of the kind of stability and love only a family can provide. But for Elena, old ghosts don’t die quietly, yet a chance to find happiness at last is worth the risk.
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- Random House Publishing Group
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- Product dimensions:
- 5.10(w) x 8.10(h) x 1.20(d)
Read an Excerpt
Elena had been expecting Dmitri for more than an hour when he finally stormed through the back door of the Blue Turtle, the Vancouver restaurant where they both worked.
She'd come in early, as was her habit, to cook in the agreeable quiet of the Sunday morning kitchen, when the young apprentices and line cooks and dishwashers were all still abed after their Saturday night revelries. Her only companion was Luis, the forty-something El Salvadorian commis, who stirred his stockpots with a hand so brown and squat it looked like a hand balloon. He sang cheerfully under his breath, a bloody old Spanish folk song about a conquistador taking revenge on his enemy. It made Elena think of nights at the VFW when she was eleven or twelve, drinking Cokes while everyone danced the two-step. No doubt it made Luis think of bodegas back home.
Humming tunelessly along with him, Elena stood at the stove, stirring pale pink shallots and yellow onions with a long wooden spoon, thinking of the things she needed to check for service today. She thought of conquistadores and the plate armor they'd worn to protect themselves from arrows.
Mainly, she thought of Dmitri, who had betrayed her.
Her whole body ached this morning, back and hips from the old injuries, shoulders and neck from trying to erect the armor she had to assemble afresh each and every day, finely honed plates of sharp arrogance and bad language beneath which she—the secret and guarded Elena—could hide. She rolled her shoulder blades down her back, reminded herself to stand tall.
Shake it off.
When the onions were nearly done, she crushed garlic with the flat of her knife, and was about to scrape it into the mix when Dmitri burst through the back door. Hearing his fury in the slam of the door, she pulled the pan off the fire and turned to meet his anger.
Long and lean, with severe planes in his beautiful Russian face, he strode through the kitchen and flung a newspaper down on the counter. She turned off the burner and wiped her hands.
The paper was turned to the front page of the Lifestyle section, and featured a photo taken two weeks before. Of Elena, dressed in chef's whites at the end of a shift, long blonde hair pulled back from her face beneath the bright scarves she had adopted as her trademark. She lifted a glass of wine to the camera with a crooked smile and a saucy cock of a brow. It was a good photo, she thought again. It made her look younger than her thirty-eight years, sexier, charming. The headline read:
STANDING UP TO THE HEAT
BLUE TURTLE CHEF SAYS LIFE AS A FEMALE IN
THE KITCHEN IS NOT EASY, BUT WORTH IT
"I saw it," she said mildly.
"You are fired."
"What?" Her head jerked up. "Come on, Dmitri. It's not my fault she liked me better than you. And you're right there in the first paragraph anyway!"
"It is my kitchen. Your focus should have been on the restaurant, on the menu. Not on yourself."
"It is not your kitchen!" she said, slamming her knife down on the counter. "You have the title of chef, but you know as well as I do that we built this menu and this kitchen together. It's as much mine as it is yours."
"Is it?" He raised his index finger. "One question, hmm?" When he got angry or excited or passionate, his speech slipped into the Russian accent he'd labored over many years to lose. "Whose name is on that door?"
She wiped her hands, heat in her throat. "Yours."
He grabbed the paper, slapped it with the fingers of his other hand. It sounded like a gunshot. "And where is the chef of the Blue Turtle in the article?" His eyes, the color of cognac, burned with a yellow heat. "Hmm?"
"Isn't it supposed to be about the restaurant?"
He gave her a withering look. The restaurant did not belong to him. The kitchen did.
"You told me to talk to her." Elena shrugged. "I talked."
A long, simmering silence hung between them, filled with the scent of onions and bruised garlic and the New Mexican chiles she'd asked to have imported. Feigning disdain for his tantrum, she turned the burner back off, pulled the pan back to the fire, and scraped the garlic into it. The back of her neck burned with satisfaction, with worry and loss, with desire. She could smell him over the food, a heady mix of sweat and spices, cigarettes and sex, which he'd not had with her. Beneath her armor, her flesh wept.
"It was revenge, Elena."
Methodically, she swirled the garlic into the butter, and put the spoon down. Met his eyes.
The minute the reporter had come through the doors with her old-school feminist hair—steely, frizzled salt and pepper—Elena had known she had a chance to get back at Dmitri.
And more, she'd earned it. Not only had he seized the glory from their joint effort to create the menu and the environment of the Blue Turtle, but two months ago, he'd moved out of their shared apartment to live with a girl with breasts like fried eggs and the guileless hero worship only a twenty-three-year-old CIA graduate could afford.
That would be the Culinary Institute of America, not the Central Intelligence Agency.
The garlic could not be neglected. Elena stirred in fire-roasted Anaheim chiles, letting them warm slowly. The scent had zest, dampness, appetite to it. Even Dmitri could not resist bending toward it, inhaling it. She looked at the top of his head, the thick hair.
The interview might have started as revenge, but it had become something more as Elena let herself open up to the reporter, her sharp eyes, her sympathy. "She was a feminist, Dmitri," she said in the calm voice she had cultivated, "a woman who wanted to do a story about a woman in a man's world." She adjusted the flame the tiniest bit. "I gave it to her. And it worked—the restaurant is on the front page of the Lifestyle section."
"You're fired," he said, punching the air with a finger.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous."
"Oh, I assure you, I am not. When I come back here in an hour, I want you gone, not a trace."
He turned, crisp as a Cossack, and marched out of the kitchen.
Automatically, Elena pulled the skillet from the burner and stared after him, pursing her lips. He'd fired her in the past, when they'd had one of their spectacular fights, only to call an hour or a day later to beg forgiveness. He needed her, Elena knew. More than he had sense to realize.
And he would likely calm down this time, too. Call later and beg her to come back.
Luis, who had pretended not to watch the scene unfolding, tsked.
Elena, embarrassed, shook her head. "He'll get over it."
But there was, suddenly, weariness in her. Too many fights, too many late nights spent trying to fix whatever it was that had gone wrong. She felt the exhaustion at the base of her neck, along the backs of her eyes. She lacked the energy to go another round with him. As much as she hated to start over—again!—this was broken. It was time to admit it.
She should never have begun. From the moment of their first meeting, she'd known that he was dangerous to her, a woman in a man's world. For well over a year, she had resisted him, sticking to her unbroken rule to never sleep with a man who had power over her, and Dmitri was even more dangerous than most, a chef with a Russian accent and the mouth of a rock star, a man with that intelligent, amoral twinkle in his eye.
But he pursued her, relentlessly, and Elena had fallen. Fallen to his genius as much as his beauty, fallen to his supposedly undying adoration of her, the mark of a man who lived on his charm.
Now she would pay the price. This silent Sunday morning, she folded her apron and put it on the pass-out bar, then went to the staff room, changed from her chef's whites and clogs into jeans and a long-sleeved shirt tie-dyed in soft pink and orange, with tiny dancing skeletons on it. A gift from one of her sisters last Christmas, to remind her of home. Packed everything from her locker into the duffel she carried to and fro, and finally went out to the dining room for one last look.
The Blue Turtle had been her home for three years, the menu a loving union of Dmitri's old-school French methods and Elena's Santa Fe roots. Vancouverites, adventurous eaters that they were, adored the exotic fusion. The restaurant was a success in a very crowded market, and was attracting international press attention.
This was her home, not some faraway town. A blister of fury zapped from the base of her spine through the top of her head. Bastard. How dare he banish her like this?
Luis raised his chin. "Vaya con Dios."
Elena nodded. Hiking the duffel over her shoulder, she swallowed the hollow sense of loss and headed out to the softness of an early Vancouver morning. For a long moment, she stood there on the sidewalk with a hole in her chest, trying to think what to do.
How depressing to lose yet another home. Another and another and another. She had grown fond of this one, had thought perhaps it might be the one place. Her place.
Across the street, English Bay lay like a mirror in the fresh opalescence of morning. A storm gathered in the distant west, sending a gust of rain-scented wind over her face. She shook loose the hair on her shoulders, and tried to bring her mind to something practical. What could she have for breakfast? There was some fresh spinach, perhaps a hunk of cheese, some pear salad left from the night before.
A man suddenly stepped out of the doorway, and, startled, Elena took a step backward to let him pass. There was an air of confidence about him, something both severe and sensual. Very dark glasses hid his eyes. A thin, hip goatee circled his mouth. She admired the spotlessness of his black jacket, the jeans he wore casually beneath it. Strong thighs, she noticed, relieved to discover Dmitri had not entirely killed her pleasure in the opposite sex.
The man gave her a nod. "Good morning."
She inclined her head. A silk scarf, ribboned with faint orange and pink stripes, looped around his neck. Elegant. Smart. Maybe he was French. "Bonjour," she said with a faint smile.
To her surprise, he paused. "Are you Elena Alvarez?"
"Who wants to know?"
"Sorry," he said, tugging off his hat and sunglasses in a single fluid gesture. He had the uncanny grace and coloring of something supernatural—a vampire, perhaps. Tumbles of black hair fell down on a pale, finely boned face. "I'm Julian Liswood."
"Ah." The owner of the restaurant. He carried a newspaper under his arm—he must have seen the article. Elena brushed her hands together—finished. "Dmitri already fired me, so don't bother."
His lips, that only pool of color in his face, quirked. "On the contrary. I came to Vancouver to speak with you. The commis in there told me you had just left. Do you have a few minutes?"
He studied her face. "You're quite blonde," he commented. "For someone named Alvarez."
"Does that figure into the discussion?"
A flash of a smile crossed his mouth. "No."
Elena waited. He wasn't what she'd always imagined, either. The face was not beautiful—that high-bridged nose and sharp cheekbones—but the hair was good. His eyes were steady and very dark and intelligent. It was hard to tell how old he was, but she knew he'd made his first movie when she was in high school. A decade older than she? He didn't look it. Behind them a wind swept closer, bringing with it the sound of rain.
"Will you let me buy you breakfast?" he asked. "We'll talk."
"I'm a chef, as it happens, and my apartment is not far away." She hoped he would offer her a job. "Why don't I cook instead?"
"Sadly, I do not have enough time. I have to fly to LA this morning to pick up my daughter."
"Then by all means, let's go to the Sylvia." It was an agreeable and famous old hotel.
They walked there beneath a sky that grew darker by the moment, heavy with rain. He moved with such effortless, long strides that Elena looked at his feet to see if he was actually touching the sidewalk. She felt a little dizzy, overwhelmed, and tried to think of something to say. "Don't you have a movie out right now?"
"It's just gone to DVD." He looked sideways at her. "Are you a horror fan?"
"Not really. I like ghost stories, but the slasher flicks are too violent for me, honestly."
"I prefer ghost stories," he said, pulling open the door.
She looked at him. "Why don't you make more of them, then?"
"The others are in fashion." He tucked his hat in his pocket. "They finance my smaller projects."
A man in a white shirt and white tie came hustling forward and seated them at a table by the windows. Elena ordered tea and milk; Mr. Liswood, coffee. In the corner, she saw a cluster of uniformed staff whispering, looking their way. She nodded toward them. "You've caused a stir."
He skimmed the jacket from his shoulders. "I don't think it's me."
A woman held up the newspaper and pointed to the picture. She waved, smiling. "Oh," Elena said, pleased. She waved back.
"Your first taste of fame?"
She thought of long ago, the New Mexico newspapers. But that had been more notoriety than fame, so dark and heavy she'd had to flee to escape it. "In a way," she said, then shifted her attention back to him. "But you're no stranger to it, are you?"
"I am not usually recognized for myself," he said, "but for the wives I have unwisely collected."
His rueful straightforwardness disarmed her, and Elena laughed, the sound shaking loose from some rusty place in her chest. His wives were tabloid fodder, starlets who began their careers in the teen slasher flicks that had made him his fortune. Restaurants were a sideline. Celebrity owners were not always the most adept, but Julian Liswood had earned the respect of the press and—harder to capture—his workforce. The Blue Turtle was the third he'd opened to spectacular success.
Elena said, "They have been rather beautiful wives, as I recall."
"Well, you know what they say: never marry a girl prettier than you."
She thought, with a pang, of Dmitri. "Been there."
"Hard to imagine."
"Oh, believe me—" She almost said, there have been so many men, but that would have been too frank. Outside, rain began to splat against the window. She shivered slightly. Pulling her cup toward her, she said, "Now, tell me, Mr. Liswood, what do you have in mind?"
"Please call me Julian."
"I'll try. Julian."
He took his time, stirring a lump of rough brown sugar into his coffee with a tiny spoon. His oval nails were manicured, and she wondered what kind of man had time for something like that. But of course, in his world, the veneer of such details would be required. She envisioned a cocktail party sparkling with beautiful people, manned by obsequious servers. It made her nervous.
Meet the Author
Barbara O’Neal fell in love with food and restaurants at the age of fifteen, when she landed a job in a Greek café and served baklava for the first time. She sold her first novel in her twenties, and has also published under the names Barbara Samuel and Ruth Wind. Since then she has won a plethora of awards, including two Colorado Book Awards and six prestigious RITAs, including one for The Lost Recipe for Happiness. Her novels have been widely published in Europe and Australia, and she travels all over the world, presenting workshops, hiking hundreds of miles, and, of course, eating. She lives with her partner, a British endurance athlete, and their collection of cats and dogs, in Colorado Springs.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
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I have to admit when I first skimmed the book description, I thought the plot would be: girl breaks up with current boy, relocates to new city for a fresh start, meets new boy, not sure if she should get involved with new boy, ends up getting involved with new boy and they begin new relationship. Ok, so maybe The Lost Recipe for Happiness can be summed up that way. But honestly, it's so much more than that. Elena Alvarez is a complicated character, but extremely likable. She's haunted by her past and cannot rid herself of her tragic accident. She's left not only with physical pain from the car accident, but immense survivor's guilt. She's the lone survivor of a car accident that killed her high school boyfriend and two sisters. After the accident and a long period of physical therapy and healing, she left her hometown and explored her passion for cooking. Training in the best restaurants prepared her to become chef of her kitchen. While mastering the art of cooking, Elena simultaneously distanced herself from intimate relationships. Yes, she had plenty of boyfriends, however she never allowed them in, always keeping them at arm's reach. Of course this changes when she meets Julian. Julian Liswood is a single father with several marriages under his belt. He's trying to raise his teenage daughter the best he can while maintaining his professional life. He's immediately smitten with Elena, but tries to keep their relationship purely professional. After all, he is her boss. Ms. O'Neal did an excellent job bringing these characters to life. The chapters are told from both Elena's and Julian's perspectives. The secondary characters round out the story with issues of their own that only contribute to the depth of the plot. If you're looking for something different, I suggest you pick up The Lost Recipe for Happiness. Elena is a character that you will root for and in the end you will walk away satisfied. 4.5 Stars
I really want a second novel to be made! I enjoyed escaping into the story. I'm not really fond of reading all together, but just by chance this book came outta nowhere in the store. It was probably the cover that intrigued me into getting it, but I'll never really know. I was only into a couple of pages that really got me wanting to purchase and keep the book all to myself. I love the relationship between Julian and Elena. These things don't really happen often, though I wish they did. And I'm at the point of my life where I need to choose a profession to be educated in. I had recently wanted to be a food critic but after reading this novel, I've considered become a chef or even become an owner of restaurants someday.
A great book, fun summer read with great Santa Fe style mex recipes...wonderful ....gave my copy away to a "cook"...hope they try the recipes and tell me if they are any good!! Enjoyed the story, mature characters, family resolutions...Liked it very much. I did buy the book because of the interesting cover but am very glad I did.
I love the way this was written, how she used recipes at the beginning of every chapter, as a preface, i found the plot a charactors, well written, and moving. The interaction and dialog is smooth and it's a great book for a book club!!
Barbara O¿Neal offers a scrumptious read in The Lost Recipe for Happiness, a Bantam Discovery book. If you like food and love ¿ and who doesn¿t? ¿ there¿s plenty to savor in this story of Elena Alvarez, a chef who must free herself from the ghosts of her past in order to secure her future.
Life got an early start in teaching Elena that nothing lasts forever. Abandoned by her single mom, she found a new home and new loves, only to have tragedy rip her away from them. When movie producer Julian Liswood offers her a second chance ¿ at love and at carving her own name in culinary fame ¿ Elena searches for signs and the strength to believe in a forever kind of love.
The Lost Recipe for Happiness offers terrific insights into the demanding world beyond the dining room¿s swinging doors as Elena and her staff of delightfully wounded souls create the Orange Bear, Aspen¿s newest world-class restaurant. This is a man¿s world, one that seriously challenges even the hardiest individual. Elena, who fights daily battles against the ravages of a tragic car accident, relies on sheer strength of will as she pits herself against the daunting physical demands of her new job as executive chef. But will her strength of will be her undoing? Will it prevent her from embracing true love when it¿s finally her turn at the table?
The Lost Recipe for Happiness tells a great story in a wonderfully engaging manner. Those with a passion for food will drool over the sumptuous descriptions and mouth-watering recipes (I¿ve tried a few and they are fab.) A delightful supporting cast, including a gorgeous bear of a dog and a guileless teenager who reminds Elena of possibilities, add to the ambiance. With a story of love and redemption that brings the reader to tears and warms the heart, Barbara O¿Neal has gently folded all the right ingredients together to make The Lost Recipe for Happiness a must-have for every bookshelf.
Although two decades have past since the horrific accident in Espanola, New Mexico that killed her sister and boyfriend and scarred her, Elena Alvarez remains mentally disturbed. Her only escape from the nightmares and ghosts is cooking, which she studied in Europe before returning to Vancouver as a chef at the Blue Turtle where her Santa Fe roots and his French cuisine merged. When the local paper features her instead of her boss Dmitri, he fires her.
Slasher film director and Blue Turtle restaurant owner Julian Liswood tasted talent in Elena¿s meals at the Blue Turtle. He offers her the position of executive chef at his new Aspen restaurant; she accepts. In Aspen, she works diligently on the menu in order to compete with a city known for food almost as much for skiing. She also finds herself falling in love with her employer, the divorced several times Julian.
Although a passionate contemporary culinary romance has been done many times, THE LOST RECIPE FOR HAPPINESS is kept fresh by the haunting of Elena who literally cannot go home and the failures at marriage of Julian; although the latter pales in comparison on the trauma indicator. The pair shares in common a passion for food and each other while both fears relationships as they always end in failure. With a nod to The Importance of Being Earnest, Barbara O¿Neal cooks up a tasty gourmet meal.
The very first review I've ever written, is for a book whose story had me hooked from the beginning, and made me feel as if I was part of the story, tasting the food, and empathsizing with the characters when they were struggling, and cheering for them as they triumphed. Read this book...it will warm you from the iinside out!
This is the first book I've read by this author but it will not be my last. I could not put this book down. Highly recommend.
I bought this book at a thrift store because I liked the cover. I was surprised how quickly I became interested in the book. As times, I thought it was just ok, but I was surprised after it was finished how much I missed the book and the characters. After seeing the results of this book, I realized how it quickly became one of my favorites without me even knowing it. I felt the mix of the love story, with story of friendship, cooking and ghosts was terrific. A must read!
It was a nice read and sort of a revamp of those feelings when you think all is lost or happiness is lost, it can come around again, if you let it. It might not have surprise twists and not very shocking, but it is still a great book and I enjoyed it. I didn't get the book because I wanted to be shocked, I wanted a book that looked like there is always hope out there.
This was such a great little book. I was very pleasently surprised. The recipes included were a little extra bonus. The characters were well developed and unique. The setting was something very original, lots of differnt points of view throughout. The story moved along well and was over-all a well written story. I too wish there would be another book in the life of Ms. Alvarez.
This book was cute and had a good plot. I liked the characters and thought they were believable. Would possibly read again, which is how I rate how good a book is. :)
Barbara's characters have me turnging the pages to see what was going to happan next..
I was at the airport and I was looking for something to occupy my time and I picked up this book just because of the title - what an amazing title...it tells all. It's a great book to sit and relax and enjoy your time in Aspen, perfect for rainy days...
It would have been just as good a book without the gratuitous sex and foul language.
another great read with characters that are interesting and a well developed story.
So predictable that it was hard to get through. I bought it on a recommendation from my favorite author, so I had high hopes. I did like her dog, and the ghosts, but the love story was a yawner and the characters were shallow. Dissapointing.