From Dr Lecter's Recipe Box - No 27
The Night Club Owner - Crisp Lemon Calf Liver - No 27
"So you see Scarlet..." I muse in a calm, almost tender voice as I place the heavy iron skillet upon the oven hob. "You were useful to me after all..." I continue to muse aloud to myself over the exquisite melody of the harpsichord, J S Bach's Aria Da Capo playing softly in the background as I pour in a dash of grounded nut oil. While the oil heats in the pan I turn my attention to the cut of pink, tender meat resting in waxed paper upon the counter. My long, slender fingers gently caress the firm, slightly moist meat, a layer of creamy coloured fat still clinging to flesh leaving traces of greasy upon my skin, perfect for creating a crispy rind. This recipe required 6 slices of bacon, so naturally I selected only the best for my guest of honour, a shy, young woman who sat opposite me, watching in silence the theatre slowly under folding before her eyes. As I take a long knife, my skilful, nimble fingers make light work of the flesh, gracefully dissevering it into delicate slices. Place the slices into the hot oil, the pungent aroma of cooking meat fills the air, my thin lips quiver into a wry smile as I recall the particular 'beast' I took special care in selecting and personally butchering several days ago...
..."Forgive me such ill manners my dear..." I offer an apologetic smile as my fingertips caress her paled cheek, she shrinks from my touch seeing the curved knife in my hand and finally realises her fate. "I would normally administer a sedative to ease the pain but alas I fear it might taint the meat..." I withdraw my touch, standing for a moment to observe her reaction to my words. The female, once quite beautiful, her features now faded by a lifestyle of alcohol and drugs glares up at me, struggling in the metal chair that she strapped into. She would have probably spat at me, a string of foul language and idle threats if it wasn't for the gag of silver duct tape over her mouth. The time for fetid insults followed by pathetic, sickening lies and finally desperate pleading and bribes was over, in truth it had just been the refinements of social etiquette that had forced my hand in allow her to speak at all. She was repulsive to me, a cold hearted monster, quite a title to bestow upon someone considering my dark nature, but surprisingly even I had a moral compass, small I grant you but still here buried deep inside.
The night club owner, Scarlet Mayor had stepped over the invisible line drawn in the sand of the often lonely beach upon which lie my mortals, a sandy haven I had just invited Emilia, a girl under her service to stroll with me. A fellow Lithuanian Emilia reminded me of my sister, Mischa, there was no sexual congress between us, I simply enjoy her company and a friendship blossomed between us. Yet the green eyed monster consumed Scarlett after on several occasions I had rejected her drunken, lascivious advances and she made Emilia's live a living hell until the day I snapped, the day she slashed the girl's face.
"Tomorrow Emilia leaves hospital, the operation upon her face was to a degree successful, the scar a blessing in disguise really for she will never entertain the men that frequent your club with such a disfigurement but fortunately upon your 'accident' she will find herself the owner..." I muse, dragging a metal chair to position it in front of my victim. "I have great faith that Emilia will treat the girls under her care much more favourably than the previous owner" I smile, circling the now desperately struggling Scarlet to lean in from behind and whisper "Oh the sweet irony that you should find your end by your own knife my dear..." And placing a caress upon her ear lobe I slash the curved blade swiftly and confidently across her throat. Scarlet gurgles behind her gag, redden, tired eyes now wide in shock as the thick, red blood gushes from the deep, savage wound. I smile, the cool air of the cellar now taking upon a metallic scent, muffled groans echoing as I walk softly upon the plastic cover floor to sit calmly in the chair before her.
"It should take roughly twenty minutes for you to bleed out" I explain in a soft, composed voice as elegantly I drape a slender leg across the other, wiping the blood from the blade of the knife. "If you have no objects I should like to keep this knife, it has such a sharp but graceful edge to it...I take that as a yes..." I mutter, chuckling to myself as the dying woman makes no objection to ownership of the weapon. "Once bled I shall take a cut of back, possibly rump...just a fancy but I've never cured my own bacon...fresh for tomorrow's planned meal but I might try my hand at salting a little of you...and then of course the piece de resistance your liver...years of ill treatment might actually be your saving grace my dear...alcohol saturated liver saves me the trouble of wasting good wine upon you to marinate it myself" I continue, settling back in my chair and wait for her to expire...
... Emilia watches as once the 'bacon' is cooked I carefully lift it from the skillet, placing it to crisp upon a white paper towel but I keep the fat from the meat in the pan. Next I gently place the liver, swollen and succulent into a plastic bag which already contains a blend of fine flour, freshly picked and chopped drill, salt and cracked black pepper. I grip the corners of the bag, twist to close it and then shake it to aid the coverage of the livers in the flour. Once this is done I open a bottle of Shiraz to breathe, the ripe berry flavour the perfect complement to our meal. I carefully removed the livers, shaking off the excess flour and then fry them gently over a high heat; the smell now filling the kitchen is tantalizing and so satisfying. After six minutes in the pan the liver is crisp on the outside but still moist on the inside, smiling I remove them and place them in a low oven to warm while I empty the fat from the skillet. I add a nob of butter to slowly melt then add lemon juice, torn parsley and the bacon crumbled, once this is blended I return the livers to the pan, sprinkle with grated lemon zest and serve with a tossed salad.
"Thank you Dr Lecter..." Emilia smiles finally breaking her silence, the plate before her almost empty. She picks up her glass of wine, gracefully taking a sip as she reaches across the table to gently touch my hand. "I know what you have done for me, sir. I am truly grateful and shall always be in your debt". I shake my head, waving away her words as if what I have done for her was a mere trifle. "It was my pleasure Emilia...we now share a bond of trust that I have complete faith that you will never betray. I shall be leaving New York tomorrow, this house is yours should you desire it so, I have no need for it now. Do not attempt to contact me Emilia...our association although most pleasant must end now, do you understand me?"
"Yes" Emilia nods sadly, her hand lingering for a moment upon my own before she reluctantly withdraws it. She smiles, beautiful despite the scar, a strong, and independent but compassion woman I can rest easy in the knowledge she will only prosper further once I am gone. "Aš ne let you down, broli ..."