New Orleans!

  I’d like to dedicate this book to the people of New Orleans, who always inspire me to dance to my own drum.

  GROSSET & DUNLAP

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Group (USA) LLC, 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014, USA

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  Text copyright © 2014 by GDL Foods, Inc. Illustrations copyright © 2014 by Francesca Gambatesa. All rights reserved. Published by Grosset & Dunlap, a division of Penguin Young Readers Group, 345 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014. GROSSET & DUNLAP is a trademark of Penguin Group (USA) LLC. Printed in the USA.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available.

  ISBN 978-0-698-17197-8

  Version_1

  Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  A Note from Giada

  Recipes

  “Heads up!”

  The Bertolizzi family looked up from their picnic just in time to see a football sailing toward them.

  “I got it!” Alfie shouted, catching the ball right before it landed in the penne-pasta salad. “Maybe I should play football instead of soccer,” he said, grinning.

  A teenage boy from across the park waved his hand for the ball. “Sorry!” he called. Alfie gave the football his best pass back. It wobbled through the air and landed short.

  “I think you should stick with soccer.” Alfie’s big sister, Emilia, laughed.

  Alfie gave Emilia’s shoulder a playful nudge. The family—Mom, Dad, Alfie, Emilia, and their great-aunt Donatella—had just finished their picnic lunch. It was a lazy Saturday afternoon in the park, and the sun was shining bright.

  “What a great afternoon,” Dad said to Mom.

  “And don’t forget the party we have to look forward to tonight,” Mom reminded him.

  Alfie and Emilia’s parents were going out to celebrate a friend’s birthday. Alfie and Emilia would stay home with Zia, which was always fun. They never knew what kind of adventure Zia might cook up for them. So far, Zia’s magical recipes had transported them to Naples, Paris, and Hong Kong!

  Alfie and Emilia collapsed onto the blanket after their latest round of Frisbee. Mom leaned back on her hands and said, “Che bello. We should do this more often.”

  Dad put down his paper. “What we need to do is plan that family viaggio: the vacation we keep talking about.”

  “That’s a wonderful idea,” Zia Donatella said, adjusting her round black sunglasses. Mom and Dad were always busy with work and didn’t take enough time to relax. The family hadn’t been on a vacation together in years.

  “Yes!” Mom said. “Where should we go?”

  Alfie and Emilia exchanged a glance. Little did their parents know, they’d been to a few cities recently, but they were always up for discovering somewhere new.

  “We could go to Japan,” Alfie said.

  “Yeah, Japan,” Emilia quickly agreed. “Or maybe Australia.”

  “Sweden!”

  “France!” Emilia added.

  “But we’ve already been to P—” Alfie started to say. Zia cleared her throat and touched the brightly colored stone necklace she always wore.

  “How about Mongolia?” Alfie quickly changed directions.

  Mom laughed. “Sounds exciting, but just what kind of family vacation do you think we’re taking?”

  “An adventurous one!” Alfie said, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

  “Someplace like Arizona sounds adventurous to me,” Dad said.

  “Arizona?!” Alfie responded.

  “Yeah, Arizona. You know, desert landscapes, Lake Havasu, a little something called the Grand Canyon!” Dad replied.

  “I guess.” Alfie shrugged.

  “Or we could go mountain biking in the Rocky Mountains,” Dad said.

  “That’s a good idea,” Mom said. “You take your bike up on the ski lift and then ride down the mountain. Doesn’t that sound fun?”

  Alfie had to agree that sounded pretty cool. But still . . . there were so many places in the world to see. He was hoping his parents would take them somewhere outside the United States.

  “How about,” Alfie began, “instead of mountain biking in the Rockies, we do it in the Alps?”

  “Yeah,” Emilia said. “The Swiss Alps!”

  “We’re happy you’re both so interested in world travel,” said Mom. “But for now, we’ll stay a bit closer to home. Like Washington, DC. There’s so much great history there.”

  Emilia perked up. She loved history as much as Alfie loved maps.

  “Hey, Emilia. You know what place has tons of history?” Alfie asked. “Greece! We could go see the Acropolis of Athens. Right?” he said to his parents.

  “Zia,” Mom said, shaking her head. “What are we going to do with these two?”

  Zia smiled. “I think there are so many wonderful places in America to see that it’d be hard to see them all in one lifetime. But we can start trying.”

  “Brava!” Dad said. “Zia’s got the right attitude.”

  Mom began packing the leftover pasta salad, grilled vegetables, and flatbread into their picnic basket. “Well, let’s keep thinking about where we might want to go. But for now, your dad and I need to get home so we can get ready for our evening out. What have you got planned for tonight, Zia?” she asked.

  Alfie and Emilia helped Zia fold up the picnic blanket. “Oh, I’m sure we’ll find something fun to do,” Zia said. “Maybe something in the kitchen?” She sneaked a quick wink at Alfie and Emilia.

  “Yes!” Alfie and Emilia said at once. There weren’t many things they loved more than being in the kitchen with Zia Donatella. Hearing her tell stories about her travels was better than any movie or video game. Because when Zia cooked, she always took them someplace special.

  Mom was all dressed up when she walked into the living room. She fastened a bracelet around her wrist.

  “Mom, you look nice,” Emilia said, looking up from where she sat on the floor with Alfie and Zia. They were huddled around the coffee table, working on a puzzle.

  “Grazie, amore. Thank you, love,” Mom said. “So, Zia, did
you say you’re going to cook dinner or you’re going out?”

  Zia Donatella frowned at Mom.

  “Cucina,” Mom said. “You’ll cook. Of course.”

  “I have a plan for tonight that I think the kids are going to love,” Zia said. “Something interessante, a little interesting, to help them see how wonderful it is right here in their own backyard. Ha! Found one,” she said, locking a puzzle piece into place.

  Alfie propped his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand. He and Emilia never knew when one of Zia’s magical recipes might send them to a new place. They were always ready to meet new friends and taste amazing new foods. But it sounded like tonight wouldn’t be one of those nights.

  Dad came into the living room wrestling with his tie. “Whatever you decide to do, have fun tonight,” he said.

  “And you kids try to behave yourselves,” Mom added as she fixed Dad’s tie for him.

  “We’ll find some kind of trouble to get into, don’t worry.” Zia smiled.

  Mom and Dad kissed Alfie and Emilia on their heads and left for the party.

  “Now then,” Zia said, getting up from the floor. “Time to start dinner.”

  “Already?” Alfie looked at the clock. “It’s kind of early.”

  “Some dishes take time,” Zia said. “Like the one I want us to make tonight.”

  Emilia and Alfie followed Zia into the kitchen. “What can we do to help?” Emilia asked.

  “We can start with the holy trinity,” Zia said.

  “What’s that?”

  “For this dish, it’s three things: onion, celery, and bell pepper. They all need to be diced.”

  “I’m on it.” Emilia slid over to the fridge in her polka-dot socks. She carried the ingredients back to the cutting board, where Zia watched her chop up the vegetables.

  “Careful now,” Zia said. “Take your time, and keep those fingers out of the way.”

  “I will,” Emilia said, concentrating.

  “While she’s doing that, we can start on a key part of the dish,” Zia told Alfie. “The roux.”

  “I’m ready,” Alfie said. He was happy to handle the important stuff and leave the dicing to Emilia.

  “To make the roux we need equal parts butter and flour,” Zia said, pulling out a heavy stockpot and a stick of butter. “Alfredo, will you get the flour from the pantry?”

  “Sure,” Alfie said.

  “What’s roo, anyway?” Emilia asked, keeping her eyes on the cutting board.

  “Roux, spelled r-o-u-x, is a special base sauce,” Zia said.

  “Sounds French,” Emilia said, stopping to look at Alfie. He knew what that look meant. Maybe they were going back to Paris, or to somewhere else in France?

  Zia nodded. “Very good.”

  “What else?” Alfie asked, setting the flour on the counter.

  “That’s it for now.” Zia waited until the pot was hot, then she added the butter and swirled it around. “Keep watching the butter until it’s melted. Then we’re ready to go.”

  Once the melted butter had coated the bottom of the pot, Zia slowly began to sprinkle in the flour and whisked them together. “We do this until we get the color and thickness we want. Here you go, Alfredo,” she said, handing him the whisk and the rest of the flour.

  “You haven’t told us what we’re making,” Alfie said as he whisked. Soon the flour and butter started to darken into a creamy mixture the color of peanut butter.

  “We need one other very important ingredient,” Zia said, walking over to the fridge. She brought a large sausage link over to Emilia’s cutting board. “Slice this andouille sausage into coins, about this thick.” She demonstrated the first slice.

  “An-dooey,” Alfie repeated. “But what is the dish?” He couldn’t stand not knowing what they were cooking!

  “We’re making an authentic New Orleans, Louisiana–style gumbo,” said Zia.

  “New Orleans?” Alfie asked as he whisked and whisked. His right arm was getting tired so he switched to his left. “Then why does it sound French?”

  “Because it was the French who originally founded the city,” Zia said. “Then the Spanish took it over, then the French took it back, and then the Americans bought it during a thing called . . .”

  “The Louisiana Purchase!” Emilia chimed in.

  “That’s right!” Zia said.

  Alfie switched back to whisking with his right arm and shook out his left. He eyed Emilia’s chopping station enviously. “How do you know so much about New Orleans’s history?” he asked Zia.

  “Well, I don’t just eat my way through cities,” she said. “It’s important to know a little history about the places you visit, too.”

  “And before the French and Spanish lived in New Orleans, the Native Americans lived there,” Emilia said. “They didn’t call it New Orleans, though.”

  “Brava!” said Zia. “Very good. And all those different cultures, along with a rich history of African American traditions, helped influence the food that’s eaten there today. How’s that roux coming along?” Zia looked in Alfie’s pot. The mixture was now the color of milk chocolate. “Perfetto! That’s perfect. Time to bring all the ingredients together. Emilia, put the holy trinity in the pot here. Alfie, keep stirring.”

  Emilia brought the onion, celery, and pepper to Zia and pulled up a kitchen stool to watch. Zia handed Alfie a wooden spoon to replace his whisk. Alfie sighed and switched arms again. Since when did cooking become such hard work?

  Next Zia slid the sausage into the pot. “Some people add chicken and shrimp or other seafood to their gumbo, but I like mine simple with just sausage. It adds a perfect smoky flavor.”

  “When were you in New Orleans, Zia?” Emilia asked.

  “Yeah, and what was it like?” Alfie added.

  “New Orleans is like no other place in the US or the world,” Zia said. “The food is so unique, it can’t be found anywhere else. And the music! Music is as important to the city as food. When I was there, goodness, it was ages ago now, I met a trumpet player who played jazz just like he made his gumbo—full of warmth and soulfulness. We met his friends and danced on a balcony overlooking Bourbon Street. I don’t think I’ve ever had so much energy in my life. We danced all night!”

  “Sounds like one big party!” Alfie said.

  “The city loves any reason to celebrate, that’s for sure,” said Zia. “But they also love taking their time about things—like their gumbo. Almost time to add the spices. But keep stirring!”

  Alfie switched arms yet again, not wanting to admit how tired he was.

  Zia slowly added chicken broth to the mixture. “And now for the spices,” she said. “A little thyme, two bay leaves, a pinch of salt, some fresh garlic, a dash of cayenne pepper for kick. Stir it all together, Alfie.” Alfie hadn’t stopped stirring for what seemed like an hour! “And of course, the ingredient my trumpeter friend showed me: ground sassafras leaves. This is also called filé powder or gumbo filé. Just a little goes into the pot and violà!”

  “Time to eat?” Alfie asked. All that stirring had made him hungry!

  “Not yet,” Zia said. “The longer it simmers, the better the flavor. Oh—you can stop stirring now.”

  Alfie happily stepped away from the stove.

  While the gumbo simmered, Zia started cooking some white rice. Then she put on some music.

  “What kind of music is this?” Emilia asked.

  “This is jazz. Jazz was born in New Orleans, just like this gumbo.”

  Alfie picked up two wooden spoons and tapped the handles against the counter in rhythm to the music. He had just started learning to play the drums. Maybe he could be a jazz drummer!

  Zia stirred the gumbo and let the steam drift over her face. “Mmmm,” she said. “I think it’s ready.” She took two bowls from the cupboar
d and added a scoop of rice to the bottom of each. Then she ladled a cup of gumbo over the top of the rice.

  “Aren’t you eating, too, Zia?” Emilia asked.

  She smiled. “I will in a minute. I want you two to try it first.”

  Zia set the bowls in front of Alfie and Emilia and leaned on the counter. “We eat with our eyes first. See how hearty and comforting that looks, but festive, too, with the bursts of pepper,” she said. “That’s what comes to mind when I think of New Orleans. Comfort food. And everyone is so friendly and laid-back—just like the food. Now, smell.”

  Alfie put his nose close to the bowl. The gumbo smelled rich and spicy.

  “One thing’s for sure,” said Zia. “You’ll never be hungry when you go to New Orleans! Just take one bite and you’ll understand.”

  Alfie and Emilia lifted their spoons and blew on the hot gumbo. They took a bite at the same time. The sauce was soupy and coated Alfie’s mouth in an explosion of flavors and spices—hot but not too spicy. The onions, celery, and pepper had softened and gave extra flavor to everything. Alfie’s favorite part was the andouille sausage. Zia was right—it had a smoky flavor and perfect chewiness all on its own.

  “This is amazing,” Alfie said. He scooped up another big bite, this time making sure to get some rice on his spoon. “It’s spicy, but I like it.”

  “Me too,” Emilia said. “And with this music, I feel like I’m there!”

  “Oh, you should see the bands that play!” Zia said. “Leading wedding parties right down the middle of the street—everyone dancing, including people just passing by. New Orleans knows how to throw a party. And everything is a celebration, but especially the food. A city so diverse deserves to celebrate every day.”

  Alfie was all for celebrating. He could see the dancing, hear the music, and even feel the heat of the city itself, all right there in his bowl of gumbo. Just when he decided that maybe New Orleans would be a great place to visit, he got that feeling in the pit of his stomach that told him to hold on—one of Zia’s adventures was coming up . . .