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"Balderdash! Utter balderdash!" a voice boomed from behind a column.
The young man and Penelope swiveled back to look at the speaker.
"Here, what's this?" the boy said.
A slight figure under a hooded cape emerged from the shadows. "Learned it from a Salvadoran, my foot. Why, anyone who tasted them could tell that those empanadas are Peruvian. No doubt this boy stumbled upon the combination on his own, and he's taking advantage of your knowledge, Pen." The lady pushed back her hood, revealing black ringlets minimally frizzed from the rain, and green eyes that tipped up slightly at the edges like those of a cat. "I am disappointed to see you making such a trivial mistake," she stated.
Penelope smiled despite herself. "Have you been hiding behind that column this entire time? I've been waiting an age, Helena."
"Seven minutes, to be precise. I had some notes to jot down on this fellow's Peruvian pasties." She waved a palm-sized notebook in the air. "Flavor good, but sloppy execution."
"Who are you?" the young man asked with a frown. "And what right do you have to take notes on me?"
"As to your first query, I am Lady Helena Higgins, top of my class at the Royal Academy of Culinaria Artisticus, and soon to be the most sought-after Culinarian in Britain. Most recently, I have acted as a culinary consultant by royal appointment to Queen Charlotte and the Royal Navy. As to your second question, the same right as any creature alive, I'm sure." Helena reached under her cloak, revealing the reticule hanging from a cord over her shoulder. She dropped her notebook and pencil inside and closed it.
The boy sniffed. "Culinary consultant, eh? Well, I don't take kindly to people trying to steal me recipes—especially puffed-up Culinarians who haven't even graduated. Fella's gotta make a living somehow, and next thing I know, you'll be cooking me empanadas for the queen and not paying me nary a ha'penny for it! Meanwhile, I have to hear you tellin' me I don't know me own business."
Helena's green eyes widened. "How dare you insinuate that I would steal your accidental recipe for a Peruvian empanada. Why, the very idea—"
"I must say I agree with him, Helena," Penelope cut in. "Those empanadas taste far more like those I ate in Central America or Colombia. My parents and I spent weeks in each region. We didn't make it so far as Peru, but according to my research, most Peruvian empanadas are made with a wheat-based dough."
Helena turned to Penelope, all her outrage melting like candy floss in water. "Did you really go all the way to Colombia? I wonder if I should have taken you up on your offer to accompany you to the Americas, primitive as they are. But then I would not have been able to consult for the queen, and I daresay that will prove far better for my future culinary career."
Penelope tried not to roll her eyes. "The Americas are not primitive, Helena. I might, perhaps, characterize some places as a bit rural, but not primitive."
Helena waved her hand in the air. "I meant no offense, I assure you. Only how can you possibly think this street rat knows his Salvadoran anything from his Peruvian?"
The young man had had enough. "Here, how do you know what I know? You some kind of busybody? What sort of lady comes 'round Covent Garden looking to deprive a poor young cook of his livelihood by telling his customers he don't know where his own food comes from?"
Helena stretched to her full height, which was admittedly not much, but she wore it well. "Young man, I am a Culinarian. I have no intention of stealing your so-called recipes or telling your customers anything at all.
This lady, however, is my friend and a fellow Culinarian, and as second in our class at the Royal Academy, she should know better."
Penelope let out an amused breath. Helena never took too long to bring up the fact that Penelope held a constant second place in their class to Helena's first. "I really think you ought to take another bite of this empanada, Helena."
Excerpted from My Fine Fellow by Jennieke Cohen. Copyright © 2022 by Jennieke Cohen. Excerpted by permission of HarperTeen. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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