The Secret Behind Perfect Pancakes

Mila could not believe it. Her latest recipe for Greek-inspired meatloaf had more than 50,000 page views, and the viewers trickled onto other pages: Mexican chocolate pudding had 12,356; Sichuan nachos had 6,912; Jamaican jerk chicken flautas had 3,055. She could not tear her eyes away from the screen. This was it, she thought, the break she'd been waiting for.

One cupboard in her kitchen was dedicated to cookbooks and, tucked between her favorite vegetarian chef’s latest publication and the practical Joy of Cooking her mother gave her for Christmas was her little black notebook of original recipes. Its pages were dotted with grease that popped out of the skillet and smeared with saucy fingerprints, but she wouldn’t change any of it for the world - it was hers and no matter what the doubters said, she was doing something right because she had - fifty-eight thousand page views! The number had gone up in just a few minutes. Mila allowed herself a squeal of delight loud enough to startle Marcel, her ancient tabby cat, and went back to scanning recipes.

Korean barbecue crepes, that would be her next post. Consulting her recipe, she began making her shopping list. On her way to the market, Mila called in sick to work. Nothing, not even her creep of a boss, Jason, was going to keep her from this opportunity. As she walked through the produce section of Ocala’s most popular Asian market, she began to dream about having her own cooking show, a cookbook tour, maybe a line of spices or knives. Jason had not been pleased, but she didn’t care; Mila had been wanting to quit her call center job for ages, but she hadn’t found anything better and her roommate was not willing to foot the bills until she found another paycheck.

After a year, Mila’s Menu website was pulling in some serious cash from ads and sponsors. Companies were sending her products to use and place in her photos; one was paying for a weekly video production that, of course, they sponsored. She was so close to being able to tell Jason what she really thought of him and never stepping into that call center ever again.

Mila was finishing edits on her photos for warm Tajine potato salad when her phone rang. Who did she know in the 310 area code?

“Is this Mila Hudson? My name is Hillary Mendez; I am calling from Food Network offices in Los Angeles. We want to talk to you about a new series on our streaming platform. Your culinary point of view is unlike anything we have in our current lineup. Is this something you would be interested in doing?” Mila suppressed any sound that threatened to escape her lips and opted instead for a silent happy dance.

As she sat in a conference room at Simon & Schuster’s New York City office, she could not help but reflect on the four years since she published that meatloaf recipe. The morning she saw those numbers, she thought it was too good to be true and now those numbers seemed trivial. Simon & Schuster paid her a $20,000 advance six months ago for a series of three cookbooks - it was the biggest check she had ever seen! When she left this building, she would have the very first copies in her possession and a first class ticket to Miami where she would start her book signing tour. Mila thumbed through her current little black notebook of recipes while she waited, each page was precious to her and it showed by how gently she turned them.

On the page for Cheese Pizza Chicken Wings, she made a note that this dish would be great a cover photo for her next publication, maybe a memoir. The door opened and she saw the familiar faces of Marcus Rinaldi, her agent, Patricia Gaines, her editor, and Phil West, the marketing mind.

After the good-mornings were exchanged, Marcus took the initiative and asked Mila if she ever imagined she would be here four years ago.

“Four years ago,” Mila smiled, “no! I was working at a call center, taking all kinds of abuse from people who were upset about their insurance coverage, and being subjected to bad breath and even worse pickup lines from my creep of a boss. No, I never thought I’d be here.” She was practically glowing.

“Creep of a boss?” asked Phil.

“Ugh, yes,” Mila rolled her eyes. “Jason was a total perv, always trying to get me to go out with him. He would corner me in the kitchen and make these nasty comments about whatever. When I quit, he slapped my butt on my way out the door and then told me it wasn’t as firm as he thought it’d be. Such a jerk.”

“Why didn’t you report him to HR?” Phil seemed genuinely concerned.

“There wasn’t a point. His sister, Shelly or Sheila or something, was the head of HR.”

“Is that why you killed him?” Patricia asked pointedly. Mila’s blood ran ice cold.

“What?” Her voice was little more than a cracked whisper.

“Caramel Apple Cider Pancakes?” Marcus’s tone was a strained mix of confusion and fact. “Did you really think no one would actually read the blog post? That everyone would just ‘Jump to Recipe’?”

Three police officers came in and walked toward her but she did not move; she couldn’t even blink. “Mila Hudson, you are under arrest for the murder of Jason Hill. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you.”

Mila walked out of the conference room with the officers without saying a word or taking her eyes off the floor. So much for leaving here with a first class ticket, she thought, instead I’m leaving with a first degree felony, and I got away with it for so long.

Meanwhile, in the conference room, the three literary professionals sat down and simply looked at each other in an attempt to convince themselves of what really just happened.

“Does no one read the stuff before the recipe?” Phil asked incredulously. “Really?”

“I don’t,” admitted Marcus.

“Me neither,” said Patricia. “It’s rather annoying, actually. Who wants to read someone’s life story when all they want is confirmation of the oven temperature for roast chicken?”

“Now that I think about it, I always click the ‘Jump to Recipe’ button, too. Huh.” Phil sat baffled. “Imagine what else we have missed by skipping all of that.”