The Briar Club

by Kate Quinn

Contrary to what the good detective thinks, a great many women don’t really like being called dames, and a man is still a man if he sheds the occasional tear.

“Mom says life isn’t fair and that’s all there is to it.” “Your mother says that to justify the fact that she isn’t being fair to you,” Mrs. Grace said calmly. “Which is mostly what people mean when they say ‘life isn’t fair.’ It isn’t, which is why people should endeavor to be more fair to one another, not less.”

Pete’s Swedish Meatballs

“Communism is the stupidest system on the planet.” Xavier refilled his coffee. “It ignores the biggest urge people got, which is that they want to build something. First for them, then for their kids. Ignore that urge, you’ll get in trouble fast. Maybe Communism is perfect on paper to some economist, but it doesn’t account for the fact that humanity thrives on imperfection.”

“The law is not perfect, but it is perfectible. Scorn that and we’re spitting on our foundations.” “Don’t be pompous, Tipperary. You’re far too young.” “All right, maybe that sounds pompous. But it’s still what I believe. Because if we don’t have the law, then all we have is might makes right. And then women always get hurt, instead of just often,” she finished bitterly.

Nora’s Colcannon

Americans made a lot of fuss about “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses,” but most of them definitely preferred a certain kind of immigrant: the kind with no accent. And gratitude. Plenty of gratitude.

“Be nice, now!” “Why?” Reka said rudely. Why did she have to be nice? Russet-haired Reka Takács had never been nice—she’d been unabashed, untethered, unmaternal, and bold. Why did she have to become nurturing, sweet, nice, just because she was now old?

“Oh, who cares about the children?” Reka cut him off, and she took pleasure doing it. The trouble with men like Harland Adams was that they hadn’t been interrupted enough whenever they started holding forth about the country, the law, the children. “Stop hiding behind the children. Children are in no danger from Communists, because most Communists are about as dangerous as garden snails. Just college boys who think quoting Marx and drinking vodka makes them rebels. Lock ’em up for boring people to death, but don’t lock ’em up for the children.”

Firebrands are good for the country, or so I’ve always thought,” Grace mused, ignoring Harland’s sputtering. “Firebrands ask questions, and a nation where you can’t ask questions is one that is going downhill.”

Live as long as I have and you’ll realize that whether the organization you put your faith in brandishes a Bible or a copy of Das Kapital, the haves in that organization are rarely interested in sharing with the have-nots.”

“Try it,” she said at last. Reka blinked. “Try what?” “Happiness.” Grace rose, smoothing her skirt. “It’s a choice as much as anything. Or you could choose to be angry, and if you stay angry long enough, it will become comfortable, like an old robe. But eventually you’ll realize that old robe is all you’ve got, and there isn’t anything else in the wardrobe that fits. And at that point, you’re just waiting to trade the robe for a shroud—or at least, that’s what I’ve always thought.”

Reka’s Haluski

Claude’s Gumbo

“Would your priest approve of your saying that?” Fliss teased. “Wouldn’t dream of telling him. Religion, Flissy, is a very poor scientist.”

“I’m not fit to be a mother.” Finally it was out. Finally people knew. It was almost a relief. “Oh, honey. She’s alive, she’s plump, and she’s got lungs to tell the whole world how much she hates strawberries. You’re doing fine. I don’t know what lofty ideal of motherhood you were sold, but let me tell you: there isn’t a mother born who doesn’t want to drop her two-year-old out a window from time to time.” She sounded so unworried, as if it were nothing for a mother to have such thoughts.

“I sometimes think this country is an eternal battle between our best and our worst angels. Hopefully we’re listening to the good angel more often than the bad one.” She sighed. “We do that, and change will come.”

Fliss’s Strawberry Fool

Harland’s Fried Chicken

Bea’s Ragù

Bermuda Rum & Brown Sugar

Those of us who shout the loudest about Americanism in making character assassinations are all too frequently those who, by our own words and acts, ignore some of the basic principles of Americanism . . .

Claire’s Potato Pancakes

Kitty’s Medovik, Lina’s Eight-Layer Honey Cloud Cake

Your cake looks scrumptious, the fifteen-year-old junior division winner from Centralia, Kansas, had gushed, coming up to Lina after the results were announced. Much more difficult than my Rosy Apple Whirls! Want to write and trade recipes?

Kirill’s Rassolnik

“Why couldn’t I do it, Grace?” Because you’re a human being, Grace wanted to say. Because you realized that it’s a more complicated question than people like McCarthy or Hoover like to think. Who deserved to live here. Who deserved a second chance. Who deserved to call themselves a citizen of this big, flawed, complicated country. Her friends had decided she deserved it. How she deserved them, she’d never know.

Briarwood House’s Good Night and Good Luck

The idea really came to life when I started Netflix’s Midnight Diner series, where an enigmatic Tokyo cook observes the problems of a series of clients to his late-night café: Each chapter could be a different woman in the boardinghouse—and there could be recipes!

have written about bad Soviet spies (The Rose Code) and I have written about bad women hiding in white-picket-fence America (The Huntress), but here I have written about a good woman in hiding who quits spying for ordinary suburban life and regrets nothing.

Sharp-eyed readers might also have noticed that English Fliss’s aunt Beth is one of my heroines in The Rose Code!