Once again the phone rings at noon. It's Gertrude. In as sweet a voice as I know she can muster, she asks if everything is alright with me. I decide to go for the bait and ask her why she would ask. She replies sweetly that,"Well, I thought you had fallen ill, since you aren't here yet." Taking a deep breath and counting to ten, I say," No Mama, I am feeling just fine and it's only noon. I thought about coming around three o'clock and that would be early enough to cook supper. So of course sounding terribly disappointed, and confused she says," Well, don't most people eat at lunch time?" I answer with as much patience as I can muster that yes, most people eat lunch, but also supper and that I was coming to cook supper and so she can expect to see me about three o'clock.
Feeling guilty, I end my coffee with a friend at the coffee shop early and go home to pack and head into the dreaded dragon's den. I prepared by bringing my favorite pot, knives, stir and ingredients for turkey goulash plus the much needed pumpkin pie and two bottles of beer which were designed with secret intent. Heavily laden I arrived at my parents house with intrepidation. How would things go? Could I get through cooking the meal before major arguments erupted between Heinz and Gertrud and would I be able to hold my temper if things should go awry? Major concerns and hesitations haunted me on the trip over. But, I had my secret weapon with me....
I managed to get over there early at about one thirty and was greeted happily. No thick air upon arrival. "Great!" I think, good start to the visit. Putting down my pack and bag of groceries I look at Heinz and wonder at his new shorts. ( The man has never worn shorts until he moved to southwestern Ontario last fall. Even in Australia he never wore shorts.) As I check out his shorts, I notice that they are old green workpants cut off sort of crooked at the knee, no hem in sight. Of course, Gertrude makes her usual sarcastic remark. " Like your father's new pants? And look at his knees!" Giving her a look of death, letting her know not to start something, I turn to Heinz and remark that it's a great idea to stay comfortable in the hot weather upon which he claims that he is simply recycling since the knees were worn out in that particular pair of pants. He was busy making a big stack of whole wheat belgian waffles. (A recipe I had given him on a previous occasion.)There must have been at least fifteen or more waffles on the plate. Heinz does everything in bulk. It's his way of saving time and money. He buys fifty pound bags of wheat flour, and bulk of everything in the household.
First I examined the meat. I was surprised at the general look of it. One piece was a turkey breast while the other piece was upon closer examination the turkey back. I tried to put out of my mind how the turkey had become so disfigured and deboned the turkey breast, without a hitch and told papa I couldn't use the other piece. There were lots of pointy bones sticking out and not much meat. He decided that anything I couldn't use would be put aside for soup. The solution was pleasing to both of us. I carefully washed the turkey meat I was going to use for supper and then proceeded to wash and cut up the veggies at the table. My mother sat opposite of myself. She suddenly looked me in the eye and said, "Sabine, I have to ask you a serious question." My mind starts racing. I know this could spell trouble on just about any front. One can never even begin to guess where this might lead. So as cool as a cucumber I tell her to go ahead, feeling inside that I had just opened up a landmine. So Gertrude goes:" Well, I was in a deep sleep last night, and suddenly I felt a hard pain in my back and when I opened my eyes, I see your father rushing from the room. I think he gave me a hard kick in the back and then ran away. I can still feel the pain you know. But your father insists that I must have been dreaming and that he was asleep in his own room. What do you think? Do you think it could have been a dream on my part?"
Well, so I burst out laughing and have to stop chopping for fear I might chop my fingers off. I take a look at my father, who is grinning and shaking his head as he is packing away his waffles. I try to assure her that it really sounds like a dream to me, but add jokingly that the way they always squabble, perhaps Heinz was angry at her in his sleep and came to her room sleepwalking to give her a kick. I can't help but laugh at the suggestion and see that she is not entirely convinced that it was a dream. Then I quickly switch the topic before it actually leads to serious accusations. I have put the beer in the fridge and am quickly preparing supper. Heinz whirls around me steadily doing one thing or another. Finding covers for pots and watching intently what I am doing. I explain the vegetable I have brought for supper. Boc choy. I decided to let them try something new. I show him how to steam it and add the spices for taste. I cook the broad egg noodles and finish the meat. Heinz decides that the water from the noodles and bok choy should be saved and used in the upcoming turkey soup. I decide I now have one more thing to be thankful for on Thanksgiving, being that I don't need to be around to eat his soup. Seeing that Gertrud isn't participating I suggest that she help set the table. She doesn't look thrilled with the idea, but submits to the pressure knowing there is a good dinner in the works for her. Finally supper is done. All without the expected major hitches and I serve it up. This is where the beer comes in. The timing is everything here. I serve up the turkey and give him the beer with supper.
We enjoy our dinner and Heinz even serves himself to a second helping. He loves the dark beer and it's starting to work its charm. Heinz groans how full he is getting and he is starting to look a bit sleepy. I tell him the recipe for the goulash is on the noodle package which he promptly decides to cut out and tape to a piece of paper telling me that he doesn't have a cook book and this would make a great start.
I quickly clean the dishes and put them away then sit down to show him the pictures of my trip to Quebec. After about fifteen pictures he is quickly fading. Slumping onto the kitchen table he is out like a light. My plan has worked perfectly. Between the turkey and the beer he never stood a chance to start in on politics, old stories or arguments with Gertrud. However Gertrud gets angry and tells him to mind his manners and go lie down on the sofa, but its too late. Heinz sleepily tells her he only needs a minute's rest and puts his head back on the table. I then give Gertrud her turn at looking at the pictures. I show her a picture or two of the old houses and boulevards and she says to me: "Where are the pictures of you and your friend? That's what I want to see." I explain that there aren't any and Gertrud flies into a fit. " Well, I don't want to see pictures of houses and streets she says. I'm not interested in that. I want to see pictures of you and your friend. If I can't see that, then I don't want to see any at all." Astonished at her outburst I decide to call her bluff and close up the camera. Then I slowly pack up my backpack with my pot, utensils and camera and bid them both a farewell telling them I will see them soon. Ugh.
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