A Treasured Supper
Today we finally had a fairly nice day. Although it is brisk, the sun was shining. As I looked out of my bedroom window, it seemed to persuade me to come out. I was quite ready to do so. Even my dogs wanted to go out. They had been reluctant to go out with all the foul weather we have had. They looked at me and tapped their paws impatiently. “Wait,” I said. “Mummy has to write her bills first.” They seemed to understand. They settled down, curled up by my feet and waited. Once they saw me lay down my pen and put the checkbook in the drawer, their eyes lit up.
Ebony was quite impatient at my snail’s pace. As I cautiously inched my way down the stairs, she kept going up and down. “Can’t you go any faster?” she seemed to demand. I finally got down and opened the door for them. Barking with glee, they rushed up and down the garden expending pent up energy; Ebony’s Cocker Spaniel ears flapping behind her in excitement.
As they merrily cavorted around the garden, barking with glee, I got ready to leave. I wrote my shopping list, stuck my head out of the backdoor to see how cold it is. First I put on one coat, changed my mind then put on another. I opened the front door to let the dogs in. “Bye pups, Mummy will be back soon.” I said as I walked out the backdoor. I got into my car and drove to the post office. There was no queue. The friendly Chinese lady beckoned me to go to her window. I gave her my stamped mail. “Will that be all?” I glanced at her stamps. I’m partial to pretty stamps. There was a certain stamp of cabbage roses I saw that I took a great liking to. I asked for those. I also asked for the flag ones. Those were for my bills. The pretty ones were for my private correspondence. I could hear Peter chuckling, “There you go again with your pretty stamps. I know! I know! I’m to buy some pretty stamps.” I smiled to myself as I remembered this never-ending conversation with him throughout the years. Even now that he is no longer here, we seem to go back and forth on the subject.
Next I went to the Spanish supermarket. I walked through the aisles. There were some succulent sweet grapes. I took some. The tomatoes were soft and unappealing. The lemons did not look too good either. I had thought to make some Passover lemon coconut macaroons. That settled that. I picked up some necessities and headed towards the meat aisle. I picked up ground veal for kebab, then I saw some veal brains. Veal brains! Mama used to make the most delicious dish of sheep brains. I loved brains! I pictured our family sitting around the dining table for a light supper on winter evenings. The pot-bellied stove pumped its heart out to keep us warm. The aroma of freshly cooked food would permeate through the room as Maryam Babari set it in front of Mama, in order that she may serve her family. Our noses quivered in delight as the steam rose from the tureen. Delicious! There were three particular dishes I seem to recall for our typical suppers; fried plaice, or z’baidi, as we called it, tender, succulent hot tongue and sheep brains steamed in a light bath of water, slices of onions, lemon juice and olive oil. It did not matter which of these delicious dishes was served, we loved them all. I had not seen brains in more years than I can remember and here they were, displayed in the meat aisle! I imagined the dish the way it used to be cooked in my parents’ kitchen. Quickly I texted Kelly, ’How would you like brains?‘
‘What?‘ he texted back. ‘Mom, I’m busy!’
‘Veal brains? For supper tonight?’
No answer. Silence. I picked them up and some eggplants for Babaghanouj.
I hurried home to prepare this treasured dish from my past. I pottered about contentedly in the kitchen. The dogs looked in askance at me. I concentrated on recalling the ingredients and the taste.
It turned out perfectly, just like I remembered it. Delicious! A bit of barbari bread, some babaghanouj, what more could a person want?
As I remembered these dishes, my mind wandered off again. This time it was about perhaps twenty-five years ago. It was a cold winter evening. Peter and I were returning from the city. We got off the LIE at the beginning of Queens Boulevard. It was snowing lightly. The traffic was creeping. Of a sudden, Peter asked, “How would you like some fried fish? There’s a fish store that makes the tastiest fish ever near here.“ I was agreeable. We found parking. I stayed in the car, just in case we got a parking ticket. It was about fifteen minutes before the meter would go off for the evening. Peter went to get the fish and chips. The car was warm and the radio was playing holiday music. I hummed to the tunes as I waited for him to come back. When he did, we companionably shared the fish and chips. We were in our little world among a world of honking traffic heading back home. The fish was delicious, and the company was great.
As I prepared the evening meal for Kelly and myself, I could not help but be grateful for the life I was given. So many good memories, so much love, so many blessings…
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