“Excuse me.
“Zee von mitt zee naked brodders. Ughuhnuss.”
“That would be
Even a wolverine will stop digging if you pave over the wilderness. Sadly those animals are quitters compared to Ida. She glared at me and rubbed her shoulders with hands the size of tea bags while she considered her next move. The woman is tiny-or she
“Nu,” she said at last, “eet eez gut that you protect my grandson, but who vill protect dis Agnes und her meshuggeneh brodders? Eef Melvin tinks dat dey know too much, und dey leef out in zee boonies by demselves-den boom, he vill kill them, yust like I kill de rats in my barn mitt zee firecrackers I buy at Crazy Joe’s down in Maryland.”
“But you don’t have a barn over there anymore; you converted it into dorm rooms for pseudo-postulants, who pensively postulate apostasy in part due to only partial alliteration.”
“Boom!” This time Ida mimed an explosion.
“All right, all right,” I said. “Perhaps you have a point. I’ll talk to Agnes about seeking safety in numbers. But while I’m on the subject, Ida, I have a suspicion that one of your de facto dingalings is spying on me.”
She blinked. “Vhat are my dingalings?”
“Your self-proclaimed, so-called sisters. How nuts is it to join a group wherein the only common bond is apathy? That means as soon as you start to care about the group, or even just another individual, you no longer qualify for admission.”
“Und?”
“Und? That’s all you have to say?”
“Vhy should I care vhat happens to the group?”
“But you’re their Mother Superior!”
“So?”
“Come on, even you can’t be
“Zee Mishlers vas only a suggestion. So now I tell you a secret: I care about my grandson, and my Gabeleh, of course.” She paused to look studiously at a zigzag crack in the kitchen floor. “Und mebbe you.”
“Does that warm the cockles of my heart, or what?” I cried. “Let me clasp thee to my bosom from henceforth and forevermore!”
Ida could move like a prizefighter-I should know; I’ve had a few of them stay here at my inn. And ’twas true: she could float like a butterfly, whilst stinging like a bee, and after a few stings, I decided to let go of her and leave well enough alone. It was nice knowing that she cared. In fact, silly me. Having a mother- in-law who cared from a distance, and from beneath the cloak-literally and figuratively-of apathy, was really the ideal situation.
I patted her wimple fondly. “When it’s safe to tell you where the little shaver is, you’ll be the first to know, Idaleh.”
20
1 cup (2 sticks) butter, softened
Preheat oven to 350°F.
In a mixing bowl, beat together butter, sugars, vanilla and salt until light and fluffy. Add eggs one at a time and beat until smooth.
In a separate bowl, whisk together the flour and baking powder. Add the flour mixture to the butter mixture and beat until blended. Stir in coconut, ginger, and cereal, mixing until just blended. Using a teaspoon, drop the dough onto parchment-lined cookie sheets about ? inch apart. Sprinkle the top of each cookie with sesame seeds, if desired.
Bake until edges just start to turn golden but centers are still moist, 10 to 12 minutes. Remove to a cooling rack to cool completely.
Store in an airtight container for up to one week.
Courtesy http://www.eatwisconsincheese.com/
21
Oh, what a
“This isn’t what we paid for,” Olivia Zambezi said.
“You paid for a filling meal,” I said evenly. “Now fill up.”
“We paid for authentic Pennsylvania Dutch cuisine,” George Nyle said.
“I am an authentic Pennsylvania Dutch woman, and I made this cuisine; thus it is authentic Dutch cuisine.”
“It’s crap,” Peewee Timms said. “My grandma used to serve this on Sunday nights when we visited. Neither she nor my mother could cook worth a darn.”
“Yet somehow you didn’t starve,” I said, and not nearly as unkindly as I might have.
“Hon,” Gabe said under his breath. He is always the conciliator, although it’s not because he believes in peace, so much as he fears conflict.
“Yes, that was mean,” Tiny said. “I thought you were nicer than that.”
“I am nice. Look, our Amish cook quit, and since I really don’t need your money, I’d be happy to give you all refunds.”
“Please, if I may,” Surimanda said, by way of breaking into the conversation. She was dressed in a black velvet blouse with kimono sleeves, a black velvet ankle-length skirt and high-heeled black suede boots. Around her waist was a gold chain belt. Her blue-black hair was gathered in a chignon and adorned by a single silk rose the color of fresh blood.
“Certainly, you may,” I said. “And just so you know, in this country April showers bring May flowers, and I’m told we can look forward to a very soggy April.”
Miss Baikal brushed aside my attempt at obfuscation. “Miss Yoder, I like this food. Is good sturdy peasant food.”
I beamed. “Indeed! Peasant food, that’s what it is, only I shall call it ‘peasant fare’ and charge an extra twenty dollars per meal for it.”
“Why, that’s highway robbery,” Olivia said. She was obviously quite livid.
“I don’t know,” Barbie Nyle said. “It sounds reasonable to me. You try ordering peasant fare in a fancy Manhattan restaurant and see how far you’ll get. This is a one-of-a-kind experience we’re getting here, and I say let’s go for it. Miss Yoder, what do you call these things again?”
“They’re biscuits, dear. They’re like rolls, but they come from a tube. And those,” I said, taking the liberty of pointing at her plate, “are beans. And that’s a frank.”
“What fun,” Carl Zambezi said, and although his wife scowled at him, she dropped her objection to my meal.
However, the woman had the eyes of a hawk, and the manners of a vulture. “Where’s the boy at?” she demanded abruptly, her mouth filled with masticated yellow egg.
“He’s staying at a friend’s, dear.”
“Is that so? Isn’t he a little young for sleepovers?”
Now that was rude, challenging my parenting style like that. “Not in my culture, dear,” I said facetiously, which really is not the same as lying, because it is teaching someone a much-needed lesson. “We institute mandatory sleepovers at six weeks of age as part of an initiation process. That way, if we’re invaded by the Russians and-God forbid-a mother is killed, the child will be used to other adult caretakers.” A little late, I remembered Surimanda’s presence. “Oops, those would be bad Russians, dear, not your kind.”
Nevertheless there were gasps of awe and disapproval from my rapt audience. But, more important, Olivia looked like she’d been put in her place.