@ColleenLindsey Alerts; James Frey Is Major Shitball? A Dinner Story

 

So. The Squirt and I, SAC Ellen, Gram, Sister and Anna the Amazon, Mother and Aunt Hilda, and Squirt’s mom- Doctor Sam I. Am-Johnson, had dinner last night out to the ranch. Everyone was responsible for one dish except for me. I was responsible for my own dish plus one for Squirt. Even though Sam was there, I’m a better cook so I always prepare her, and my, dog’s dishes.

I’m usually OK with cooking for the dogs because they typically have less refined and simpler tastes. But the Squirt and I have been spending considerable time together, and it seems that her palate has moved from grade school to entering college freshman rapidly.

We always draw cards to see who prepares what, so when I drew a “Starch” card for myself and Squirt plucked one titled, “Main Course”, I was unconcerned. “Alrighty now, Miss Squirt. Tell me what we’re gonna make for the main dish and I’ll make a complimentary starch side.”

She cocked her head sideways, which makes her one renegade ear flap out like a bird’s broken wing, and looked me square in the eye. “Mi gusta osso bucco con barany, Monsieur Mooner.”

“Huh,” my best response. “Osso bucco with brains?”

“No, no, no,” she laughed. “Kein dummer mann, mitt lammen. You know borrego, kondo,” and then she laughed some more.

“Oooh, with lamb. Barany must be a Slavic language, right? Hungarian?”

“Si, Bwana Mooner.” Now she’s looking at me with a face showing something like pride.

“Yea, I’m starting to understand you better. I think that might mean my sanity is slipping.”

This comment by me brought a hush to the kitchen, and got six women’s heads bobbing “Yes”.

This also gets me more puppy guffaws, and then Squirt gets into her “sit pretty” pose. “Cerveza Carta Blanca, por favor.”

My god but she’s a cute little shit. I popped a cap and served her a thimble-full of amber gold from my palm. She stuck her tongue into the little pool of beer and just let it sit. The beer fused most of its carbonation into orbs that latched to her taste buds like soap bubbles on a plastic blow ring.

She shut her eyes and made a noise that sounded like, “Mmmmm,” and slurped the beer in the single lap, then giggled. “Mas cerveza, Senor.” More a demand than request.

“Unh uh, little lady. Just because you have slowed down to savor the master brewer’s efforts does not mean you get to over-drink. But I’m proud of you for listening.” I’ve been teaching Squirt how to better enjoy life as we spend time together. I feel like the father of a young daughter- steering her towards life’s pleasures. Teaching her to live with gusto and to not compromise her beliefs.

I gulped a big slug of our beer and asked, “Since you used Hungarian on me, I guess you want me to use that smoky paprika we got from Whole Foods the other day.” Getting excited tail wagging and dancing, I knew I was on target.

“And los tartufi, OK?”

When I didn’t answer her immediately she said, “Please, please please. I adore truffes.”

“Alright, for shitsakes, but you owe me one for this. How about I grade some truffle onto the platter before service. Will that do it?”

It did, and that made me think that maybe Squirt was already a culinary upperclassman. But if she starts asking for French pressed duck- then I carve a line on the cutting board. I’m not very squeamish about stuff, but the sound of those baby duck bones crushing in a sterling silver press is unsettling.

Anyway, I made a risotto with eggplant and sage from the garden, and Parmi-Reg and some heavy cream to match the richness of Squirt’s lamb dish. Everyone else fixed simple veggie dishes that lightened and balanced the meal.

I talked Sam into leaving Squirt with SAC Ellen and me so she can go fishing with us this morning. Squirt loves to go fishing.

Anyway, I need to ice the Carta Blanca and dig some worms from the garden.

Manana, y’all.

Oh, and Ps. @ColleenLindsey has alerted me to this James Frey asshole. Is all of this for real?

Print Friendly

Tags:

Leave a Reply