There is a reason that people do not generally come to my house. Case-in-point: We had invited our friend Joan for a lovely Independence Day dinner and, as we had napped up until 4:30, were frantically rushing around, involved in complicated food preparations, when she walked in the door. Observing the chaos and trying not to look shocked by the off-balanced menu of three meats with two potatoes, Joan leaned casually against the counter and gave the polite prerequisite offer of "Can I do anything to help?" "Here," I yelled, tossing three giant-sized Idaho taters at her, "peel and wedge these." Juggling the spuds, Joan insisted on clarification regarding the process of "wedging" potatoes. I sighed, showing her a diagram. It's impossible to get good sous-chef service anymore.
"Can I get a drink," Joan asked upon completion of her chore. "After you cut up and dice these three melons," Savannah told her. "That's a lot of melon," Joan replied doubtfully, "do you have more people coming?" "We're making salsa," Savannah told her, "so get chopping." "Can you help me wrap bacon around the potato wedges first," I asked, pulling Joan away so we could address the first of her three-meat menu selections. "Can't we just buy salsa from the store," Joan mumbled as she mummified each potato wedge in bacon.
During the twenty-five minute period it took to cut up the melons, Joan staved off impending dehydration by occasionally indulging in a bite or two of honeydew when Savannah wasn't looking. "How's this," she asked Savannah, tipping the vat of cut-up melon for her inspection. "Well, they're a little big," Savannah said. "Well maybe you should have shown me a diagram like your mother did," Joan snapped, feint with hunger.
After Joan set the table, we enjoyed our delicious 4th of July meal of barbecue short ribs, grilled tenderloin medallions with melon salsa, potato salad (with bacon) and bacon-wrapped potato wedgies. After Joan cleared the table and did the dishes, she made homemade peach ice cream before, inexplicably, she hurried away. We gathered at the door to say good-bye, graciously accepting her thanks for inviting her to dinner. We waved good-bye at her retreating figure in the darkness, the shadows obscuring four of her five fingers as she waved back. "Isn't it nice to be able to offer someone a fine meal once in awhile," I said, smiling over the sound of squealing tires. "Yeah," Savannah agreed, "we really need to invite Joan over more."
The meal was magnificent. Even if I do say so myself. I never knew I was such a fabulous cook. You guys are so lucky I arrived. You probably would have eaten bowls of cereal otherwise.
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