Nov. 22, 2001 - 11:57

THE WONDERING JEW

The Cook

I loved for the holidays to come. Excitement de luxe. The dinners were the most wonderful thing I could eat all year long. They beat even the best picnics I ever went on.

But, and its a big one. We lived in a two room house, basically a bedroom and a kitchen which was used for a living area too. There was room enough for three normal people in the kitchen area. A man with his chef's hat would show up fairly early in the morning of the holiday and take total command.

He did all the cooking and my job was to take care of the road kill - - pots and pans. He would go through all of them, over and over again and I would be over at the sink frantically washing them so he could dirty them once again. The job seemed to be a never ending thing, stretching a few hours into an eternity for me.

By the time dinner was on the table and I had put the last of the pots into soak, got my hands dry and sat down at table this boy was tired. Ravenously I attacked any and all food in sight, going for seconds and ending up with the traditional two slices of punkin' pie.

Stuffed tighter than the turkey was, I sat and rested for a short time. And then the big task of the day for me was to finish up washing the pots and pans, fixing new wash water and putting rinse water on to heat and start washing dishes. There was little spare room in our house, especially in the kitchen area. So first would be the glassware, washed, rinsed,dried and put away. Then the silverware the same. Then the most delicate of Mom's dishes got the delicate treatment and carefully put away. Of course emptying the garbage came in as more or less a break in between the unbearable and unbelievable. Then part of the job that signified there would be light at the end of the tunnel, cleaning the table and checking the floor for the orts and ort nots.

If I could get myself moving at a decent rate there would be time to read in my current, favorite book for a little time before bedtime.

The job I had begged for when younger was my onus at holiday time. And although it was delicious to the extreme, sometimes I dreaded the holiday appearance of my uncle, The Cook . . . . . . . .

Blog