20 June 2011
Story #420
R. Linda:
For Father's Day, I didn't want cake; being a real man, I wanted pie. Tonya and I go through this yearly on Father's Day AND my birthday. I like apple pie but I be told we get a lot of that around Thanksgiving. So, no apple pie. I like cherry pie, but that's for the 4th of July. I counter that I don't celebrate the 4th of July because I am British. Doesn't matter. How about pecan pie? No, we have that at Christmastime, so no. Banana cream then, no, that's a summertime favourite, so try something else. I was fast running out of pies. Okay, lemon meringue, no, because it makes her brother sick, but your brother isn't coming, so??? Okay then, key lime, nah, too much like lemon meringue. The result: I be pie-less!
So because I was being "difficult" (her word, not mine), we went to the Mile High Apple Pie Store down in Merrimack. I get in there, and it is a store I never want to leave. Pies from floor to ceiling, on conveyor belts, in window counters, on top of counters, PIES I TELL YA all over the place, all being freshly made. I was in pie-hole heaven. All I could say through me pie-hole was PIE. THEY'VE GOT PIE!
Okay, I peruse the pie shelves, and the girl behind the counter is like -- will this guy ever make up his mind? Well, I decided on Derby Pie. Wife says "The Kentucky Derby was over weeks ago." Yeah, but we didn't watch it, so . . . SO DERBY PIE it was.
Now, I'd never had a Derby Pie before, but I heard they have bourbon in them, so what's not to like, huh? Yup, so we bought one of those. Because I gave the sad face, Tonya caved and bought a cherry. We stopped at the grocery store and got a can of whipped cream and Breyer's vanilla bean ice cream. YUM.
The kids were at a friend's house on this rainy day, so we decided the cherry pie was for Father's Day and the Derby Pie was for now.
This pie has chocolate in it as well as bourbon and pecans. It is totally yummy. I smothered it with whipped cream and then took a bite. OH MY GOD! I felt I should have put it in a shot glass, not on a plate.
"Kids definitely don't get any of THIS," Tonya said, waving her fork around in pie bliss.
"No, it's too good to share," said I.
"No, Gabe, it's got too much bourbon in it."
"Yum, that too," I mumbled with me mouth full of the most delicious pie ever. "Ya think if we eat the whole thing, we could get drunk on pie?"
She narrowed her eyes at me and shook her head.
Later, when Tonya wasn't looking, I had another piece topped with ice cream. Just as delicious. Before bed, I tried it with nothing extra, straight up—wonderful.
This was Friday; by Saturday, the pie was gone!
Sunday, I woke up to the clank of cereal bowl and spoon next to me head, and the sound of Cheerios hitting the bowl, then the slop of milk on top of the Cheerios and the voice of O'Hare, telling me Happy Da Day!
I raised up on an elbow and noticed Tonya still in bed, one eye open, looking toward the voice. I knew she didn't put O'Hare up to this, so it was sweet he did it on his own, well, sort of on his own; he had enlisted Guido's help oi. I took the bowl from Guido, who was acting as a servant to his older brother, holding onto the bowl, which he had tipped a wee bit so milk sloshed on the floor. No sooner did I have the bowl; I saved the milk from crashing to the floor when O'Hare found it rather too heavy to lift to the nightstand. He took the cereal box and put more Cheerios in the bowl because he didn't think I had enough "fer a heartily brekfit."
The result was that I was awash in Cheerios. Tonya was laughing, but she got up and started helping clean up the excess. Guido helped, too, but he ate it as he went. I did act surprised (I was), and I told them both how thoughtful they were and how wonderful they were for thinking of me and getting up . . . at what time was it? Oh, yeah, the crack of dawn, 4 a.m. for breakfast.
Me wife was in gales of laughter as she went to the kitchen with what was left of a new box of Cheerios and milk to brew some coffee.
"Oh wait, dunt eat on it yet," O'Hare said, and he ran out, leaving me to wonder if it was poison. He came tearing back with a carton of "boo berries" that hadn't been washed or hulled, and he proceeded to dump them on top of the overflowing Cheerios. I was sure I would sleep in crunchy Cheerios for the next week.
Well, we all had an early rise, and I finished off the Cheerios. I could smell eggs and bacon along with the coffee. I made me way with an empty bowl to see the boys enjoying their eggs and bacon with toast. There I stood with an empty bowl. What was wrong with that picture, I ask you?
"Oh, do you have room for an egg and some bacon?" Tonya crooned at me.
"Well . . . " Even if I didn't, I was having some of that.
Around noon, we were all famished since the 4:00 a.m. breakfast. We were going to eat around two but moved it up. I was told to sit on the porch and that I would be served a wonderful lunch courtesy of my eldest's culinary skills. UH OH. So, with trepidation, I took meself out, had a Newcastle Brown Ale to brace meself for what might be coming and awaited the biggest meat sandwich I had ever seen in me life. It was so big that I couldn't open me gob wide enough to take a bite. This was what O'Hare called a Daggywood. Oi. This sannie consisted of grape jelly on one side of the roll, spicy horseradish mustard on the other side, and in between the meat was another slice of bread that had mayo on one side and strawberry jam on the other. The rest consisted of salami, baloney, turkey breast, roast beef, honey ham, provolone cheese, sardines, capers (which bounced out everywhere trying to escape), Swiss cheese, lettuce and tomato with a toasted anchovy on top. But the surprise ingredient was the sliced kiwi dispersed all through the sannie. I know what you're thinking; OH, YUM. NOT. The condiments were oozing over the drippy sides, especially the jam and jelly, and the kiwi was weeping. Messy? I'll let you imagine it for yourself.
Can I ask you this? Have you ever had jelly with mustard? It's a . . . strange taste combination . . . borders on torture to eat it, but you'd think the capers and anchovy would cut that somewhat. Still, those, along with the sardines, make for a fishy, oily taste when combined with all that meat, watery kiwi, mayonnaise and cheese. It makes you want to ask where the ketchup is. But don't do that. I did it in jest and found the sannie covered in the red stuff. Talk about adding a new flavour to the rest; oh yeah, it did and not for the better, either. Yes, sigh.
I noticed that when the rest of them came out, they had considerably smaller-sized sannies than mine. Tonya had ham and Swiss on rye, Guido had his usual PB&J, and Mr. Adventure ate his usual peanut butter with greasy, drippy bacon. Yup.
"So O'Hare, you call this a Dagwood, do ya?" I said, trying to put off eating it.
"You're so sillwee daddy, it's a muscle sandwich." He laughed like a loon.
"Oh, I thought it was a Dagwood, okay, a muscle sandwich," I said, thinking it would certainly build muscles in your lower face to eat it.
"Come on, Gabe, take another big bite and build those muscles. Got lots of gardening you need to build up for," Tonya sneered.
O'Hare ran in for an apple juice refill, which allowed me to ask Tonya if I really, really had to eat that muscle sannie.
"It's horrible, Ton, it's a poison, sannie," I said as she started laughing. "I'll be sick for a week. Who puts sardines on baloney? Forget the rest."
"Put on a brave face, Gabe, and give it a bite," she said, thoroughly enjoying her sannie.
"I won't be able to get up. I eat this thing, OR probably walk!"
She just laughed, and the boyo came back.
Well, I bit the bullet and ate it. I made it like the best sannie ever, and now I can't stop burping. It's horrible. The worst part is that the anchovies and sardines are repeating like crazy. The good news is that I wasn't hungry for dinner, I haven't been hungry all day, and I probably won't be hungry for another week! I am seriously considering becoming a vegetarian.
YUP, I am.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
For Father's Day, I didn't want cake; being a real man, I wanted pie. Tonya and I go through this yearly on Father's Day AND my birthday. I like apple pie but I be told we get a lot of that around Thanksgiving. So, no apple pie. I like cherry pie, but that's for the 4th of July. I counter that I don't celebrate the 4th of July because I am British. Doesn't matter. How about pecan pie? No, we have that at Christmastime, so no. Banana cream then, no, that's a summertime favourite, so try something else. I was fast running out of pies. Okay, lemon meringue, no, because it makes her brother sick, but your brother isn't coming, so??? Okay then, key lime, nah, too much like lemon meringue. The result: I be pie-less!
So because I was being "difficult" (her word, not mine), we went to the Mile High Apple Pie Store down in Merrimack. I get in there, and it is a store I never want to leave. Pies from floor to ceiling, on conveyor belts, in window counters, on top of counters, PIES I TELL YA all over the place, all being freshly made. I was in pie-hole heaven. All I could say through me pie-hole was PIE. THEY'VE GOT PIE!
Okay, I peruse the pie shelves, and the girl behind the counter is like -- will this guy ever make up his mind? Well, I decided on Derby Pie. Wife says "The Kentucky Derby was over weeks ago." Yeah, but we didn't watch it, so . . . SO DERBY PIE it was.
Now, I'd never had a Derby Pie before, but I heard they have bourbon in them, so what's not to like, huh? Yup, so we bought one of those. Because I gave the sad face, Tonya caved and bought a cherry. We stopped at the grocery store and got a can of whipped cream and Breyer's vanilla bean ice cream. YUM.
The kids were at a friend's house on this rainy day, so we decided the cherry pie was for Father's Day and the Derby Pie was for now.
This pie has chocolate in it as well as bourbon and pecans. It is totally yummy. I smothered it with whipped cream and then took a bite. OH MY GOD! I felt I should have put it in a shot glass, not on a plate.
"Kids definitely don't get any of THIS," Tonya said, waving her fork around in pie bliss.
"No, it's too good to share," said I.
"No, Gabe, it's got too much bourbon in it."
"Yum, that too," I mumbled with me mouth full of the most delicious pie ever. "Ya think if we eat the whole thing, we could get drunk on pie?"
She narrowed her eyes at me and shook her head.
Later, when Tonya wasn't looking, I had another piece topped with ice cream. Just as delicious. Before bed, I tried it with nothing extra, straight up—wonderful.
This was Friday; by Saturday, the pie was gone!
Sunday, I woke up to the clank of cereal bowl and spoon next to me head, and the sound of Cheerios hitting the bowl, then the slop of milk on top of the Cheerios and the voice of O'Hare, telling me Happy Da Day!
I raised up on an elbow and noticed Tonya still in bed, one eye open, looking toward the voice. I knew she didn't put O'Hare up to this, so it was sweet he did it on his own, well, sort of on his own; he had enlisted Guido's help oi. I took the bowl from Guido, who was acting as a servant to his older brother, holding onto the bowl, which he had tipped a wee bit so milk sloshed on the floor. No sooner did I have the bowl; I saved the milk from crashing to the floor when O'Hare found it rather too heavy to lift to the nightstand. He took the cereal box and put more Cheerios in the bowl because he didn't think I had enough "fer a heartily brekfit."
The result was that I was awash in Cheerios. Tonya was laughing, but she got up and started helping clean up the excess. Guido helped, too, but he ate it as he went. I did act surprised (I was), and I told them both how thoughtful they were and how wonderful they were for thinking of me and getting up . . . at what time was it? Oh, yeah, the crack of dawn, 4 a.m. for breakfast.
Me wife was in gales of laughter as she went to the kitchen with what was left of a new box of Cheerios and milk to brew some coffee.
"Oh wait, dunt eat on it yet," O'Hare said, and he ran out, leaving me to wonder if it was poison. He came tearing back with a carton of "boo berries" that hadn't been washed or hulled, and he proceeded to dump them on top of the overflowing Cheerios. I was sure I would sleep in crunchy Cheerios for the next week.
Well, we all had an early rise, and I finished off the Cheerios. I could smell eggs and bacon along with the coffee. I made me way with an empty bowl to see the boys enjoying their eggs and bacon with toast. There I stood with an empty bowl. What was wrong with that picture, I ask you?
"Oh, do you have room for an egg and some bacon?" Tonya crooned at me.
"Well . . . " Even if I didn't, I was having some of that.
Around noon, we were all famished since the 4:00 a.m. breakfast. We were going to eat around two but moved it up. I was told to sit on the porch and that I would be served a wonderful lunch courtesy of my eldest's culinary skills. UH OH. So, with trepidation, I took meself out, had a Newcastle Brown Ale to brace meself for what might be coming and awaited the biggest meat sandwich I had ever seen in me life. It was so big that I couldn't open me gob wide enough to take a bite. This was what O'Hare called a Daggywood. Oi. This sannie consisted of grape jelly on one side of the roll, spicy horseradish mustard on the other side, and in between the meat was another slice of bread that had mayo on one side and strawberry jam on the other. The rest consisted of salami, baloney, turkey breast, roast beef, honey ham, provolone cheese, sardines, capers (which bounced out everywhere trying to escape), Swiss cheese, lettuce and tomato with a toasted anchovy on top. But the surprise ingredient was the sliced kiwi dispersed all through the sannie. I know what you're thinking; OH, YUM. NOT. The condiments were oozing over the drippy sides, especially the jam and jelly, and the kiwi was weeping. Messy? I'll let you imagine it for yourself.
Can I ask you this? Have you ever had jelly with mustard? It's a . . . strange taste combination . . . borders on torture to eat it, but you'd think the capers and anchovy would cut that somewhat. Still, those, along with the sardines, make for a fishy, oily taste when combined with all that meat, watery kiwi, mayonnaise and cheese. It makes you want to ask where the ketchup is. But don't do that. I did it in jest and found the sannie covered in the red stuff. Talk about adding a new flavour to the rest; oh yeah, it did and not for the better, either. Yes, sigh.
I noticed that when the rest of them came out, they had considerably smaller-sized sannies than mine. Tonya had ham and Swiss on rye, Guido had his usual PB&J, and Mr. Adventure ate his usual peanut butter with greasy, drippy bacon. Yup.
"So O'Hare, you call this a Dagwood, do ya?" I said, trying to put off eating it.
"You're so sillwee daddy, it's a muscle sandwich." He laughed like a loon.
"Oh, I thought it was a Dagwood, okay, a muscle sandwich," I said, thinking it would certainly build muscles in your lower face to eat it.
"Come on, Gabe, take another big bite and build those muscles. Got lots of gardening you need to build up for," Tonya sneered.
O'Hare ran in for an apple juice refill, which allowed me to ask Tonya if I really, really had to eat that muscle sannie.
"It's horrible, Ton, it's a poison, sannie," I said as she started laughing. "I'll be sick for a week. Who puts sardines on baloney? Forget the rest."
"Put on a brave face, Gabe, and give it a bite," she said, thoroughly enjoying her sannie.
"I won't be able to get up. I eat this thing, OR probably walk!"
She just laughed, and the boyo came back.
Well, I bit the bullet and ate it. I made it like the best sannie ever, and now I can't stop burping. It's horrible. The worst part is that the anchovies and sardines are repeating like crazy. The good news is that I wasn't hungry for dinner, I haven't been hungry all day, and I probably won't be hungry for another week! I am seriously considering becoming a vegetarian.
YUP, I am.
Gabe
Copyright © 2011 All rights reserved
Be happy he didn't offer you seconds, mate!
ReplyDeleteTold you!
ReplyDeleteTold me what?
ReplyDeleteTo avoid THE sannie! LOL
ReplyDeleteHuh? Funny, I don't remember you being there to warn me, but maybe I had too much bourbon pie and forgot.
ReplyDeletean bhfuil ocras ort? LMAO
ReplyDeleteSounds like you have a mini-Ramsey in the making Gabe.
ReplyDeletePixie, Cas' as tu? Dun Padraig?
Lucky ta' me' i mo chonai i nDun Geanainn. Ca' as tusa?
ReplyDeletecan someone PLEEEEEEEASE send me a translations dictionary???
ReplyDeleteMobit, This is easier than a dictionary. I'll translate for you. Guilette asked Gabe in Gaelic if he were hungry. I asked Guilette where she lived, and she told me and she asked me where I live. And the word please is spelled p l e a s e. Kidding. ;) You like my hair, huh? I like your teeth, LOL
ReplyDeleteLMAO
ReplyDeleteYEAH I LIKE the hair! swashbuckler! LOL You just need an epee and tights!
to get the picture, I just googled goofy old goat.LOL
OK which swashbuckler are you directing your comment at Muse. Is it ME, Lucky or the Capt? I can tell you -- ain't none of us wearing tights and I think I can speak for the other two on that.
ReplyDeleteLMAO You have the costume, Lucky has the hair and the Capt. might have the parrot. So you choose.
ReplyDeleteNo parrot love, but an undead monkey . . . that is possible
ReplyDeleteYou need to find a girl mate! Savvy?
ReplyDeleteNah it's gotta be a parrot! A talking parrot.
ReplyDeleteThere was a parrot on board the pearl... by that crewman who had his tongue taken out. And the undead monkey probably wouldn't follow you seeing as he was Barbosa's >.>
ReplyDeleteSuch a sweetie that O'Hare!
ReplyDeleteDid we go off story? Gabe, your chat room is back!
Ladies I did hope we were past all this on parrot and monkey business and as for the wench who I am assuming and probably quite correctly would like to aboard me ship... it would never have worked between us darling. I'm sorry... Gabe... nice hair.
ReplyDeleteWhat is going on here? Don't make me come into the room and clean it out again. Guys, this is a blog, not a chatroom. Behave!
ReplyDeleteA blog is freedom of speech last time I checked. Stories are written by you and they inspire all kinds of thoughts, opinions and experiences amongst those that follow in their own lives, ones that many identify with. Isn't that the point?
ReplyDeleteThe idea of THIS blog is that it be ME creating amusement for those who would like to be amused. It be me personal journey of stories that I write from situations that I experience and then share. It is NOT a blog where anyone can come in and change the core of my ideas into something other than what I (the blog owner) set it up for. Me blog is not a democracy where everyone has a voice. It is however, a place a reader can comment if they so like, as long as the comment pertains to the subject matter of the story being commented upon. If I do not think your comment appropriate it will not appear. My blog is not run by the United States Government, it is run by me, therefore, I have set it up for people interested only in entertainment, not freedom of speech for whatever suits their fancy. Those who want to be entertained may read away and enjoy, those who want to get their soapbox out can start their own blog.
ReplyDeleteGot it. Thanks for clearing that up Gabe.
ReplyDeleteGabe, I am to blame for one of those inappropriate comments and I see it went through as I got an answer to a question. I have since made my queries private via email. In light of my own use of your blog as more of a chat-room, I apologise. As to using it as a forum for opinions other than those presented by your fine self, I agree there is no place for such unless kept to the manner in which the story lends itself. That said, I enjoy your dictatorship immensely, LOL.
ReplyDeleteMy only concern is that the blog should not be belittled. This forum has very high standards of quality (according to some members), which must be held high. Except in the lounge...
ReplyDelete