I’m not much of a meat-eater,
but Sunday here in the land of Gutenberg requires dire measures.
What, you don’t make a roast?
How does your poor husband handle that?
What do you feed the guests who are invited.
Hint hint.
Actually, with regard to my handicap-
being unable to make anything but hefalump gravy-
that stuff that never has enough taste,
has massive amounts of white lumps,
even if I do mix the flour in cold water before, as I was taught,
and often ends up as a pancake side-dish,
a bit like odd eggless yorkshire pudding that just didn’t rise-
which my husband and I like very much,
but isn’t really high on the list of things you set before guests.
Especially as Germans are probably number one in the world in nit-picking.
“If that sweater were just a little bluer it would show off your eyes better-”
and that from the man who comes to read the water meter-
So as for the Sunday hefalump thing?
(and forget packages-
they usually taste worse than my hefalump stuff)
Hey, we’ve got it nailed.
We go for a walk after church, you see, and then…
out someplace like this wonderful little cafe we know-
in the middle of a park that was a park in Roman centurion times.
And actually,
probably was a mistletoe and daisy place when the Celts lived here,
And feeding place for the dinosaurs,
now in the local museum.
So not only is this place one wonderfully well-kept park,
with a very small zoo-
flamingos, bought and set there, for some odd reason,
by the arch-bishop,
and recently in the news since we are in financial free-fall,
and the number of shrimps and shrimp shells needed to keep them pink…
you get the picture.
SO here we are-
Sunday in the park with gorge.
A gorge with waterfall, a gorgeous view,
a gorgeous roast with gorgeous non-hefalump gravy,
and these pink, uhm, whatever you call them-
a pride of ravens,
a ring of pheasants,
a stand of flamingos?
Or are they flamencos,
if they just flew up from Spain
and just managed to get out in time
before they were used to play croquet,
Alice style,
or to make the feathers,
for the world-famous mullet haircut?
Or were they actually just smuggling shrimps,
to be used in the paella
served in office cantines all over Germany-
“cook rice-
while it is cooking, tie strings on three large shrimps,
smuggled by large migrating birds,
on their way to summer
in the cooler climes of Gutenberg city.
Hold the stings, circling the shrimp all the while,
over´the cooking rice.
At the end of fifteen minutes,
toss in a packet of curry mix,
two tablespoons of frozen peas,
three large pork bones for flavor,
and, at the end of the fifteen minutes,
dip the circling shrimp thrice.
While facing in the direction of Catalonia.
Or Madrid,
depending on the recipe.
Now gather one hundred office workers who have had a hard morning,
pour each a water tumbler of red wine,
After twenty minutes,
call the charity group that takes usable scraps,
give them the pots of paella,
after garnishing with the three shrimps,
and return to work.
Bon appetit.
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Quahog on a Tightrope 