No Place Like Home

Back in Toronto again and it sure is nice to be home. There is nothing quite like the feeling when you break through the clouds and see the city lights. The rapid rate of descent has something to do with the flutter in your stomach as does the in-flight trail mix of dubious freshness and composition but there is no question that just being here evokes all kinds of emotions and memories.

A leisurely drive across 19th Avenue, succulent Chalet sauce, a firm handshake from Mr. Keats and dinners served at 3:00, 6:00 and 10:00 at the Otkiditschevs. It all brings back memories of times past, times when we were all blessed to be in each others company.

Since a great deal of our lives is spent eating, preparing or dreaming of food its no great surprise that one memory set in Ontario that sprang randomly to mind was the day I learned that I had the capacity to consume even the most unthinkable food.

Some would probably have described me as a picky eater. I contend that my palate was so sophisticated it required only the most basic food groups to be assuaged. Meat, Potatoes and Tabasco sauce, all else is needless accessory. Starvation was thought to be a viable alternative to digesting abominable dishes like Chicken Noodle Casserole (sorry Darla) or Mushroom Soup. My personal modus operendi was simple. I ate what I liked and avoided the rest, hunger was better than putting myself to the hazard. One evening of my youth I was sorely tested.

We, the older kids, had enjoyed a typical evening out with friends. After catching a movie and just hanging around their house a bit we determined to set out for home. Just as we were about to leave when the mother of the household implored us to stay for just a bit more as they had just finished preparing food for us. It was unorthodox given the advanced hour but we were well drilled in the art of politely complying when a guest in anothers home.

Once in the kitchen we discovered it was no mere bit of food but a full blown thanksgiving dinner. I remember the meal as if it were before me now. There was lovely turkey, fine white dinner rolls, baked potatoes that had been painstakingly hollowed out, mashed, then reinserted in the crispy outer layer topped with cheese. It was a superb feast and most gracious of our hosts to provide it but a chill ran up my spine as I saw on my pre-served plate lay an ominous mound of stuffing. Stuffing even at its best seems like stomach space poorly used, but that's when it contains basically just bread, onions and spices and is served hot and dry. This stuffing was cold, wet and clammy and even contained raisins. Those loathsome little insects have no place in a main course dish.

Thank goodness I was sitting down for my underpinnings surely would have given way when I realized that I had no alternative but to eat the maligned comestibles. Better to suffer than to offend our hosts. We said grace as I mumbled "even so, come quickly Lord Jesus" under my breath. To my dismay the Lord saw fit to tarry and my fate was firmly sealed. The actual act of eating the stuffing is a bit of a blur. I decided a head on assault would be best and I chowed down the whole pile ignoring the ravaging my tongue was taking.

When I finished there was a new found freedom, I realized that I had just eaten an unthinkable mass of food that was detestable to me and my hosts had no idea I was in any discomfort at all. I understood that showing others respect in that way was actually more important than my own personal tastes and also realized, despite my misgivings, that it was possible to bypass the gag reflex.

This lesson learned allowed me to perpetrate the Great Cheesecake Deception, where I was served and ate cheesecake on a continual basis at the Otkiditschevs for well over 8 months before they realized I couldn't stand the stuff. I also endured fish soup on the Volga and sugarless whip cream atop a heinous slice of pumpkin pie on a day when Liana's fragile confidence as a cook may not have survived the truth.

Good times and great memories. Toronto saw them all and never fails to bring them back whenever we visit.

We miss you all and hope to talk to each and every one of you when we get back to Regina.