"Is there anything I can bring you from home, dear?"
Dad leaned in close to his wife. She'd been to hell and back and was slowly getting to the good side of a bad situation.
Over the course of several months she had been burned, grafted and pained in ways we kids could only imagine. Dad was attentive, eager to find any small thing that could distract her, bring her pleasure, take her mind away even if for only a short while.
"Could you ask Joe to make me some egg nog?"
************
Egg nog is not just a seasonal drink. Not for me.
Sure, I have had my share of egg nog in winter, and developed quite a fondness for its thick, sweet, nutmeg flavour. The kind in the store was best because it had-by far- the most sugar. I once very narrowly escaped detection at a friend's house while standing in front of their refrigerator secretively gulping down egg nog straight from the box. "Say Mr. C, what a great idea to keep a jug of cold water in your fridge. At my place we pretty much just drink from the tap."
(Egg nog: an aside for my nephew C., an expert on all things animated.....)
"Futurama” Xmas Story (1999)
Fry: Every Christmas my Mom would get a fresh goose, for gooseburgers, and my Dad would whip up his special eggnog out of bourbon and ice cubes.
***
While helping Dad refurbish the house in Port Alberni during the holidays my Uncle A. showed up in the middle of drywalling the living room and convinced Dad to knock it off for the night and come for a drink of "holiday cheer." I was the ride - along and sat nursing a single orange pop while they drank rum and egg nog at the Greenwood Hotel, talking endlessly about the things adults talk about while kids wait to go home.
On the way home Dad asked Uncle to slow down for a minute; Dad opened the car door and vomited out the side as the car was moving. It reminded me of the line painters you see doing the highways in the summer. The smell of rum and egg nog was strong.
"Barney, you know what?" asked Uncle.
"What's that?" came the thin reply.
"In some states you get pinched for spitting, but pretty much anywhere it's still legal to puke on the street."
"Mmmmm," said Dad. I don't think he was listening.
The first egg nog milk shake I ever had was at the Woolworth's store. It tasted amazing. I wanted to re-create the flavour and went to one of the family's three major sources of information (not counting Grandma): "Book of Knowledge", the monstrous dictionary that contained every word ever spoken, and a fat cookbook that had pages curling over each other so much the book seemed round like a football. It had a recipe for egg nog. Discovery!
Aside - Dad once used the word "Bohunk" in conversation and it caused Gradma much consternation. Dad assured her it was a perfectly good word; Grandma assured him it most certainly was not. Dad went to the source - the massive dictionary...running his finger over the page..."Here it is, 'Bohunk, a resident of Central or Eastern Europe'." He closed the dictionary and put it back on the shelf, then left the room. It wasn't long before Grandma was up and looking through the book herself. "Made you look," said Dad. "Eccch" said Grandma.
"Mom, can I make egg nog after church today?" I asked, pretty sure I was up to the task. After all, that recipe book was very clear in its instructions. She checked with Dad, he gave the green light, and my career as a dessert chef was about to begin at the age of eleven.
I couldn't wait for church to be over.
I rushed into the kitchen - "No, I don't need any help," I told the peering eyes as I set about to work. Bowls, mixers, ingredients all laid out in front of me, I carefully followed the recipe to the smallest detail, meticulously measuring with an exactitude known only to chemists and surgeons.
Eggs separated, just the right amount of vanilla extract, Nutmeg, less cinnamon, busy busy as the nog was coming together - the last ingredient "Rum extract or rum to taste."
We had vanilla extract but we were pretty much out of rum extract. "Rum to taste" seemed pretty straight forward - add rum and keep adding rum until you could taste it. We had rum, so that's what I did.
"This tastes funny", said one of my sibs. How could it? I had followed the recipe to the letter.
"Let me have a taste," said Mom. "Barney, taste this."
"Joe, Did you put rum in this?"
"Yes, it says 'rum to taste' in the cook book."
"Kids, poor that back into the jug. Joe, how's about you whip us up another batch without the rum?" He turned to Mom, smiling, "That's pretty darn tasty," he smiled.
She smiled back.
********
"Joe your mother wants to know if you could make her a glass of egg nog that I could bring back to the hospital."
He smiled.
I smiled back.
"Is there anything I can bring you from home, dear?"
Dad leaned in close to his wife. She'd been to hell and back and was slowly getting to the good side of a bad situation.
Over the course of several months she had been burned, grafted and pained in ways we kids could only imagine. Dad was attentive, eager to find any small thing that could distract her, bring her pleasure, take her mind away even if for only a short while.
"Could you ask Joe to make me some egg nog?"
************
Egg nog is not just a seasonal drink. Not for me.
Sure, I have had my share of egg nog in winter, and developed quite a fondness for its thick, sweet, nutmeg flavour. The kind in the store was best because it had-by far- the most sugar. I once very narrowly escaped detection at a friend's house while standing in front of their refrigerator secretively gulping down egg nog straight from the box. "Say Mr. C, what a great idea to keep a jug of cold water in your fridge. At my place we pretty much just drink from the tap."
(Egg nog: an aside for my nephew C., an expert on all things animated.....)
"Futurama” Xmas Story (1999)
Fry: Every Christmas my Mom would get a fresh goose, for gooseburgers, and my Dad would whip up his special eggnog out of bourbon and ice cubes.
***
While helping Dad refurbish the house in Port Alberni during the holidays my Uncle A. showed up in the middle of drywalling the living room and convinced Dad to knock it off for the night and come for a drink of "holiday cheer." I was the ride - along and sat nursing a single orange pop while they drank rum and egg nog at the Greenwood Hotel, talking endlessly about the things adults talk about while kids wait to go home.
On the way home Dad asked Uncle to slow down for a minute; Dad opened the car door and vomited out the side as the car was moving. It reminded me of the line painters you see doing the highways in the summer. The smell of rum and egg nog was strong.
"Barney, you know what?" asked Uncle.
"What's that?" came the thin reply.
"In some states you get pinched for spitting, but pretty much anywhere it's still legal to puke on the street."
"Mmmmm," said Dad. I don't think he was listening.
The first egg nog milk shake I ever had was at the Woolworth's store. It tasted amazing. I wanted to re-create the flavour and went to one of the family's three major sources of information (not counting Grandma): "Book of Knowledge", the monstrous dictionary that contained every word ever spoken, and a fat cookbook that had pages curling over each other so much the book seemed round like a football. It had a recipe for egg nog. Discovery!
Aside - Dad once used the word "Bohunk" in conversation and it caused Gradma much consternation. Dad assured her it was a perfectly good word; Grandma assured him it most certainly was not. Dad went to the source - the massive dictionary...running his finger over the page..."Here it is, 'Bohunk, a resident of Central or Eastern Europe'." He closed the dictionary and put it back on the shelf, then left the room. It wasn't long before Grandma was up and looking through the book herself. "Made you look," said Dad. "Eccch" said Grandma.
"Mom, can I make egg nog after church today?" I asked, pretty sure I was up to the task. After all, that recipe book was very clear in its instructions. She checked with Dad, he gave the green light, and my career as a dessert chef was about to begin at the age of eleven.
I couldn't wait for church to be over.
I rushed into the kitchen - "No, I don't need any help," I told the peering eyes as I set about to work. Bowls, mixers, ingredients all laid out in front of me, I carefully followed the recipe to the smallest detail, meticulously measuring with an exactitude known only to chemists and surgeons.
Eggs separated, just the right amount of vanilla extract, Nutmeg, less cinnamon, busy busy as the nog was coming together - the last ingredient "Rum extract or rum to taste."
We had vanilla extract but we were pretty much out of rum extract. "Rum to taste" seemed pretty straight forward - add rum and keep adding rum until you could taste it. We had rum, so that's what I did.
"This tastes funny", said one of my sibs. How could it? I had followed the recipe to the letter.
"Let me have a taste," said Mom. "Barney, taste this."
"Joe, Did you put rum in this?"
"Yes, it says 'rum to taste' in the cook book."
"Kids, poor that back into the jug. Joe, how's about you whip us up another batch without the rum?" He turned to Mom, smiling, "That's pretty darn tasty," he smiled.
She smiled back.
********
"Joe your mother wants to know if you could make her a glass of egg nog that I could bring back to the hospital."
He smiled.
I smiled back.
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