Crazy Cook at Christmas

It was time for the dreaded, annual Christmas Eve dinner in town. As always, no one was looking forward to it. This year, the townsfolk decide to do something about it. Unexpectedly, they succeed.

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A Spontaneous Story

A small English town was getting ready for Christmas. Folks were busy shuffling about in the light snow – shopping for presents, buying groceries, decorating their homes for the festival, getting into the mood of the season. It was then that a beat up, purple car arrived in town. Bags and boxes were stacked on top of it and a round man was driving with a skinny lady beside him. They drove straight to the only motel in town that provided cooking facilities.

Eventually, the round man came out, opened the trunk of his vehicle and lifted a massive box with the leafy ends of vegetables protruding from the top. A group of kids building snowmen at a nearby park let out a groan as they recognised him. He waved at the kids and shouted,

“Merry Christmas! See you at the dinner tomorrow at Town Hall!”

The kids looked at each other in horror, “Oh no! He’s back. He’s gonna cook again tomorrow for the Christmas-eve dinner!”

A rosy-cheeked kid, maybe 7, said “Remember what he cooked last year? He put squid in his Christmas cookies and didn’t tell us about it! I threw up my cookie.”

A kid called Bunty piped up and said, “That’s not so bad. When I was younger- he looked no older than 10- that man made a chocolate cake. You know, of all the things in the world, I loved chocolate cakes the most. Many times I have grabbed a piece without asking my parents’ permission. But not since that Christmas Eve at Town Hall. I charged towards the cake he had made, and tripped and fell headlong into the cake in front of the whole town. But that wasn’t the worst part of it. While my face was buried in chocolate, I decided to taste it. Chillies! The cake was laced with chillies. Imagine that – red hot chillies! I cried for two weeks after, because the chilli singed my eyebrows and cheeks and lips! I was teased for weeks for having rosy cheeks and burnt eyebrows.” He looked like he was about to cry again.

Next, a six year old girl told her story,

“I used to love mushroom soup, until that guy served mushroom soup with octopus arms ! I have never eaten mushroom soup since, because I am afraid octopus arms might pop out of it. I don’t like his cooking at all.”

The village priest had seen the purple car arrive and his spirits took the sudden, yet familiar dive that it always took around Christmas eve. The children were not the only ones who dreaded the Christmas dinner every 24th of December in Town Hall just before midnight mass. Adults dreaded it too and this year, a group of parents had gone to see the priest a few days earlier on the very subject.

“Father, please don’t allow that man to cook again tonight. He has created enough unforgettable and frankly, cringe-worthy dishes for our little community. Spare us this year. Let us look forward to midnight mass with satisfied stomachs and grateful hearts. We can do without drama. Remember last year’s symphony of mass throwing up? It’s horrible to have missing members of the flock who’d run home to use their toilets. Spare us the agony!”

The priest, seeing that this was the strongest resistance mounted as yet to the annual dinner that was supposed to be the highlight of the Christmas eve programme, trotted out his usual arguments,

“But Alphonse is the most famous son of our town and each year, he voluntarily cooks for us as a way of thanking the Lord for the blessings in his life and his debt to his hometown.”

“We appreciate that but that is no excuse to food-poison your local community in the process. Please ask him not to cook for us. We will pay for outside caterers. We can even organise short notice who can come in and prepare a Christmas spread for us. We can try something exotic this year. Or stick with some traditional dishes. But no drama, please! “

The priest, who’d spent his life wrestling with his conscience to satisfy his flock’s needs, had reached the limit of his patience. He said, “It will break his heart to be turned away by his own people. It is not the right thing to do on the Lord’s birthday. Tell him yourself if you must. I will not be a party to this.”

Father, please don’t allow that man to cook again tonight. He has created enough unforgettable and frankly, cringe-worthy dishes for our little community. Spare us this year. Let us look forward to midnight mass with satisfied stomachs and grateful hearts. We can do without drama.

The oldest couple in town was picked to do the deed. Not because they were the sort to carry out unpleasant tasks that had to be done but because they had known Alphonse since he was a baby. His late parents and grandparents had been their friends. The couple went over to the motel with their 6 year old granddaughter, one of the kids who had been playing in the park.

As soon as the door was opened, the smells and sounds of onions and spices dancing in burning oil filled the nostrils of the trio of grandpa, grandma and grandkid. Alphonse was in the kitchen, out of sight, while his wife, the skinny lady, had opened the door. She did not recognise the elderly visitors, but she was welcoming,

“How nice of you to come visit! Alphonse just loves coming back each year and serve his special dishes to stretch the culinary boundaries of his hometown. How quickly another year has gone by. Come in, come in. Alphonse! We have visitors!”

She gave a melodic call before continuing,

“He was just telling me on the way over today from the city how much he looks forward to Christmas eve every year. The looks on the faces of people after trying the new dishes and of course the midnight mass and ushering in Christmas. Priceless. You won’t believe it but he lives the whole year for the day!’ The couple looked at each other awkwardly, then smiled accommodatingly at the skinny lady. The sounds of ladle clashing with the wok were loud and continuous in the background. A bit of chit chat followed in the living area, about the lady’s own hometown in the east and how she’d met Alphonse at a wedding and why it’s hard to find certain spices in winter in rural areas. The elderly couple smiled and nodded and looked generally uncomfortable. The little girl, who knew exactly why they were in that motel room, tapped her foot impatiently. Her grandparents did not look like they were ever getting to the point.

“Alphonse, look who’s come! I tell you, he spends months during the year thinking up wonderful concoctions to surprise everyone here. So many sleepless nights, I can tell you about that too!’ The elderly couple looked from their host to the cooking area and back to their host again. The skinny lady continued after a sharp intake of breath, “He has been experimenting…” but was cut off by a little, sharp voice,

‘The town has decided we don’t want Mr. Alphonse to cook dinner for us on Christmas eve this year!”

It was the little girl who spoke up. She didn’t stop, “We cant stand the food that he comes up with! Do you know how many people have vomited because of his special dishes on Christmas eve? Tasty and weird do not go together. Squid chocolate cookies, mushroom soup with arms of octopus, cupcakes with salted pigeon eggs, spaghetti with shark’s eyeballs and seaweed – that’s all weird and gross !! We are not having that anymore and the town has decided that we are getting outside caterers this time. The priest didn’t want to tell you himself, so the townspeople elected my grandparents to let you know. There!”

And she finally caught her breath, having done the deed on behalf of the town, which is quite an accomplishment for any six year old.

The noise from the kitchen area had stopped while the little girl was speaking. When she was done, everyone – grandparents, grandkid and Alphonse’s wife – turned towards the kitchen. The portly cook was standing silently in the doorway, ladle in hand, and with the colour drained from his face.

“They don’t want me to cook for them anymore?” It was more a dejected statement than a proper question. Before the elderly couple could say something to console him or his wife put up a brave front to defend him, the ladle left his hand and fell to the floor. The next instant, Alphonse himself fell like a mountain sinking into the sea, clutching his heart and lay still. He would never pick up a ladle again.

The priest was thunderstruck by how his refusal to convey the town’s wishes to the cook had turned out. On the other hand, the townsfolk were, to put it crudely, relieved and in certain quarters, positively elated. The funeral took place the next day, after a catered Chinese dinner and before midnight mass. It was a rare commingling of joy, solemness and proper decorum as befitting an unexpected funeral in the midst of welcoming Christmas and all the hope and possibilities that represented. The priest’s eulogy was about appreciating the good in our fellow humans even if they possessed traits that were unlikeable. The townsfolk didn’t pay much attention to that part of the priest’s message. For the first time in a long time, they truly enjoyed the dinner prior to the midnight mass.

photo from unsplash.com by Brooke Lark

 

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