Gene was referred to me because he wanted to learn to cook vegetables.
I wish I could say that my first conversation with Gene was a smooth one. After I introduced myself he yelled at me “Are you calling me from one of those cell phones? Well hang up and call me from a REAL phone!” Okay, I will call you back from a land line. “Listen, I don’t even know who you are so suit yourself – you may call me back if you want to, it’s up to you.” I later learned that “Are you calling me from cell phone?” was to be a standard opening line for all of our phone calls.
I called him back and we spent well over 45 minutes talking. I learned that he is an 83 years old Italian American. The conversation meandered away from cooking and eating many times. Gene is disturbed by the budget crisis. Indeed, he felt that government officials “local, state and federal mind you” are responsible for this mess should be lined up and shot. “Everyone of them lined up and shot!” he repeated the comment for emphasis.
He went out to eat a lot. In fact he had been enjoying a wonderful garlic soup from a new tapas place that had opened around the corner. He offered to take me there but then quickly asked if I was married. When I said yes, he retracted stating he didn’t want to get in the middle of anything, that he was old fashioned that way.
Gene is also disturbed by “your generation.” Explaining to me that we have been headed down the wrong path for some 50 years and that he prayed and meditated for us (which was refreshing after the shoot em up comment). Then in a very sad sincere voice he said he hated living in this time period. I thought of how awkward it must feel to be left behind and be so unfamiliar with our technological world.
He used a calendar to mark the days and after checking confirmed that I could see him the following week.
I rang the doorbell and the door opened to reveal a tall thin man without a shirt framed by a protective screen door. He stated he was humiliated but he had the shingles and could not wear a shirt without being in pain. He said I could come back and he would understand. I assured him it was okay as I worked in a hospital which he seemed relieved about.
The apartment was dark, the carpets hadn’t been cleaned in a long time. The chairs were well worn. A rather large television from the 1960’s sat in the corner. He never watched it preferring to read and offered it to me, it had been his mothers. No, no, I didn’t want it, but thank you. Gene is an avid reader. In fact, he was reading a book about eating for your blood type and he assured me that this was the “way of the future.” He was disappointed that I did not know my blood type. He had meticulously copied a list of the things that he could not eat according to the book. He asked me to take it home for reference and we would try this for 1-2 months. Then if it didn’t work, “the heck with it.” I liked that attitude. Gene mentioned several times that his mother was a great cook, people always asking for her recipes which she obliged them with. He knew that eating out was not the best thing for him and he wanted to focus on vegetables. I asked him to show me his kitchen and cookware. Gene has exactly 2 frying pans and one brand new cuisinart steamer, a gift, that has never been used. He has a stove with masking tape marking the numbers which are too small for him to see otherwise. “If you use the oven, you will be the first one.”
So, Gene is hard of hearing, doesn’t see well (but still drives short distances), has had shingles for 17 months, has no family. His 4 siblings died in the flu of 1918, part of a “tragic life story” which he would tell me more about later.
Gene had cleaned several bunches of spinach which sat with water droplets clinging to the leaves in a colander on the counter. ”Before you leave can you show me what to do with this?” I rolled up my sleeves and we began with lesson one: how to cook spinach. His mind wandered a few times and I had to remind him to “focus, Gene, focus.” When I left he handed me a cash payment. No, no, this was a get acquainted session-no charge. He then insisted that I take a carton of Mendicino Blue blueberries home. After a few attempts I could see that refusing was not acceptable so we agreed on the blueberries. Best blueberries I’ve ever had.
Admit it, you steal recipes from magazines you find in waiting rooms. I know I’m not the only one because I’ve seen the half torn pages in the food section while I’m passing time in the doctor’s office, the dentist’s office, waiting for my car to be serviced… I feel a little guilty when I do it but something comes over me and I just HAVE to have this recipe AND the picture that goes with it. I try to be subtle, to make sure no one is looking directly at me, to crease the page well before tearing it and then quickly shoving it into my pocket. What I really find annoying is that after I’ve been waiting in the lobby for 30 minutes and finally decided that YES I DO want, no need, that recipe and just as I am about to make my move the nurse calls out my name. Rats! Or when the recipe begins on page 51 and is continued on page 123 so I have to tear out multiple pages. This can only be done by experienced recipe bandits.
