JANUARY 25, 2023 – I’m a full week into eating on my own while Beth is eating in style—judging by the establishments listed on our Visa account (e.g. Bubbles by the Beach; Johnny Mananas). Awhile back, after decades of preparing daily dinner and leaving the dishes to me, Beth hinted unmistakably that I should learn how to operate a cutting board, a frying pan and a few other . . . pieces of kitchen equipment. In typical guy fashion, I couldn’t devise a better excuse than, “But you’re so much better at it than I would be.” At least I knew better than to use her excuse for not shoveling: “But you enjoy doing it.” That would’ve guaranteed a month of frozen chicken pot pie suppers—served frozen, in-the-box on a paper plate—for me, while she ordered out from La Faisan Exotique to grace her own palate.
Little by little, I put my toe in the water, or rather soup broth, since it’s hard to screw-up soup broth unless you let it boil away, which I nearly did . . . once. And no, Beth, I didn’t actually put my toe in the broth—or even put in an unclean spoon. Then for Christmas, our son Byron, who, in his mother’s tradition, has become a superb chef and griller, gave me an air fryer. He told me he used one frequently and mentioned repeatedly how easy it was to use . . . and to clean. I might be slow in some arenas, but I was quick to interpret the message: “Dad, you’ve got to make a greater effort at helping Mom on the meal front. The air fryer should help you get started.”
Away I went, preparing shrimp, chicken, salmon, veggies and my favorite—yam fries. As Byron represented, the air fryer is both “easy to use . . . and to clean.” The best part is that Beth liked the fries and the shrimp. (The veggies got singed; the chicken was a tad overcooked.) With newfound confidence I’m ready for my new role as Kaptain Kitchen.
But first, enter “tater-tot hotdish*.” By way of background . . .
. . . “Don and Sally” have long been prominent gems in our treasure chest of friends. Sally was a law school classmate of mine, and without comparing notes or references, we wound up working at the same old St. Paul law firm, Briggs & Morgan. Sally spent her entire legal career there. I, being a vocational vagabond, went hither and yon but always retained close ties with the firm. Fifteen years ago, “Liza,” a mutual friend and law school classmate, recruited Sally and me to join her, Liza, to play a wedding gig. I’d forgotten that Sally was an accomplished pianist and aficionada of great music, all genres, particularly classical.
After a rehearsal for the gig, Sally asked if I’d ever played the Beethoven Romance No. 1 in G. I said I had, whereupon, Sally said it was one of her favorites and would love to play it some time. I took her up on the idea, and from that reading I hatched the idea of doing a recital together. Out of that “experiment” developed a decade of “winter house concerts” dubbed, The Fiddler Under the Roof, featuring serious music presented in light-hearted, humorous, thematic and accessible ways in front of as many as 120 “friendly fans” packed into the great rooms of great houses. To ensure they stayed friendly despite unintentional (and unavoidable) deficiencies in my playing, we arranged for liberal accompaniments of wine and hors d’oeuvres. The quirky presentations provided a measure of warmth and levity in the depths of bitter winters.
The pandemic broke our streak. Then came my health expedition, and now Don’s own version of same. Throughout these times, however, Don and Sally have fed me lots of encouragement. Yesterday, Sally took it a step further. Knowing that Beth was out of town and that I was on my own in “the bubble,” she prepared a batch of her signature “tater-tot hotdish” and dropped off enough to cover supper two nights in a row. She laughed about this classic Minnesota school lunch menu derivative. I laughed too, but in the course of devouring the hotdish, I achieved nirvana.
At the keyboard of her beautifully restored, heirloom Steinway, Sally puts out some great music. Amidst the books she reads, the fascinating company she keeps, all her charitable works and above all, the wonderful family she and Don have given the world, Sally is one mean tater-tot hotdish disher-outer. The lawyer part—at which she was highly regarded in the course of her illustrious career—is only one page in her thick book of ongoing accomplishments.
From that book I’ll have to get her tater-tot hotdish recipe.
*Proper pronunciation is, HOTdeesh; “Minnesotan” for “casserole.”
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© 2023 by Eric Nilsson
