Johanna eyed the Big Boy. How thick was its skin? Would Old Man Whiskers leave a mark? She picked up the tomato and carefully set it on the windowsill above the sink. The morning sunlight filtered through the eyelet curtains at the open window gave the weapon dancing polka dots.
She took a saucepan off the shelf by the back door. The heft was appropriate but was spaghetti the correct medium? Perhaps a salad or just red slices, arranged on a platter with cool cucumbers that wouldn’t ease the burn in his guts.
Slices, Johanna decided, and returned the saucepan to the shelf. After all, it was summer, and she was a country girl, and Gil would think she was sweating over a hot stove all afternoon to prepare the perfect meal to impress the boyfriend.
Well, she’d surprise him, like he had asked, and like he had surprised her on Tuesday by bringing that huzzie Betty Jameson into the diner during the lunch crowd and then having the audacity to sit at her table and order his usual, a deluxe hamburger. Sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, corn on the cob, lemon herb chicken in the slo-cooker, potato salad and corn fritters, and a nice batch of fresh-squeezed lemonade to wash it all down. Frying the cornbread would be the hottest part since she had to stand over the skillet to prevent scorching. Boiling the corn wouldn’t take long, and she had prepared a large bowl of potato salad for herself last night and there was plenty left over.
Johanna glanced at the clock. Nearly ten o’clock. She could put the chicken in the slo-cooker now, and it would be tender enough for pâté by five. She pulled the chicken out of the refrigerator and the spices from the cupboard, and put the chicken and spices, and a little water, into the slo-cooker, then turned it on. Noticing the chicken was plenty plump, Johanna thought she could substitute drop dumplings for the corn fritters and not have to stand over the stove. That decision could wait until supper time and she could see which sounded more appetizing to her at that time.
It was now just half-past ten, and Johanna checked the setting on the slo-cooker then went for a walk. She ambled down Meadow Street to its intersection with River Road, and walked the half mile to Freeman’s landing on the Blue Hole. She spent a half hour creating fleeting spots of sparkles on the placid water by skipping rocks across the pool, and watched a couple of herons capture their lunch.
On the way home, Johanna took a right turn onto Elmville Road, which looped behind old man Smith’s orchards and bamboo stand, and ended at Meadow Street about a quarter mile east of her house — all in all a good three miles’ trek, a good stint of exercise for the day she thought, especially with a meal yet to prepare.
Johanna smiled when she reached for the back door handle and saw the note from Mattie Jones. The finishing touch to her country girl supper, fresh cooked white half runners from Mattie’s productive garden, were in her refrigerator. She would have to do something extra nice for Mattie, Johanna thought, especially since Mattie was just being neighborly to the single girl next door, unaware of the “special” supper that single girl had in mind.
Johanna smelled the aroma of herbed chicken and checked the slo-cooker to see how things were progressing. The chicken was getting tender quickly, and the broth looked rich. She turned from the stove and went to the refrigerator, peering into the bowl of green beans which had providently appeared in her refrigerator before getting herself a helping of potato salad, and slicing up a Golden Jubilee to accompany it. She skipped the cucumber, since she’d have to offset her lack of interest in firm vine ripe red tomatoes at supper time with the excuse that she’d been craving cucumbers all afternoon.
By now it was nearly two o’clock, and Johanna considered dessert. Heating up the kitchen for her specialty — devil’s food cake — was a little too much work in this heat, but Gil would expect some type of country dessert to top off her culinary offering. Strawberries and ice cream. There were some strawberries from the spring bounty in the freezer, and vanilla ice cream was always a winner. The strawberries were still in residence in the freezer over the refrigerator, but the ice cream was absent. Johanna put the quart package of strawberries in a glass bowl and set it in the sink. Was ice cream necessary? Yes, it would go nicely with the strawberries, and be a nice finish to a hot meal in this weather.
Johanna fired up her Grand Am and drove the five miles to the grocery store and bought a bag of lemons and a half-gallon of Breyer’s French Vanilla, even though she much preferred the Natural Vanilla. The French Vanilla was necessary to keep up the country girl meal since it was creamier. Her ice cream and lemons in the passenger seat, Johanna returned home a half hour later.
Back at home, with nearly two and a half hours to supper time, and only about forty-five minutes’ work in the final preparation, Johanna thought about chocolate. Would it be too much? No. Something chocolate on the side would be the finishing touch. She pulled the ingredients for oatmeal candy from the cabinets, and prepared a batch, complete with a hearty addition of peanut butter — creamy so the chocolate would be smooth.
Leaving the candy to cool on the counter, Johanna squeezed some lemons for the lemonade and sliced a few for garnish. As she sliced lemons, Johanna wondered if the tomatoes and lemonade would be too much acidic foods in one meal, then decided the combination would be fine, provided she made the lemonade sweeter than she normally drank it, and accompanied the oatmeal candy with a cold glass of milk.
Finished with the lemonade, she put it in the refrigerator, filled the ice trays and returned them to the freezer, and checked on the progress of the chicken. Everything was going fine, all under control, and the chicken smelled wonderful.
Johanna turned her attention to the Big Boys lined on the windowsill. It was time to prepare the “main” course. She took a deep breath. And nearly panicked. What if Gil didn’t like tomatoes? Or would eat only one variety? Wait! Wait! Wait! He did eat tomatoes; every time he had a hamburger at the diner, he got it deluxe, and ate everything.
Johanna exhaled loudly. Patience and calmness were what were needed now.
The serrated knife neatly sliced the tomatoes, and after each slice was on the crystal plate, and before another slice was added, Johanna inserted several pieces of the fine beard hairs from old man Smith’s bamboo into each slice. Satisfied that Old Man Whiskers was invisible, Johanna covered the plate of tomatoes with plastic wrap and set it in the refrigerator.
Dumplings would be the bread for tonight; the heat from the stove while Johanna was cooking the chocolate for the oatmeal candy had convinced her of that. She put a pot of water for the corn on the stove, turned the heat to medium-low and went to take a quick shower.
Fifteen minutes later, dressed in red jeans and a white handkerchief linen sleeveless blouse, Johanna returned to the kitchen, barefoot. She turned the heat under the water up to high, and put on a white apron with cherries embroidered on the hem, sash and neck loop. She removed the chicken from the broth in the slo-cooker, placing the pieces on a white stoneware plate, then used a strainer to dip out the small pieces of skin and meat which remained in the broth. She set the plate of chicken in the oven and turned the oven to 150 degrees, to keep the chicken warm.
The water for the corn was boiling, so Johanna took the corn out of the refrigerator and dropped the six ripe to perfection ears of Sunglo into the water. She turned the heat down to medium, and reached into the cabinet next to the stove for the canister of Martha White self-rising flour.
She mixed flour and milk to the consistency she wanted, then added a little water to the slo-cooker and turned it to high. She took the green beans from the refrigerator and put them on the stove to warm, on medium heat. She checked on the corn, and looked at the chicken in the oven to make sure it wasn’t drying out, and thought about the table setting. All the printed napkins in the house were holiday except for the ones with butterflies, but they wouldn’t be quite suitable for this evening’s entertainment. The white ones with the woven-in grape pattern would be fine, especially since her plates had a fine line of blue around the rim.
When the broth in the slo-cooker was simmering, she dropped in the dumplings, one at a time, by the spoonful, and when all the batter was in the broth, placed the lid on the slo-cooker and turned the heat to medium.
Johanna inspected the plates for cleanliness. As if that was going to matter tonight. She’d seen Gil eat enough times. Although he wasn’t totally barbaric, niceties like clean dishes and linen napkins weren’t on his list of priorities. She set the table, smoothing the tablecloth even though it was crisply starched, and sat down for the few minutes’ wait before Gil’s arrival.
Gil arrived right on time and seemed surprised that she was barefoot. “Why, honey,” Johanna purred, “I can’t have my feet being hot and distracting me from my cooking, now can I?” It was always easier to trust a barefoot girl than one in fuck-me heels and black stockings. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable, and I’ll have the food on the table in a jiffy.”
Gil ate heartily, complimenting her frequently on the wonderful meal. “Johanna, how did you ever raise these wonderful tomatoes? I could eat a dozen!” he exclaimed, halfway through the four she had sliced.
“Just some old time seeds my grandmother had,” she replied. “Eat up, there’s plenty more where those came from.”
