Sunday Dinner At My House

I carry the steaming pot of paprikash to the table. It’s spicy and garlicky, and my mouth waters in anticipation.

“That looks amazing,” my sister says.

“You printed this?” My mother’s nose wrinkles, and she leans back in her chair.

“Of course,” I say as my sister shifts a bowl of buttered noodles. I set the pot down.

“You kids have it so easy. In my day, we had to chop our own vegetables and simmer the chicken for hours.”

My sister and I grin at each other, but my mother doesn’t notice. She’s already spooning food onto her plate.

From Guest Contributor Julia Rajagopalan

Homecoming Surprise

Izzy rubbed her protruding stomach. It’d been months since she’d seen him, and soon he’d find out she was pregnant.

Sam was on his way home, the war ended. Izzy prepared his favorite meal, lamb with cut string beans and mashed potatoes. The aroma of cooked meat and vegetables filled the room.

The doorbell rang and Izzy hastened to answer it. There in the doorway stood Sam holding a bouquet of freshly cut flowers.

Sam stared at her stomach. “Izzy, are you?”

Before he could finish the sentence, she pulled him into a hug and screamed yes, the meal forgotten.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Resistance

The Nazis arrived in Poland stomping down the street showing their authority. My mother was in the kitchen cooking dinner, the smell of vegetables wafting in the air, and my father had the radio on listening to the broadcast of the invasion. I sat next to him and stared out the window. For no apparent reason, one of the soldiers kicked a man that stood on the sidewalk with I’m assuming his young daughter. The girl screamed when the man collapsed in a heap. Was this the world now? No one was safe.

The next day I joined the resistance.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Authority

I know only one enemy in this world, that person who holds power over me. No matter how slight the exercise of authority, how minor the inconvenience, any attempt to coerce me in any manner, even if I would have otherwise been inclined to act in the desired fashion, will be met with the strongest disagreement within my power.

You insist I should eat more vegetables. I will only be eating meat from now on. I am a rebel. I am the rebellion. Tell me what to do one more time, and I'll be the leader of a third-grade revolution.

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving, a time to spend with family. The turkey is in the oven filled with my famous bread stuffing, the pumpkin pie is cooling, and the vegetables are ready to go.

I sip wine and watch the parade waiting for my company. It’s half past 4 o’clock. I told everyone to be here over an hour ago for anti-pasta.

My cell phone rings.

“Hey, Myra, sorry, but we all came down with the stomach flu. We’re not going to make it this year. Hopefully, we’ll see you at Christmas.”

I pack up my dinner and take it to a shelter.

From Guest Contributor Lisa M. Scuderi-Burkimsher

Personal History

Adulthood in Texas means being old enough to get the electric chair if you kill someone. In 17th century England offenders sent to the pillory were pelted by the crowd with dung, dead cats and dogs, rotten vegetables, and, in extreme cases, stones and even saucepans. Some, though, flung flowers in Defoe’s face. It’s the difference between weather and climate. The least you can do is pretend to care. In Jewish tradition a righteous man is buried with 144 prayer books atop his coffin. When my Uncle Lou was buried, they put the books in cardboard boxes labeled Kitchen Utensils.

From Guest Contributor Howie Good

Howie is the author most recently of What It Is and How to Use It from Grey Book Press. He co-edits the journals Unbroken and UnLost.

Pickled Confectionery

Anyone who's been to the wrong side of West Virginia knows that just about anything can be pickled. The shop windows are lined with jars of pickled vegetables, pickled rattlesnakes, pickled squirrels, pickled acorns. They'll even take candy and Twinkies and preserve them for wintertime.

My grandfather was from West Virginia and he would boast they used to eat the pickled leather of worn-through boots. I'm not sure if he was telling the truth or not, but it makes me feel fortunate that today we have the option of eating at McDonald's. Though I can imagine pickled hamburgers are next.

Florida

Every morning, Tom Hopperwell awoke to find his garden in disarray. It looked as if a miniature battle had been fought among his tulips and vegetables.

Tom was a careful man, and it disturbed him greatly to see his garden did not share the sentiment. His wife urged him to call the exterminator, but Tom had a grander scheme.

Tom first set fire to the house, making sure the blaze completely incinerated the garden. Then he and his wife relocated to Florida. Some might call him extreme, but Tom had a hunch Florida would be too hot for the ants.