Dear Boo and Bubble,
I found some beautiful collard greens
at the farmer's market the other day here in Florida. They were not
too big and quite green still, having been freshly picked the
afternoon before. I immediately came home, rinsed them off, chopped
them up and simmered them the remainder of the day with some garlic,
onion, bacon and chicken stock. Their distinct aroma consumed our
house which had me reminiscing about your great, great grandmother
Mattie and how her penchant for collards almost upset Mamaw Mary's
applecart.
You will recall that Mattie lived in an
apartment in the basement of 3 Lakecrest Drive. She loved cooking
greens – any kind – turnips, polk salad, spinach or collards.
They all cast off their own distinctive smell that always wafted up
from below to the floor above. The most egregiously pungent odor
definitely came from the collards. It consumed every room and
lingered for hours. If you were not a fan - and Mamaw was not - it
could be quite obnoxious.
When this incident occurred, Mamaw
happened to be the president of the board of the Civic Ballet of
Greenville. She had several official duties as such, one of which
was hosting a luncheon in early spring to acquaint prominent women in
the community about the ballet in hopes of recruiting their service
on the board. It was never a large affair, more intimate with only
four or five guests. But, it was an important occasion and she took
great pride in organizing it.
For the few days leading up to the
luncheon, she busied herself with cleaning the house, polishing her
silver, executing the menu (which always included her delicious
chicken curry with raisins, nuts and coconut savings as condiments)
and arranging fresh flowers for the dining table and other strategic
spots. It never concerned her about the weather, although she
certainly hoped the sun would shine so that people could get in and
out of the house comfortably.
The day came and she awoke to a
beautiful blue sky, but a high temperature not to get out of the 40's
made harsher by a brisk wind. Not to worry, she turned the
thermostat up a notch and asked Granddaddy Schaefer to lay a fire in
the living room fireplace. As the morning wore down towards noon,
she covered her checklist to make sure she had thought of everything.
Apparently, she had failed to put on the list asking Mattie to
refrain from cooking collards. About an hour before her guests were
to arrive, her nostrils picked up the unwanted scent of the boiling
brew coming from downstairs......and once it had penetrated the air
upstairs, there was nothing you could do....it was too late.
Mamaw frantically reviewed her options.
She could open up all the windows and turn on the attic fan, but
that would only render the house freezing cold; and once she closed
everything back up, the smell would just return. Even if she could
cut if off at the source that very moment, it would take hours to
dissipate. So, she opted for the only practical solution......ignore
it.....don't mention it.....pump up the curry as a combatant....light
some candles.
The doorbell signaled her time was up.
The first of her guests stood at the front door.
Alas, the curry was no match for the
collards and, as the ladies sat around the dining room table eating
lunch and discussing the ballet, the smell was so pungent, it became obvious to Mamaw that she
must say something.
“I'm so sorry about the smell in the
house,” she apologized. “Schaefer's mother lives downstairs and
she decided to cook some collards this morning. I know she would be
mortified if she knew it was disrupting my party.”
“Well, Mary,” one of the ladies
responded, “I'm so glad you told us. I surely didn't want to say
anything, but I honestly thought your sewer had broken!”
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