Afton---Dinner Is Served

I may have mentioned before that any aspirations I had for being an Ambassador for the United States of America may have fallen a little short. But I always had the greatest of intentions.

So after we moved on base, I decided to invite our former landlords to dinner. They had us over for a fantastic dinner right after Adam's birth, and I wanted to at least reciprocate. I still remember being served an elegant roast with a hardboiled egg in the center of it. That was something almost artful as she sliced it for us. I was intrigued by the unfamiliarity of it all.

And unfamiliarity ranked high in my book. We rarely could afford to eat out, but when we did, we would try new local dishes. Honestly, it was boring to see that all the other Americans we would go out with always ordering the Wienerschnitzel or Bratwurst. We were proud of being a little more risky and experimental, probably just more mental, and trying things that we had no idea of what they were when ordering. Kind of a little game, a little gamble. One time I hit the jackpot in some little town when I ordered zwiebel something---grilled onion covered roast, I think. Fantastic! But Dad got the prize once in Ulm when he ordered some new entree. When it was served, it looked like a huge gray sponge. We surmised it might be a lung, or worse, of some long dead animal. How he ate it, I don't pretend to know.

But different cultures have their own foods, and their own way with foods, and one of the things I had discovered about the German culture was the foods they didn't have any familiarity with. They didn't eat corn, regarding it as lowly feed for cattle, not something meant for human consumption. They didn't have jello, and they didn't have marshmallows. So guess what?

Yep. I can hardly believe it either. I invited them over for corn, jello, and marshmallows! Well, at least I ambushed them with that dynamic menu. Figured they'd have to love sweet corn once they tried it. Heck, I have never even been able to stand jello myself, but must have thought I was spreading the gospel of marshmallows or something. Hostess with the mostess. Moi.

So I greeted them at the door. Surprised I didn't just tie feedbags around their stout little necks. But they were all smiles and gracious guests, no one actually gagged or got ill, and Hans Fried managed to keep a little conversation going on between us all. Likely they were distracted enough seeing you and playing with you again, they could forgive me my trespasses. They left on good terms. Funny though, we never did see them again.

I would sincerely like to claim to have gone on from there and developed into the quintessential hostess, but even though I have left jello far behind, my fling with corn petered out, and I only occasionally flirt with marshmallows on the end of a stick; still, it's probably safer bet to go out to eat with me than to come to my house for dinner. Just saying.