Mornings for my brother and me would mean big cups of hot
chocolate (or sometimes hot milk with a dollop of coffee) served with
long toasted loaves of bread dripping with butter and jam. Effie
would sit at the table mumbling to herself while she wrote "the list".
She'd shout out clues to her plan every once in awhile, "I hope they
have apricots today." Toast still hanging from my lips, juggling books
under my arm, my brother and I would scurry off to school two
blocks away. Effie would walk with us to the door and when we
were safely inside she would hurry to our neighborhood market and
buy whatever was fresh that day. During the summers and on
vacation days I would accompany her on this daily ritual. It
fascinated me to watch the women argue and laugh with the butcher, sometimes even
flirt for a good cut of meat. How they
gossiped and caught up on family news while squeezing
tomatoes and sniffing melons.At 3:15 I would come home from school to find the house filled with the most wondrous smells. They came from a large pot on the stove filled with an indescribable array of things - chicken, beef, or pork, three or four kinds of vegetables, sometimes olives or fruit. There would always be fresh loaves of bread in the oven and a dessert, like cherry or apple cobbler that would later be served with ice cream. I'd rush off to do homework and get some play in with my friends. Promptly at 5:30 Effie would call me to help make the salad and set the table. We'd then start to dole out heaping portions from the pot on the stove into bowls for the table. There was not much talking done at our table during dinner, just a lot of oohs and ahhs. We'd sit there and eat and eat till our bellies were full and finally laugh and joke over coffee and dessert.
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