Jeanette opened the tureen then and studied its contents. “You know, Ms. Yoder, I am not trying to be purposefully difficult here. I only ask these questions because I have to. It’s been twelve years since I’ve eaten any eggs or dairy products, and in that time I’ve developed an allergic reaction to them.”
I swallowed hard and stole another glance at Freni. Freni wasn’t flinching.
“If you haven’t eaten eggs or dairy products in twelve years, then how the hell—sorry, Ms. Yoder—can you tell you’ve developed an allergic reaction to them?” growled the Congressman.
His wife, bless her soul, immediately opened the tureen in front of her and made a great show of smelling the steam that rose from the huge container. “It smells absolutely delish. I simply must get your recipe.”
I smiled gratefully, and for the next few minutes busied myself serving out portions from the pot containing chicken to the carnivores gathered around the table. Susannah, a card-carrying carnivore herself, obediently did her part by serving the herbivores from the tureen in front of her. At last we all dug in.
“First-class cooking, ma’am,” said Billy Dee, while his mouth was still full. There were murmurs of agreement from the carnivores, and none of the herbivores so much as gagged or spit their food out. Freni smiled broadly.
“I think my grandmother was Pennsylvania Dutch,” volunteered Delbert James proudly.
Susannah recoiled in mock horror. “Your secret’s safe with us.” There were the usual obliging laughs.
“Did I hear you say you were a hunter, sir?” Joel Teitlebaum politely asked the Congressman.
Garrett Ream put down his fork and studied the young man across from him. “Yes, I am. Congressman Garrett Ream.”
“Joel Teitlebaum, sir. From Philly. Not exactly in your district.”
“Are you a hunter, Mr. Teitlebaum?”
“I’m a sculptor, sir. I—”
“And you?” asked Garrett Ream, turning to Billy Dee.
“Billy Dee Grizzle. I’m a contractor.”
Garrett Ream nodded impatiently “Do you hunt?”
“Used to,” said Billy Dee. “Squirrel, pheasant, deer, you name it.”
“I see,” said the Congressman sarcastically. “What we have here is a reformed hunter then?”
Billy had just taken a big bite, so he merely nodded.
“Ever shoot boar?”
Billy answered with his mouth full. “Yep. Lots of boar hunting in Texas.”
“What part of Texas?” I asked. Cousin Anna Kauffman married a Methodist and moved to Houston in 1974. I hadn’t heard from her since.
“San Antone,” said Billy Dee proudly. He turned back to the Congressman. “I’ve given up hunting now. But boar hunting was my favorite. More exciting than hunting deer.”
“At least the boar stand a small chance,” said Jeanette. “Deer are just sitting ducks.” A couple of people laughed at her inadvertent joke, and I am ashamed to say I was among them.
“They don’t stand much of a chance in Morocco,” said the Congressman. “There they have beaters that drive them down out of the mountains, while the hunters wait in blinds to pick them off.”
“We were lucky enough to be included in a royal hunting party once,” explained Lydia, “by King Hassan of Morocco. The Atlas Mountains are exquisite in April.”
“We killed over four hundred that day,” said the Congressman proudly. “Stacked them up like a cord of firewood. Of course there were about fifty of us, including His Majesty. Best experience of my life.”
“It sounds utterly disgusting,” said Jeanette. “I can’t believe you’re actually proud of such a barbaric act.”
“What is a boar, anyway?” asked Linda.
“A sort of wild pig,” answered Delbert James. “With tusks.”
“Were you in the hunt too?” asked Susannah.
“Not exactly. The hunt was just for Congressmen and their wives. But I got to do some pretty special skiing that morning up on the higher slopes. Morocco has some first-rate runs.”
“I ski,” said Susannah. “Up at Seven Springs.” That was news to me.
“I’d love to travel,” I couldn’t help saying. Not that anybody heard me. As soon as I opened my mouth, Jeanette opened hers and began to sputter. “There is chicken fat in this broth!”
I turned around to look at Freni, but both she and Mose had disappeared. “There couldn’t be,” I said, then, “Are you sure?”
“There are globlets of fat glistening on my plate. What would you call that?” demanded Jeanette.