Jack puts his arms around her. “Honey, you’ll do just great . . . I can hardly wait for the boss to meet my lovely bride.”
Saffee finds the recipe in Sunday’s Minneapolis Star and Tribune. Stuffed pork ribs. It shouldn’t be difficult. With the addition of chopped apple, the stuffing is similar to the dressing her mother always made at Thanksgiving. She will make it Saturday—for the Johnsons.
That morning she swishes a dust cloth over the furniture. The carpet looks the same whether vacuumed or not . . . she chooses not. Vacuuming that doesn’t show might be considered a trivial thing.
Later, as she begins to prepare the meal, she hears the thunk, thunk of Jack’s basketball on the backboard that he and neighbor Bill put up at the edge of the driveway. Their masculine exuberance as they contend makes her happy. She so much wants the coming evening to go well, and to make Jack proud of her.
She chops an onion. A childhood scene flickers through her mind . . .
“Nels!” In the kitchen, Joann stares aghast at the irregular chunks of meat he has cut. “This is a rump roast!” she hisses so guests don’t hear. “People slice rump roasts, not hack them! Don’t you know the difference between a rump and a chuck?”
Saffee lectures herself. I’ll cry over an onion, but nothing else! Not even when eight legs bump under that little table . . . Having company for dinner only requires common sense.
Oh, God, help me emulate only what Mother did right, and do other things better. Let this day honor her . . . and You.
Leonard and Betsy Johnson are warm, unpretentious, and chatty. They sip iced tea and tell about their experiences adapting to northern ways. Betsy recounts recently ordering a meal at a restaurant.
“The waitress came to our table and said, ‘So, whatcha want?’”
Leonard laughs heartily and adds, “In the South, they ask me, ‘What’ll you have, honey?’” Now they both are laughing.
“I wouldn’t like someone speaking that way to my husband,” Saffee says with a smile. “Northerners aren’t used to speaking with familiarity to strangers.”
Leonard nods with understanding. “You’d probably want to ‘wop her upside th’ haid,’ as they say in Loo-ih-vuhl!”
“That’s for sure. I don’t mind people being friendly, just don’t call my husband ‘honey’!”
The conversation drifts to other matters. The queasiness in Saffee’s stomach has all but gone away. She sighs with relief and excuses herself to serve the meal, still within earshot of the conversation. God, help me do this. She tosses the salad and carefully lifts the hot pan of savory ribs from the oven. Perfect. She divides generous portions onto four plates. The Formica table is too small for a platter.
She can hear the living room talk return to eating out. Jack recommends Minneapolis restaurants the newcomers might enjoy. “There’s a great barbeque place just a little to the west,” he says. “Best ribs in town.”
“Now that’s the only way to have ribs,” Leonard gushes. “Barbequed! Not the way we had them last night!” It is clear he is teasing Betsy.
“Oh, Leonard.” Betsy laughs. “I know they were terrible! I found a new recipe in Sunday’s paper,” she explains to Jack. “Maybe I didn’t cook them long enough.”
“That wasn’t the only problem, my dear. There was some kind of mush in between the ribs! And no barbeque sauce at all!”
“Mush!” Betsy chortles. “Leonard, it was called stuffin’!”
In the kitchen, Saffee freezes. She grips the edge of the counter for several moments until she can think.
Saffee senses that Betsy is used to her husband’s humorous chiding, but she must be careful not to embarrass Jack’s boss. She takes a deep breath. Here goes.
She pokes her head around the corner. Jack gives her a weak smile. Summoning her best southern accent (having college friends from the South can come in handy), Saffee announces, “Y’all’re gonna love this new recipe for ribs! Ah found it . . .” She gulps. “Ah found it Sunday . . . in the Stahr and Tribune!”
Leonard groans. “Oh no!” With a red face, he tries umpteen ways to backpedal. Both he and Betsy insist that although something had seriously gone awry with their dish, they are sure Saffee’s pork ribs and stuffing will be marvelous—it certainly smells wonderful!
That night Jack holds her tightly in his arms and whispers, “I’m so proud of you. You made the best of a delicate situation . . . and the ribs, the whole meal, it was delicious.”
“Thanks, hon, but I’m afraid I didn’t manage to spare the Johnsons from embarrassment.”