Cooking 101
Have you ever cooked over an open fire? Have you ever cooked over an open fire in 100 degree weather and 90% humidity, wearing five layers of clothing, surrounded by 400 flies, with no running water and a 200 year-old recipe? No? Well, consider yourself lucky. This is not to say that I did not enjoy my experience as an interpreter. However, I would have to admit that I did not always have a smile on my face as I prepared a meal in the Golden Eagle Inn.
In total, I cooked more food in my few weeks as an interpreter than I have in my entire life. I prepared chicken, catfish, ham, cornbread, biscuits, chicken pudding, gingerbread, rice pudding, bread pudding, apple pie, pickled beets, eggs, bacon, corn, and an assortment of other items. Unfortunately, I had had limited experience cooking before I moved down to Indiana, and I really had no clue how to fix a quality meal. However, I received a crash course in cooking when I trained as an interpreter.
I learned how to work wonders with lard and raw meat, how to tolerate thousands of flies swarming around my head (we couldn’t use screens), and how to convince myself that I was not in hell, even though the temperature would lead me to believe otherwise. I grew accustomed to the smell of manure (the Zimmermans lived on a farm). I learned how to milk a cow-- and also that I should cut my nails before trying again. I also learned how to interpret the character of Suzannah Zimmerman, prepare a meal, and entertain a garter snake brought into my kitchen by a co-worker playing the role of Patience, a rougher, uncivilized woman. I will never forget the time that she walked right into my kitchen with that snake wrapped around her hand. I was in the middle of interpreting to three visitors when Patience made her way past us, ever so slowly. She assured me that the snake would be great for my garden. She must have stood in my small kitchen for five minutes with that snake in her hand. All I could think was what if that snake slithers out of her hand and onto my kitchen floor. I’ve heard stories about snakes getting tangled in interpreters’ petticoats. Furthermore, what if that snake gets into some of the food I’m trying to prepare? Ugh. But of course I had to stay in character. As an interpreter at Conner Prairie, I am never authorized to break character, except in times of absolute emergency or if asked to do so by an administrator. Consequently, I remained calm and continued conversing with the visitors, pretending as though the snake didn’t bother me in the least. I merely encouraged Patience to take the snake into the garden away from my food and the Inn’s guests. Once the visitors were gone, however, I let Patience know how I felt about the snake’s presence in my kitchen. I can bear the heat, the flies, the smell of manure, and the occasional ox peering into my kitchen. I cannot, however, tolerate a snake in my kitchen. The thought of that reptile entangled in my petticoats for several minutes before getting him out does not thrill me in the least. I can clean fish, butcher chickens, wince through second degree burns, and shovel manure. But I cannot ignore a snake wrapped around my leg. Alas, the occupational hazards of working at a living history museum.
