I've described a few of my dad's crazy antics in Roman Homer. There, I merely introduced you to his strange eating habits. Well, let me invite you into Chez Homer, and give you some better ideas of exactly what's on the menu.
For appetizers Homer generally prefers bread. Straight from the red- and blue-polka-dotted bag. Usually smeared with gobs of margerine. Should the bread run out, never fear. The butter goes down alone pretty well, too. Straight off the fork! The salad course consists of several half-wilted leaves (those heads of lettuce j-u-s-t don't seem to fit well in the veggie drawer!), eaten by hand, and also smeared with butter. Or mayonaise. Or, Homer combines both courses and makes a bread-and-lettuce-and-butter-or-mayo sandwich. Yuh-hum!
For the soup course allow me to introduce something Homer made for me when I was a child. Unfortunate enough to be left alone for the day with Dad, Mom having escaped several hours earlier, I knew I'd be eating his cooking. I was looking forward to a bowl of Spaghetti-Ohs - a great favorite. Homer didn't realize it wasn't soup, and before I could stop him he'd added a can of water and salt and pepper to my beloved childhood meal. Spaghetti-Ohs Soup. I think I cried I was so hungry.
The main course is a surprise. Every day. Sometimes the surprise was there'd be no main course. I can't tell you how often I came home after Track practice, exhausted, to have Mom say, "Your dinner's in the pan." I'd go look, and the pan would be empty. Homer beat me to it - again! Half the reason I think I eat so fast was because in my home you had to - Homer would literally eat the food off your plate if he ran out. Dinner guests be forewarned!
One particularly surprising main course was - ta daaa! Squid!! Mom evacuated - and I do mean evacuated the house. As soon as the slimy thing emerged from the fridge a puff of smoke appeared where my mom was standing, and like Houdini, when it cleared she was gone. Where my brother and sister were at this time, I don't remember. But it seems I was the only witness to the carnage. Actually I didn't see too much, because I had locked myself into the bathroom with several layers of tape over my face.
A couple years ago I volunteered to make Thanksgiving dinner for my family. They all came over to my apartment. Now, believe it or not - after all these horror stories - I love to cook! But usually only in BIG quantities for special occasions. Well, I went crazy. I made a cheese ball, and veggie dip, and hot spiced cider, and a cheese spread, and the turkey and mashed potatoes, three kinds of veggies, my VERY OWN recipe for wild-rice-apple-and-celery stuffing, and a home-made from-scratch awesome blueberry pie. Whew!
After gorging himself on hors duoevres (spelling? I don't know - I like to pronouce it Whores Doovers!) and turkey and whatnot - Homer was STILL hungry! The turkey destroyed - he decided to eat the stuffing - which was not its intended purpose. I'd stuffed it with a whole onion and an orange studded with cloves - for the aroma. He ate them, totally grossing out my sister.
Even the pie was gone. But I guess Homer wanted something else for dessert, too. How does this sound as a final ending to a Chez Homer meal?
Then, then - Oh, man I wish I were telling this story to you in person! - because at this point I start getting hysterical, tears pour down my face, I start snorting and can't breath or talk! - forget it! So just imagine me in hysterics as you read this. Homer, still hungry even after the slimy orange and onion, gets up to seek out the Whores Doovers I placed around the room. He approached the huge old iron radiator, upon which I'd earlier placed a tray. Well, I'd moved it since then and in its place was a dish of potpourri. The ceiling at that location sloped down, as third floor apartment ceilings do, and I could only see Homer from the shoulders down. I watched as his hand reached out to touch and pick up some of the potpourri. But it was when his hand turned over and started for his mouth that my breath caught. No! I couldn't believe it!
There are things in life you never think you will have to tell your parents. Usually they yell at us for stupid things we do ("Get your finger OUT of your sister's nose this instant!") And I never thought I'd be saying the following words to my dad: "Dad! NO! That's potpourri!!" And his hand stopped and shook because I'd scared him and he hadn't thought I could see, and the potpourri fluttered back into the dish! And the absurdity of what I'd just said, coupled with the fact the I was the only witness in a room of six, sent me into hysterical fits of laughter. My family thought I was crazy, until I halting explained to them, tears and snot flying everywhere, what dad had done. And good old Homer just stood there, deep crimson, with a sheepish grin on his face.
Keep the stories coming, Dad . . . but I'll do the cooking, OK? .