SIMCHA FISHER

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Happy fiftieth birthday, What’s For Supper! Totally by coincidence In your honor, we had not one but three parties this week, with probably a literal ton of delicious food. Here’s what we had:

SATURDAY
Chicken Negimaki; Garlic fried rice

Mr. Husband back in the kitchen where he belongs.

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This meal was ridiculous: Japanese Chicken Negimaki from Mark Bittman at the NYT. You pound chicken breasts flat, simmer some scallions in a savory sauce, and then wrap the chicken around the scallions, baste the whole thing with a glaze, and grill it up, then squeeze some limes over everything.

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Crazy juicy and flavorful. Lots of preparation, but not too many ingredients, and not a lot of cooking time.

While he was cooking this, I made the fried rice, which I’ve never made before. I used this recipe for Japanese Garlic Fried Rice from Bear Naked Food, and, look, I added chunks of ham, because I like chunks of ham in my fried rice. I just had regular New Hampshire person’s white rice, so I cooked it up in the morning and let it chill in the fridge before frying it, hoping to keep it more firm.

The flavor was nice; the texture was acceptable, but I really need a wok. I bought mirin, oyster sauce, fish sauce, and more sesame oil just for this recipe.

The scallions, though, were FREE.

Why, you ask? Because last time I used scallions, I threw the chopped-off root ends in a cup of water and set them on the windowsill. They grew like magic. It was ridiculous. I think it’s ridiculous that anything ever grows, to be honest. I mean, where does it come from? What the heck? How do water and sunlight and time turn into new cells?  But this was even more magical, because it happened super, super fast, from little one-inch stubs to a bunch of full-sized scallions in about a week. Crazy, man!

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Well, I bought more scallions anyway, and didn’t use the home-grown magic ones. I was afraid they would be, like, makani ma nsibila scallions, and they would make our bellies blow up with an unholy wind that comes from nowhere and drags you back there with them, if you eat the magic sorcery scallions from nowhere.

Scallions are cheap. I bought more scallions just in case, and I’m not sorry.

A few months ago, I made the mistake of telling my four-year-old how I once had a little paper umbrella from a Chinese restaurant, and my father told me not to hold it out the car window, because it would blow away. But I didn’t listen, and it did blow away, and I was so sad.

My daughter (the only person I’ve ever known who felt sorry for cartoon Bad Prince John in Robin Hood, because he was calling for his mother, and did he ever get back together with his mother???) has been worrying about that umbrella ever since then. Sometimes we’ll be folding laundry or watching a show about manatee conservation, and she’ll look up suddenly and say, with a little catch in her voice, “Mama, someday I hope you get anuvver paper umbrella like you used to have.” So I got a bunch of paper umbrellas.

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Don’t need no intergenerational tragic childhood ghosts around here, no how.

***

SUNDAY
Cookout with BACON INSANITY BREAD for lunch, burgers and chips for supper

Sunday was my little niece’s baptism! I was really stumped for a side dish to bring, until I happened upon a recipe with a really annoying name: “Cracked Out French Bread.” We called it “Bacon party bread” instead, which isn’t terribly inventive, but at least it doesn’t make me feel like I should be paying reparations every time I say it.

You make a loaf of garlic bread and toast it, and then you spread it with a topping of shredded cheese, ranch dressing, and chopped bacon, and then you bake it again until everything’s melted. We used pepper jack cheese, and made a quintuple recipe. This is a food over which to lose your mind.

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(Check out little blondie nephew on his tip toes at the food table.) This recipe is definitely going into the file for future parties.

That was for lunch. When we got home, I discovered a whole extra pound of bacon in the fridge, so we made bacon cheeseburgers. Look, we’re bulking up for winter, what do you want.

Oh, here is a picture of one of my other nieces and Corrie.

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Brr, little girls. Good thing there were more juice boxes, or there would have been blood.

***

MONDAY
Pizza

Monday was Labor Day, so we visited a wonderful gorge. I haven’t been to a gorge for many a year, so I wasn’t sure how it would go. The previous week, I had had the following conversation with a dad at the school:

Him: Hey, got any plans for labor day?
Me: Oh, we’re going to Such-and-such Gorge. I dunno, it’s a gorge.
Him: I haven’t been there.
Me: I haven’t either, but it’s a gorge, so how bad could it be?
Him: Ha ha, I guess so. Well, I hope you have a good time. [starts walking away]
Me: [for some reason shouting after him as he retreats]: IT’S A GORGE; HOW BAD COULD IT BE?

It wasn’t bad at all. We liked the gorge. Then we came home and had pizza.

***

TUESDAY
Chorizo tortellini soup; Beer bread

The leaves are changing color here, so I decided it was probably cool enough to start making soup again. It wasn’t. It was hot and stickily and swampily humid. The soup (recipe here) was pretty good, though. I used a mild chorizo, which always startles me with its oozing profusion of blood-colored grease. Anyone know if the Chorizo Promotional Council is hiring?

Anyway, the slightly nutmeg-ish flavor of the sausage went very nicely with the ricotta in the tortellini. A good soup, which I will make again when it’s not a sauna in here.

Also note my beloved Loch Ness Ladle, which my 17-year-old daughter gave me for Christmas:

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My 18-year-old made the beer bread using this recipe. It’s more bread-like than many quick breads, and I don’t even want to think about what kind of idiot you’d have to be to screw it up, it’s so easy. And you pour melted butter over the top before you bake it, just in case.

In other news, I’ve been watching what I eat lately. This marks a distinct contrast to my previous plan, in which I shut my eyes and use a funnel.

***

WEDNESDAY
Small Group Cookout; Caprese salad

We were supposed to bring a side dish. The one thing that really grew well in our garden was basil, so I made a little caprese salad. I was too lazy to make a balsamic reduction, so I made a tray of fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, and basil and drizzled it with balsamic vinegar and olive oil, and sprinkled it with sea salt and fresh-ground pepper. I AM SO FANCY.

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I was also too lazy to make bruschetta, so I just sliced up some bread. Most of the guests were kids, and they thought the sliced bread was amazing.

***

THURSDAY
School cookout; Even Bigger Caprese Salad with Some Lami

The caprese salad from the other day wasn’t really a howling success, but I was getting a little burnt out with all the socializing and the recipe-thinking and the platter-bringing, so I made an even bigger tray of the same stuff, plus some assorted crackers and a pile of salami.

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Every last bit got eaten this time, so you never know.

***

FRIDAY
Pasta

In closing, I would like to say that “RhymeZone” suggests, as a near rhyme for “fifty,” the word “kidney.” That’s what kind of world it is.

***
Okay, let’s hear your menus for the week! Also, tell me about your favorite foods to bring to a cookout or potluck. Tell, tell! If you’re blogging, feel free to leave a link in the comments.

Only yesterday did I discover that Antonín Dvořák (whose birthday is today) wrote a requiem. You guys, it is a doozy. Here’s just a few minutes of it, the first few sections of the Dies Irae.

Here’s what they’re singing (translations courtesy of Wikipedia):

Here’s just that section (the entire Dies Irae is longer):

The baby and the dog and the parakeet were very perturbed as I checked out various recordings. The Dies Irae is the part where you really need to make a fuss (see text above). The rest of this particular Requiem is not all crashing and shouting, though.

In a review of a 2014 recording of Dvořák’s Requiem by conductor Antoni Wit, David Hurwitz notes:

One of the most interesting things about the Requiem is that, unlike almost all of its predecessors, it does not end with a vision of consolation. In fact, the conclusion is remarkably unsentimental, even grim, with Dvorák returning to the “death” motive and staying in a minor key right up to the final bar.

Because I have no powers of concentration, I was scrolling through Facebook’s “on this day” memories as I listened, and I came across this video, which I posted on Dvořák’s birthday several years ago:

Oh, boy, talk about not ending in a vision of consolation. The words are conventional hope-in-the-Gospel stuff, but you can hear the doubt piling on, shovel by shovelful. Cash died in 2003 on August 12.

It’s also worth noting that today is not only Antonín Dvořák’s birthday, but it’s also the birthday of the Blessed Virgin Mary, undoer of sorrows, thwarter of death, healer of doubt, spoiler of doom, refuge of anyone who looks death in the face and decides there’s something else they want more.

Psst, Mary, there are some guys I’d like you to check on. Thanks.

As several people have pointed out, Mother Teresa’s canonization has brought out spasms of vitriol from extremes on both sides. From the far left, we have angry accusations that the saint was a fraud and a sadist, and that she tricked helpless victims into converting against their will; and from the far right, we have angry accusations that she was an indifferentist and a heretic, and that she neglected godless pagans who desperately needed conversion.

Here I am, stuck in the middle with Teresa, sayeth the Lord.

For a comprehensive debunking of the accusations made by Christopher Hitchens et al, see this essay by William Doino, Jr., in First Things.

And as for the critics on the far right: Even as Mother Teresa dedicated her life to caring for the physical needs of the most wretched “untouchables” whose bodies were abandoned and despised by the rest of the world, she and her sister most certainly did not withhold the Catholic Faith from anyone she met. She was directly responsible for bringing countless souls to conversion to Catholicism. She baptized those who wanted to be baptized; she baptized dying babies; she prayed ceaselessly and explicitly taught everyone about Jesus who was open to hearing about Jesus; her houses were filled with prayer and hymns; and she fearlessly proclaimed the word of God to many a hostile audience of politicians and world leaders. So I wish we could put to rest the ludicrous lie that she somehow neglected her Catholic duty to openly evangelize. She neglected people’s souls in the same way as Arnold Schwarzenegger neglected his body. Okay?

Now, I’d like to address one of the weirder complaints made against her. We’re seeing a resurgence of the ever-popular idea that God actually doesn’t want us to care for the physical needs of the poor. The body will return to dust, these folks say, but the soul is immortal, so why waste time on food? Here’s a quotation that one Catholic shared on social media to show that Mother Teresa is not a saint, but a heretic:

A portion of this essay originally appeared in the National Catholic Register in 2014.

Mother Teresa, that troublemaker, is still causing a fuss. To accompany her canonization, some folks are sharing quotes from her, not in admiration but in dismay. They say that she didn’t care enough about spreading the Gospel. They say she claimed she was serving Christ, but where was the push to catechize and convert?  While tending the suffering bodies of the poor, she left their souls to rot.

Here are a few quotes meant to bolster this criticism:

From a statement from the postulator of the cause for her canonization:

When I asked her whether she converted, she answered, ‘Yes, I convert. I convert you to be a better Hindu, or a better Muslim, or a better Protestant, or a better Catholic, or a better Parsee, or a better Sikh, or a better Buddhist. And after you have found God, it is for you to do what God wants you to do.’

Stated another way, from A Simple Path by Mother Teresa:

I’ve always said that we should help a Hindu become a better Hindu, a Muslim become a better Muslim, a Catholic become a better Catholic.

And here’s a quote from the Constitutions of the Missionaries of Charity:

We shall not impose our Catholic Faith on anyone, but have profound respect for all religions, for it is never lawful for anyone to force others to embrace the Catholic Faith against their conscience.

(Note, in that final quote, the words “impose” and “force.” This will be important later.)

Let’s clarify: the Church has always taught that there is no salvation outside the Church — or, as the Catechism says:

Re-formulated positively, it means that all salvation comes from Christ the Head through the Church which is his Body:

Basing itself on Scripture and Tradition, the Council teaches that the Church, a pilgrim now on earth, is necessary for salvation: the one Christ is the mediator and the way of salvation; he is present to us in his body which is the Church. He himself explicitly asserted the necessity of faith and Baptism, and thereby affirmed at the same time the necessity of the Church which men enter through Baptism as through a door. Hence they could not be saved who, knowing that the Catholic Church was founded as necessary by God through Christ, would refuse either to enter it or to remain in it.³³⁶

It’s not just preferable to be Catholic; it’s essential. The Catholic Church is the most direct and indispensable route to Christ.

The Catechism goes on to explain that

847 This affirmation is not aimed at those who, through no fault of their own, do not know Christ and his Church:

Those who, through no fault of their own, do not know the Gospel of Christ or his Church, but who nevertheless seek God with a sincere heart, and, moved by grace, try in their actions to do his will as they know it through the dictates of their conscience – those too may achieve eternal salvation.³³⁷

Now here’s where it gets a little more involved. The Catechism also says:

843 The Catholic Church recognizes in other religions that search, among shadows and images, for the God who is unknown yet near since he gives life and breath and all things and wants all men to be saved. Thus, the Church considers all goodness and truth found in these religions as “a preparation for the Gospel and given by him who enlightens all men that they may at length have life.”³³²

It is likely that, for those who are baptized members of the Church and for those who have been seeking goodness and truth in other religions, this “preparation for the Gospel” will only culminate at the hour of death, when Christ chases away all shadows and reveals Himself to each of us, asking us to make our choice once and for all.

God can save all men, God wants to save all men, and it’s entirely possible that God will save many more men than we would, if it were up to us. When a man strives for goodness and truth, then God sees, understands, and accepts his service. How could it be any other way? The Church was made for us, because we are small and in need; but God is not confined by her walls.

All right, but even if this is the case, and even if it’s possible to find salvation without being a baptized member of the Catholic Church, why wouldn’t Mother Teresa try harder to bring people out of the “shadows and images” of other religions that only hold some small portion of the truth? Why didn’t she try harder to get that Hindu or that Buddhist to acknowledge that Jesus is Lord?

A better question: How could anyone try any harder than she did?

What did she do? She showed the face of Christ to people every single day of her life, as directly as any human being can do. She revealed the truth that God is love, and that all works of love are works that give glory to God. She revealed the truth that God made and loves all human beings, unlike some of His creatures who allow themselves to scorn or coerce each other.

And she revealed the truth that love is a choice — that God is a Father, not a slavemaster, and that He does not compel, threaten, or force. She revealed the truth that God gives us free will, that He makes us each an unspeakably generous offer, and then He allows us to take it or leave it.

These are all core truths of the Gospel which Mother Teresa taught to everyone whose sores she cleaned, whose feet she bathed, whose bodily excretions she mopped, whose abuse she endured.

If you’re a convert, or if you left the Faith and then came back, ask yourself this: what was it that brought you back? Was it someone pushing hard or threatening? Was it someone compelling, imposing on you, forcing you? Was it someone telling you that you had no choice but to be Catholic? Was it someone withholding love or attention or care or tenderness, so as to get you to do what they thought was best for you? Is that how your heart was opened?

Or was it a glimpse of love? Love directed at you, where you are, as you are, in a language you understand?

This is how true conversions happen: not when we (as Josef Ratzinger said) get “Catholic” stamped on our passport. Not when we’re terrified or tricked or guilted or argued or shoved into sitting down and shutting up in the pew. We can fulfill all of our obligations as Catholics for decade upon decade and still be closed off to God. I’ve seen it. I’ve lived it. It’s not real faith, and it’s not from God. Hearts like these remain unconverted.

A Catholic who only remains inside the Church because he’s never thought much about it, or because he thinks it’s the best way to work the system, or because he thinks he’s better than everyone else, or because he thinks God is out to get him if he leaves, or because he thinks it means he can tick off his sacraments from the comfort of his polished pew, and to hell with all those unwashed Hindus? — this is someone who does not know God, no matter what his spiritual “passport” says.

At the hour of death, it would be better to be a faithful Hindu than a Catholic like this, who wouldn’t recognize Jesus if He bit him. Or called to him. Or disguised Himself as the hungry, the thirsty, the naked, the sick, the homeless, the imprisoned, the dead.

It’s better to know and love what Christ is like, even if you do not yet know His name.

If Mother Teresa was content to show Christ’s love to Hindus and see them depart still Hindu, then it’s because, as Ratzinger says, “Assent to the hiddenness of God is an essential part of the movement of the spirit that we call ‘faith.'” Mother Teresa did everything that was in her power to show the love of Christ to the needy. Her unthinkably strong faith allowed her to leave the rest up to the hiddenness of God.

 ***

NOTE: Simcha Fisher is not a trained theologian. Simcha Fisher is a housewife who has been keeping her ears and eyes open for forty-one years, and who thinks she has begun to understand a thing or two about Jesus. If she errs theologically, it a sincere error, and is not motivated by a desire to drag souls to perdition. She is willing to hear honest arguments showing her specifically where she has gone astray. Thanks.

Image by Funky Tee via Flickr (licensed)

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Okay! This week seems like a good time to resurrect the original purpose of this series, which was to help each other plan meals, discover new recipes, avoid hideous disasters, and so on. I’d absolutely love to hear you meal ideas — one recipe, or a whole week’s worth of dishes. What’s for supper at your house? Share in the comments; or, if you have a blog, you can add a link to this post by using the blue frog button at the bottom of the page. If it’s not showing up, please let me know so I can kill myself.

Here’s what we had this week:

SATURDAY
Bagel, egg, sausage, and cheese sandwiches

This is the easiest meal in the world. Toast a bunch of bagels, fry up a bunch of eggs, cook a bunch of sausage, and serve platters of everything with cheese. It’s so easy that I like to challenge myself a bit, by seeing how many platters of bagels I can ruin. Then, after I figure that out (it’s two, by the way. That’s twelve bagels turned into charcoal), I decide that this time, I’m gonna set the timer, so I don’t burn the next batch. So I do, and guess what? I set the timer for two minutes too long, and burned the next twelve bagels, too. But this time, it was intentional!

I also burned the sausages. The eggs were okay.

***

SUNDAY
Meatloaf, Hobbit bread, salad

I cook a fine meatloaf, if I do say so myself.

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I had seven pounds of beef and used the basic Fanny Farmer recipe (not in a buttered loaf pan, though! Blech. I shape the loaves on top of a broiler pan so the fat can drain off a bit). I went a little heavy on the Worcestershire sauce, and I also spread some ketchup around the outside before baking. Gorgeous and savory, if a little charred in spots.

My current favorite daughter volunteered to make her famous Hobbit Bread, which is a woven-topped loaf (or three) stuffed with mushrooms, onions, and cheese (recipe found in An Unexpected Cookbook: The Unofficial Book of Hobbit Cookery). She used storebought balls of pizza dough.

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I did set the timer for too long and they got a little burnt, so I was forced to only throw eleven pieces of this down my gullet.

And we had salad, because I am your mother and wish you to suffer.

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***

MONDAY
Baked ziti with sausage; salad

Ziti, crumbled sausage meat, jarred sauce, and a ton of fresh basil. Nobody really likes this meal, so I made enough to fill one of Arizona’s smaller and less famous but equally enchanting canyons. I dutifully ate it for lunch for two days, and then threw the rest out.

***

TUESDAY
Pulled pork sandwiches, red onions, potato puffs

One hunk of pork, one can of Narragansett beer, lots of salt and pepper. Cover loosely with tinfoil, cook at 200 for several hours; shred with forks and fingers, mix with bottled BBQ sauce, serve with red onions.

I remembered to set aside pulled pork for my husband and daughter, who were working late. I didn’t remember to put it away. I didn’t realize the dog was watching me not put it away.

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My husband and daughter found an empty tray on the floor and ordered pizza. I cried.

At least I didn’t burn anything this time.

***

WEDNESDAY
Chicken burgers, chips, carrots with hummus

Nothing to report, except that I like my chicken burgers with some horseradish sauce. Fawncy!

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THURSDAY
Tacos, tortilla chips and salsa

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I cooked the meat earlier in the day, then refrigerated it, then heated it up in the microwave, and then microwaved my individual taco. What would life even be like without these modern time-saving appliances?

***

FRIDAY
Gochujang tuna with sesame seeds; white rice

Today is a very special day, for today we will try a new brand of gochujang (Korean fermented pepper paste).

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You just mix it up with whatever you want and put some toasted sesame seeds on top and feel so dang smart.

***

Here it is: the blue frog button! It should say, “Click to view and add your links!” Or just click on whatever’s there. I’m making my list early, so hoping to be inspired with your menus!

Greek tragedy mask photo credit: Tragoedia via photopin (license)

NPR ran a delightfully clear and positive story yesterday about the upcoming canonization of Mother Teresa, and they included a short overview of the Church’s miracle requirement when a cause for sainthood is advanced. The secular media notoriously seeks out liberal, dissenting, or flat-out ignorant sources when it wants to explain something about Catholicism (and if they describe someone as a “devout Catholic,” it’s always either a pro-abortion politician or a porn star, or both).

Well, not this time! Fr. Robert Barron was their primary source, and he did his usual snappy, articulate job. I was also pleasantly surprised to see this little tidbit about the canonization process:

A group advocating sainthood for Marguerite d’Youville, a nun who lived in 18th century Canada, for example, sought an alternative explanation for the sudden recovery of a woman with incurable leukemia who had prayed to the nun 200 years after the nun’s death. The assignment went to Dr. Jacalyn Duffin, a hematologist at Queen’s University in Ontario.

Duffin agreed to do the investigation, but only after warning the group that she was not herself a believer.

“I revealed my atheism to them,” Duffin says. “I told them my husband was a Jew, and I wasn’t sure if they’d still want me. And they were delighted!”

The group reasoned that if Duffin, as an atheist, found there was no scientific reason the woman should have recovered, who could doubt it was a miracle? In fact, after her investigation of the woman’s recovery, Duffin agreed that the woman’s healing was — for lack of a better word — miraculous.

Intrigued by the experience, Duffin investigated hundreds of other miracle stories chronicled in the Vatican archives in Rome. She came away convinced that “miracles” do indeed happen.

Christopher Hitchens and other critics of Mother Teresa have somehow come away with the impression that the Church is busily throwing sand in people’s eyes and brushing inconvenient facts under the carpet, so as to bulk-canonize as many awful people as possible (motivation unclear).

The opposite is actually true. When researching the topic for Catholic Digest a few years ago, I discovered that, although the canonization process is less cumbersome than it used to be, it’s still really, really cumbersome, long, and complicated — by design.

The Church works hard to find a reason why someone should not be canonized, and it tries to remove every obstacle to discovering the truth about a candidate. Hundreds and hundreds of people are interviewed, and investigators are sworn to secrecy, so that anyone with unpleasant information will feel secure in coming forward. Investigators spend countless hours questioning everyone who could possibly be considered to be involved with the candidate; and when a devout person claims a miracle has occurred, there are countless reviews of every possible angle, including numerous physicians and theologians. There is even an investigation of the spiritual life and habits of the person who claims to have received miraculous intercession from the proposed saint. Tens of thousands of documents are prepared and reviewed at every level of the investigation. Strange behavior indeed from a church who wishes to deceive.

Speaking of strange behavior, the late Christopher Hitchens unstintingly devoted years of his life in service of trashing Mother Teresa, essentially for being a Catholic nun, rather than a billionaire doctor; for rescuing dying people from a miserable death in the streets, and for making sense of suffering rather than just crabbing about it. Hitchens seemed especially incensed that, in what Mother Teresa called her “Houses for the Dying,” people died. Died!

Now that her canonization is imminent, we’re told that, through her intercession, some people went ahead and didn’t die. You’d think her critics would be thrilled at the news (Horrible Nun Reverses Position, Now Opposes Death), but they are still complaining, for some reason. I supposed some mysteries are unplumbable.

(For a thorough response to the numerous, often self-contradictory criticisms against Mother Teresa, see this essay in First Things.)

Anyway, the Church truly is fussy when it investigates these matters, which is a great thing. If they left it up to me, I’d see miracles everywhere — including the one I came across just yesterday, when NPR made a positive and accurate report about the Catholic Church.

***

More reading: Sr. Theresa Aletheia Noble’s 5 Responses to the Ridiculous Rancor of Some Toward Mother Teresa

Image: India7 Network via Flickr (licensed)

Rest in peace, Gene Wilder, the blurry-featured, flossy-haired, heavy-eyed man who shrieked, ranted, muttered, and mugged through so many of Mel Brooks’ movies — with, if you pay attention, an incredible amount of classical stage discipline and skill. By all accounts, he lived for the attention he got through acting, but always shared the stage.

He’s told the story in several interviews of how he came to fall in love with acting: When he was a young boy, his mother had a heart attack. She came back home fragile and was put to bed, and the doctor pulled the little boy aside and said that he should never get angry at her, because it could kill her. But he should always try to make her laugh. And so he did.

It almost sounds too tidily melodramatic to be true, but it would explain why Wilder was willing to pour so much of himself into his films. In his memoir, Kiss Me Like a Stranger, he tells the story of how he persuaded Mel Brooks not to scrap the “Puttin’ On the Ritz” scene in Young Frankenstein:

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Wilder was irreplaceable in Mel Brooks’ broad, outlandish comedies-with-a-heart, where he fleshed out what could have been one-dimensional comic book characters into real, if bizarre people, usually in the midst of some kind of painful transformation: Viktor Frankenstein, the brilliant, rational surgeon and professor being stalked by destiny; in Blazing Saddles, the dissipated Waco Kid haunted by his past and eager to die, perfectly placed for one last deed of greatness; and of course Leo Bloom, the neurotically timid accountant who accidentally stumbles on an almost-brilliant idea. None of these characters would have worked if Wilder hadn’t believed them with his whole heart.

Here are my favorite Gene Wilder scenes, many of which are the source of Fisher household catchphrases:

From Blazing Saddles, when the new sheriff meets the town drunk: “Need any help?” — “Oh . . . all I can get.” (This phrase turns up a lot during the dinner prep hour):

In Young Frankenstein, while the good doctor still strains to divorce his name from his nefarious ancestors, he protests that he is not interested in death! Look at those hooded eyes, how he slides them around him and bats his lids like a silent movie actor:

Wilder has a wonderful maniacal shout, but his quiet mutter is sublime. “Nice hopping,” and “Give him an extra dollar” are both standards in our household.

And of course the fabled “Puttin’ On the Ritz” song and dance, where Dr. Frankenstein seeks to win over the hearts and minds of a suspicious community by showing them the fearful monster’s lovable show biz side:

Great example of how he refuses to steal the stage, in service of the show.

From The Producers (the real version, not the other one):
“I’m in pain. I’m wet. And I’m still hysterical!”

Ah, well. Prayers for comfort for his widow, a non-celebrity who was married to Wilder for 25 years and who nursed him through his final illness; and prayers for Wilder. May his soul rest in peace.

The parable that Jesus tells in yesterday’s Gospel — the one about the party guests, and about exalting the lowly and casting down the exalted? It bugs me.

I get and appreciate the general principle, and I’ve seen it in action; but I’m not sure I completely approve of Jesus’ methods. He seems to be appealing to such a low motivation: Don’t try to elevate yourself, because think how embarrassing it will be when you get knocked back down where you belong! Bubbeleh, why would you do that to yourself? Think how much nicer it would be act all humble, and the host will be all, “Hey, what are you doing down there? Come on up, you old so-and-so!” right in front of all your friends. Ha!

So, that’s odd enough in itself. I sit in my pew and I think, “Boy, Lord, give us some credit! We do have other stuff besides self-interest going on here. Maybe urge us to transcend earthly concerns, abnegate ourselves in service of higher things, seek the better part, eh, eh?”

But instead, He does more or less what I do to my little kids: He bribes them. I know I’m not going to get a three-year-old to be patient at the DMV by reminding him that my children owe me obedience and respect as part of the natural order of things, and that he ought to control himself because he understands that it’s good for the entire family if Mama can get her license renewed before the deadline. That never works. But I may get the little spaz to behave himself if I promise him a Slurpee when we get out. Not edifying, but effective. The kid is only three, and we can’t expect much more from him.

Well, the second part of the parable isn’t very edifying, either. After telling the guests that they’ll get a treat if they stifle their natural impulses, Jesus also bribes the hosts, telling them that if they invite people who can’t possibly repay them with reciprocal invitations, then they’ll get a treat at the resurrection.

Sheesh. If Jesus had consulted me, I probably would have suggested that He say something like, “For in the faces of the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind, you will see the very face of God, who is a still, small voice in the very last place you expect to see Him, so be like unto the mountain climber who, upon falling into a crevasse, fights every natural instinct he has and does the thing he hates most, climbing down into the darkness, and thus will he find salvation and, more importantly, enlightenment.” Instead, He basically says, “If you invite the poor people to your party, I’ll get you a Slurpee later.”

So I’m sitting in my pew, trying to imagine what this banquet would actually look like: the uggos scrambling for the worst seats, giggling to themselves over how awesome it was going to be when the host calls them up front, and then the host making like an exasperated math teacher, begging “Guys, you all need to move up. It turns out I didn’t invite anyone cool at all, so there are all these empty seats up front, so if you could all just move up, then I can collect my reward after I die, which is going to be soon if we don’t get this show on the road.”

Well, that just doesn’t make a lick of sense. What kind of party is that? I think that if Jesus had just checked with me, I could have written the parable a lot better, and the whole thing could have been more profound and more enlightening for everyone. Look, I don’t mean to get ahead of myself, or exalt myself, or put myself in a higher position than I . . .

. . . don’t mean to  . . .

Huh. I think I just got Jesus juked by Jesus.

Okay, message received, Lord. It’s your party, not mine. Your gospel, not mine. Your plan of salvation, not mine. And I am yours, not mine. If you think I need to be bribed, then maybe, just maybe, you know me better than I know myself. I’ll try to behave myself now, and wait in joyful hope for the coming of the Slurpee, amen.

***

photo credit: The Bait via photopin (license)

[img attachment=”98244″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”whats for supper aleteia” /]

It’s that ambitious time of year again, when people want to SORT THEIR LIVES OUT. We are all making plans, solid plans.

So, if you’re working on sorting your life out, would it help if I started using a link-up system again? It never really caught on, but I’d be happy to try again. I loved seeing what other families had for dinner. The original idea was not only to post pictures of my pork chops (I mean, who starts out with that for an original plan? People just fall into this kind of thing, all right? You have a camera, you have an empty corner in the garage, and someone says, “Hey, you know, here’s what you could do. . . ” Next thing you know, it’s a business model and you’re thinking of upgrading your drapes), but to give everyone a leg up in that lonely, lonely business of making a weekly meal plan.

Eh? Eh? Link-up, or just a reminder to share your menu for the week? Or just keep on posting pictures of my chops? I’m flexible.

Here’s what we had this week:

SATURDAY
Pizza hut pizza

On Saturday, we went to the ZOO! This is the first time we’ve been there when it wasn’t free day and thus packed to the gills with a gazillion other broke families. I was delighted to see that there is a whole lion in this zoo, and not just the top of a tuft of hair of the lion, which is what we’ve been able to see in other years through the crush of people. They also have entire giraffes, not just trees swishing with invisible giraffes inside them; and there is a whole gorilla, not just a fleeting gorilla butt.

[img attachment=”117342″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”Screen Shot 2016-08-26 at 9.57.27 AM” /]

Paying admission! Who’d-a thunk it. Next you’ll be telling me some people pay more than $12.88 for a pair of shoes.

My husband’s wonderful sister from California was in town, so we dragged her along with us to the zoo, and then we dragged her to one of our region’s distinctive culinary showcases: Pizza Hut. Of course we just had to sample that classic New England specialty: Two Pepperoni And Two Olive. My husband ordered Coke, and the waitress asked if Pepsi was okay, and he said “yes.” And that’s how I knew it had been a long day.

***

SUNDAY
Blueberry Chicken Salad again

This was so yummy, and chicken was so on sale, I put it on the menu again while it’s still blueberry season.

[img attachment=”117334″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”blueberry salad separate” /]

Still yummy! Here’s the recipe. I used bleu cheese instead of feta this time, and it was a much better match.

***

MONDAY
Hamburgers, chips

Nothing to report. Kids made supper while I was on the radio.

Oh, by the way, that was my next-to-last radio show with Mark Shea. Over a month ago, I had to regretfully let Mark know that when school started up, I wouldn’t be able to co-host anymore, because we’re just too crunched for time. So this coming Monday will be my last show (at least for now). You can still find podcasts of all of Mark’s previous shows, including the Mondays when I co-hosted. Also, the show is now available for Kindle, which should make it much easier to listen! And you can become a friend of the show, to help keep Breadbox Media on the air. Mark is such an enormously knowledgeable, articulate, and funny guy who is willing to talk about anything with anyone. Definitely worth your support.

On my last show this coming Monday, I will make a third and final attempt to tell the “got any duck food?” joke. It will be horrible.

***

TUESDAY
Copycat Wendy’s Power Mediterranean Chicken Salad

We have fast food once a week on our fabled shopping turn. A trip to Wendy’s is not as exciting for me as it is for the little guys, so I usually get a half salad, and I bring a can of seltzer from home. Wendy’s salads are actually quite good, fresh and interesting, not the limp, wizened, uninspired food you’d expect from a fast food place. My favorite is the Power Mediterranean Chicken Salad. Silly name, but a very tasty and filling meal.

I didn’t copy it exactly, but my version was:

Chopped kale,
spinach,
baby arugula,
grape tomatoes,
feta cheese,
black olives,
chick peas,
white beans,
roasted sunflower seeds,
chopped sweet peppers,
and chunks of grilled chicken.

I did buy some quinoa, which I happen to like, humph; but it felt too hot to cook anything else, so I skipped it, thus making the salad slightly less powerful. The Wendy’s version also includes hummus, which I put on the table but forgot to eat.

Normally, I serve meals like this in separate dishes, so people can pick and choose, but I was not feeling terribly accommodating on Tuesday, so I chunked it all into a giant bowl together.*

[img attachment=”117335″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”blueberry salad mixed” /]

I only kept the olives sequestered, in deference to my husband’s intense olive aversion; but he got home really late after a frustrating day of trying to squeeze some verifiable information out of a guy who spends a lot of time making amazing deals with classic car aficionados and also, as a side hobby, corresponding with the Better Business Bureau. I sort of mumblingly mentioned that there was lots of salad left over, with lots of nice things in it, such as nice chick peas. He said he was too tired to eat salad, and made some burgers instead. Fair enough.

*If you look closely, you’ll notice that this is actually a picture of Saturday’s blueberry salad, and not a copycat power mediterranean chicken salad at all. This is because I lost my iPad again, so my son took pictures with his phone, but then the rotten kid went to school. If I can reach him in time, I’ll add more pics in later, but I don’t have high hopes.

***

WEDNESDAY
Pork ribs, mashed potatoes, peas

Is there anything lovelier than a nicely-roasted pork rib reclining elegantly upon a plate? I argue that there is not.

[img attachment=”117343″ align=”aligncenter” size=”medium” alt=”pork dinner” /]

Notice the delicate breath of frost upon the peas. It was still hot, and I still didn’t feel like cooking anything. I did, however, take the peas out of the bag.

***

THURSDAY
Four large pizzas, carrots with hummus

My teenage son saw that I was having a stressful week, so he offered to try hummus. So now he has officially tried hummus. I think it made him tired. I appreciated the gesture.

***

FRIDAY
Pasta?

Okay, don’t forget to let me know your vote about future food posts! Link-up, or just a reminder to share menus in the comments, or just more pictures of my meaty thighs? I live to serve.