Lizz Lund - Mina Kitchen 01 - Kitchen Addiction! (13 page)

“What
happened to Vinnie?” Bauser asked, examining his oddly cut fur.

“Moths,”
I answered.

I
opened my fridge for inspection.  “I have one beer, some limeade and a Box
O’Burgundy,” I offered.

“Beer’s
cool.”

“Okay,”
I said, and gave Bauser the last beer.  I poured a mug of wine for myself.

Bauser
scritched Vinnie and then offered to give him his dinner – Fishy Scales and
Piggy Tails – while I zipped upstairs to give Marie her seeds and sips.  I came
back down, we turned on the tube, and plotzed.  We probably looked like an old,
disinterested married couple.  Don’t get me wrong.  I like Bauser.  And vintage
punk rock is okay.  But Bauser?  Bauser’s a great guy, but, hey – he’s Bauser. 
Which is okay, because he feels the same way about me.

We
settled on a pizza order – how many times now had I had pizza in the last few
days? I’d lost count – and waited.  I switched on the food network channel for
distraction.

The
doorbell rang, and Bauser and I got up to pay our halfsies for our pizza
delivery.  But on the stoop, instead of the pizza guy, we found Aunt Muriel and
Vito.  With Ma.  There were several startling discoveries about this vision,
not the least of which was answering my own doorbell.  Usually, Vito does
that.  Also, I wasn’t expecting Ma to visit. She stood silently on my porch
texting her office BFF all about it.

Aunt
Muriel’s gaze quickly took in Bauser: single, male.  “My gracious, Mina, I’m so
sorry! We didn’t realize you had company!” she cried giddily.  A vision of
various high school productions of ‘Glass Menagerie’ sprang into my head and I
was singularly grateful Aunt Muriel hadn’t declared, “My, a gentleman caller!” 
She was also costumed to play a part; she sported a wide orange headband.  I
suspected she was hiding her charred bangs.

“Hi,
Ma,” I said.

Ma
hugged me, examined my forehead and checked the email on her Crackberry. 
Clearly she wasn’t too happy about having a grand-noggin.  I wasn’t too happy
that she wasn’t the pizza guy.  But we hugged and stood there.

“Hey,
Toots, you gonna let us in or what?” Vito asked affably.

“Oh,
sorry,” I said, grateful for the consumed pain meds, tet-a-nish shot and mug
o’Merlot.  I shot Bauser a warning look.  He replied happily by slurping his
beer and returning to his pillow on the floor, and flipping the channel over to
the sports network.

Vito
ambled into the hallway with a large, foiled casserole pan.  Ma wheeled in a
small, metallic overnight bag.  She reminded me about Ethel’s and Ike’s
upcoming visit, and our planned familial Lancaster rendezvous – which, of
course, I’d completely forgotten.  She handed me a pack of swatches.  Then she
and Aunt Muriel frowned at my walls.  Vinnie rubbed happily against Aunt
Muriel, since she was now his official pepperoni connection.

“I
have some things for you in the car,” Ma said to me, looking up from her
email.  I sighed and started to go out the door.  Vito ‘tut-tutted’ me and
brought Ma’s stuff in:  several shopping bags, a box from the liquor store,
several bottles of good red wine, and a cooler.

“Wow,
your family’s cool,” Bauser smiled.

“Not
cool; catered,” I auto-replied.  Genetics forbid anyone in my family to travel
without a picnic.

Ma
and Aunt Muriel unpacked the shopping bags and in minutes my countertops were
covered with various kinds of gourmet cheeses, olives, deli meats, nuts,
crackers, Absolut, Grey Goose, Chivas Regal and few bottles of a nice Syrah. 
There was also an assortment of new little bowls as well new sheets, a wine
bottle opener and throw pillows, courtesy of Ma and her savvy shopping.  What
can I say?  What Ma sometimes lacks in communication skills she makes up for in
retail.

Vito’d
plunked the huge casserole on top of the stove.  While Ma and Aunt Muriel
unpacked and admired the prizes Ma’d brought for me, I lifted up the foil on
Vito’s casserole to take a peek.  There lurked a kaleidoscope of ground beef,
onions, clumps of condensed soups, ziti noodles, shredded American cheese and
beans.  These were topped with an undiluted can of tomato soup, Velveeta slices
and what looked like either kielbasa or a large Gardner snake nested in the
middle.   I gulped, thankful that Bauser and I had placed the pizza order.

Vito
clapped me on the shoulder, as I let the foil back down to shroud the dead
casserole.  “Looks pretty good, huh?”

“Great,”
I lied.

“Hey,
I know I’m only a lonely widower,” Vito said, looking soulfully over at Aunt
Muriel, who continued to ignore him, “but I know how to learn a thing or two. 
I got the recipe for this right off the Internet!”

“Hey,
that’s really great, Vito,” I said.  Since my curiosity often outranks my
sense, I asked, “What is it?”

“Johnny
Mazarotti’s – a la Vito Spaghetti!”

Ma
and Aunt Muriel froze in their tracks and stared at Vito.  They looked like
Bambi’s Great-Gramma deer in headlights.  “Johnny Mazarotti’s’?  I haven’t
heard that name since Karen Dervish, right, Mu?” Ma said, getting faintly
puffed up and sentimental.

Mrs.
Dervish was one of the gals who guided Ma along the pearl-stringed ropes of Ridgewood in the early 60s, when being snobby was intensely in vogue.  Ma and Mrs. Dervish
might not have been best-buddies, but they both belonged to the Mother’s
Mafia.  I found out about this after I snuck my first cigarette and got slapped
upside the head with Ma’s wooden spoon.

“What’s
that for?!” I had wailed.

“For
smoking!” Ma gritted back at me.

“How’d
you know?” I cried.

Ma
leaned in, and answered quietly, “Mothers know everything.”

I
believed that for a very long time.  Until graduation prom when I found out
that Mrs. Dervish’s daughter, Alicia, had finked on me.  Alicia willingly
dressed in matching mother/daughter outfits with Mrs. Dervish until her
freshman year of college.  A couple years after college graduation, I heard
that she’d moved out from her parents’ home to do environmental work with
unshaved legs in an even more unshaved section of Vermont, where I suspected
she smoked other things besides tobacco.

“Oh,
we haven’t had Johnny Mazarotti’s for a thousand years!” Aunt Muriel shrieked,
clearly trying to not offend Vito but severely amused.

“Hey,
these are Johnny Mazarotti’s a la Vito Spaghetti!” Vito beamed.

All
at once, Ma and Aunt Muriel fell suddenly silent.  Since I had already
witnessed the raw makings of the impending offal, I wondered how much Zantac I
had.  Especially with Ma sleeping over.  But Aunt Muriel’s a real trooper.  She
asked politely, “Oh, is this your own version, Vito?”

“Yup!”
Vito smiled.  “Ya sees, the ways I figured it, the secrets not just in the
noodles, but in the secret ingredients!”  We looked at him, smiling hopefully,
and willing the secret ingredients not to be something too awful.  Except I
already had a pretty good idea.   “Kielbasa, pork ‘n’ beans, potato chips, and
my secret creamed garlic barbeque sauce!  I made it myself!” Vito winked. I looked
blank.  “The sauce, I mean.”

I
gulped.  Apparently the damage was far, far worse than I’d imagined.

The
doorbell rang and Bauser sprang into action, clearly awakened, and sobered by
the thought of creamed kielbasa barbeque casserole.  “Pizza!” Bauser sang.  “I
got it, my treat!” Obviously Johnny Mazarotti had made an impression on him,
too.

Vito
looked down sheepishly.  Aunt Muriel frowned at me.  Ma sucked on an olive. 
“Sorry, Toots; I should have figured you’d have your own dinner plans,” he
said. 

Oh,
good grief.  “Well, I did when it was only me and Bauser!  Hey, this is great!”
I smiled.  “Now we can have olives and pizza as – ummm… – appetizers, and have
the Johnny Spaghetti’s as our main course!”  I said.

“Well,
hey, sure… great!” Vito beamed.

Dishtowel
tucked neatly into his waistband, Vito turned on the oven.  I don’t know what I
did in my past life, but clearly Vito sought to make sure I got served in this
one.  I looked over at Ma and Aunt Muriel for sympathy.  They were too busy
clawing inside their purses and clandestinely divvying up the various Rolaids,
Beano and Mylanta they had between them.  But I also got ‘the nod’.  I’d done
the right thing by Vito.

So
we also divvied up a lot of pizza, olives, gourmet cheeses and nuts for the
first course, along with a generous amount of ’frothies’ in the blender. 
Bauser stuck with his beer, tenderly fingering the pain pill I’d given him
earlier like a talisman.  I sighed and checked on Vito’s casserole corpse in
the oven.

I
came back into the living room, and it looked like old home week.   Ma and Aunt
Muriel were cozily tucked up together on the sofa sipping frothies, while Vito
was squashed happily inside the little side chair, with Bauser lying
contentedly across the living room rug at his feet, looking a lot like his
Irish Setter. Vinnie came in and perched happily in Aunt Muriel’s lap, and
noshed on a pepperoni slice she ‘assured’ me she wouldn’t give him from her
pizza.

After
we chatted for a while and the smoke alarm went off, I took the Johnny
Mazarotti’s out of the oven and opened up the screen door.  I set out some
plates and forks and napkins for our buffet.  I put the hot dead casserole on
the stovetop, figuring a public viewing was safer.  I’d have a private service
with the remains afterward.

While
we ate, Bauser and I filled everyone in about EEJIT, Buy-A-Lots and the flaming
bags of feces.  Typical supper talk.  I finally started to feel like my house
was homey.  Even while Vito insisted on giving us his recipe:

Johnny
Mazarotti ala Vito Spaghetti

·
   
Large package
dry extra wide egg noodles

·
   
2 pounds
ground beef

·
   
2 large
onions, chopped

·
   
10 garlic
cloves, minced

·
   
Vito’s Secret
Garlic BBQ sauce

·
   
2 pounds
garlic Kielbasa

·
   
4 cans pork
‘n’ beans

·
   
1 can
condensed tomato soup

·
   
2  cans
condensed cream of chicken soup

·
   
1 hunk sliced
Velveeta

·
   
1 package
cream cheese

Directions:

1.
   
Preheat oven
to 350 degrees F.  Grease the inside of a baking dish with Crisco or lard.

2.
   
Bring a large
pot of salted water to a boil. Add egg noodles and cook.  When done, drain and
set aside.

3.
   
In a large
saucepan over high heat, brown the ground beef, onion, garlic.  Mix in the cans
of pork ‘n’ beans (don’t drain), Cream of Chicken soup and cream cheese.

4.
   
Smooth a
layer of Vito’s Secret Creamed Garlic BBQ sauce on the bottom of the baking
dish.  Place half of the cooked egg noodles on top. Layer with half of the bean
and meat mixture and half of the Velveeta slices. Salt and pepper to taste,
then repeat the layers with the remaining cheese as a top layer.  Cover all
with canned tomato sauce.  Place 2 large kielbasa – whole – lengthwise on top
of the casserole.  Push into the center of the casserole, so partially ‘hiding’
but still exposed.  Top with smashed potato chips, if desired.  (Vito desired)

5.
   
Bake in the
preheated oven 30 minutes, or until the cheese is completely melted and the
surface is hot and bubbly.

6.
   
Take Bean-O. 
Then serve.

Finally,
after some old-time MGM re-runs, Bauser went home.  Vito followed behind.  “Oh,
I guess you got kind of busy to take care of my dry cleaning, what with the
fire and all,” he said nervously.

“No
actually, Vito; Bauser dropped me off and I picked it up,” I said, happy that I
remembered and wasn’t going to disappoint him.  I opened the front hall closet
door, and displayed the plethora of hanging dry cleaning.  “Ta da!” I sang.

Vito
looked at me like feathers had sprouted from my ears.  “What’s this?” he asked.

“Your
dry cleaning.  Which I paid for, by the way,” I offered with frothie induced
enthusiasm.

“Whaddyamean
you paid for it?”

Somewhere
in the dim halls of my remembery was the idea that getting Vito’s shirts on
hangers – and paying for them – was weird.  But what the heck – it’s only dry
cleaning, right?

“Look,
Vito, there’s a new girl there… she probably just didn’t know you have an
account… it’s no big deal.  After all, you’re good for it, right?” I joshed.