scrambled eggs in zsir

Kereszt Anyu is standing at the stove in her flowered apron, stirring an old ceramic bowl full of eggs with a fork. She picks up the old worn, wooden spoon, sticks it into a can, and with a quick twist, it’s heaping with pale tan, rendered pork lard. The lard is soft and beginning to…

Homecoming

After the iron curtain was lifted, and travel was allowed, my parents took me back to Hungary. They wanted to reunite me with my family, and with my birthplace, before too much time had elapsed.
As the airplane neared the ground, I saw the red tiled village rooftops, so many blocks of planted fruits and vegetables, white spots of geese, sunflower fields, paprika fields, so many patches of beautiful colors. A mad quilt of many shades and hues.

dinnerware obsession

I suffer from this curious malady. It’s an obsession of sorts. I love dishes, plates, table settings, basically anything made to serve food and beverages, or that which goes onto a table to make it beautiful. I don’t know why this is. All I know, is that when I got engaged, the chore of choosing china and daily service was the only part of the pre-wedding rituals I liked and felt mattered.

Let me set the table. Putting the plates on the table for dinner was one of my jobs, almost on a daily basis, so also, was drying the dishes after my mother washed them, handing them to me to wipe off.

Laci! Gyere ide! (Laci! Come here!)

The bakery wasn’t that far away, just all the way down the hill and only a quarter of the way through town. I was quite mature now, (almost 6) so I was sent to fetch our loaf of bread. With this loaf of bread, my mother made my father’s work sandwiches, and when it got…