Poem: "A Dish for Family"
This poem came out of the August 3, 2021 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from ![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
erulisse, janetmiles, fuzzyred, and 
my_partner_doug. It also fills the "unexpected mercy / generosity" square in my 8-2-21 card for the August Intimacies Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by Anthony & Shirley Barrette. It belongs to the Rutledge thread of the Polychrome Heroics series.
"A Dish for Family"
[Monday, June 2, 2014]
"The Business Incubator
is now official," Labib said.
"We have rented an office and
filed the initial paperwork for it.
This calls for a celebration!"
"Okay," Oscar said. He felt
a bit at a loss, though. His idea
of a celebration involved a case of
beer, and Muslims didn't drink alcohol.
"Come over to our home this weekend,"
Labib said. "We'll make Syrian meat pies.
I'll invite one of the community grandmothers
so that Oraida can have some company too."
That was the thing about Syrian women:
you never saw one of them alone with
an unrelated man. They always went
two by two. It kept things comfortable.
"Grandmothers?" Oscar echoed,
wondering that what was all about.
Labib's bright look dimmed a little.
"All of us come from broken families,
but some are more broken than others,"
he said. "I have my wife and children, but
no one else -- no aunt or sister to invite.
Some of the others are alone, and that's
very hard on them, especially the women."
"So you invite them places to keep them
from sitting at home all the time," Oscar said,
remembering the high school prom that he
had done which mixed senior citizens with
graduating seniors. "That's kind of you.
When do you want to do this, then?"
"Saturday, and you should plan to come
no later than lunch -- we'll spend most
of the day cooking," Labib replied.
"What on Earth for?" Oscar said.
"You could just buy takeout."
"You don't buy Syrian meat pies
in a restaurant," Labib explained. "It
is a dish for family, and close friends."
"Ohh," Oscar said. "I get it. You
mean this is like thanksgiving --
cooking all day is part of the point.
Okay, I'll mark it in my schedule."
He pulled out his pocket calendar
and noted it before he could forget.
This was an unexpected but
welcome bit of generosity.
[Saturday, July 7, 2014]
Oscar made his way briskly
through Family Business Rest.
Labib's family had Unit F in
the northwest corner. Families
with small children got first chance
at suites on the first floor, with
easy access to outside play areas.
As soon as Oscar knocked on
the door, Labib popped it open.
"Come in, come in!" Labib said,
beckoning Oscar inside.
The place already smelled
fragrantly of spices that
Oscar couldn't name.
"Here is my wife Oraida,
our older daughter Rida,
the younger Nakiah,"
Labib said, waving.
Oscar had seen them
in passing but appreciated
the reintroduction today.
"And this is Ulima Shamalieh,
who babysits for us sometimes,"
said Labib. "Everyone, this is
my colleague Oscar Paton."
He made it sound so important.
"Thank you for coming, Oscar,"
said Oraida. "Please find a place
and let us know what you can do."
The kitchen was bright and
cheerful, a U-shape separating
the entry from the dining area.
Beyond that lay the living room and
its windows, but the interior walls had
light panels to simulate windows too.
Oscar took a seat at the far end of
the dining table, hopefully out of
the way. The last thing he wanted
was to bump into the women.
"I, uh, I can chop things,"
he offered. "Most of what
I cook is actually camp cooking
or grilling. I'm less use indoors."
They looked pleased, though.
"Dice the onions, please,"
Labib said, bringing out
vegetables and knives
and cutting boards.
The women were
making the dough,
with the girls "helping."
Oscar diced onions
while Labib did tomatoes.
Then Oscar cut flat parsley as
Labib chopped green peppers.
Something was toasting in
the kitchen that smelled
sort of nutty and spicy.
Labib took the vegetables
into the kitchen and then
put together some spices.
He came back with a lime
and a big bunch of mint.
"These will go into
the mint-lime yogurt,"
he said. "It needs time
to chill before supper.
You can mince the mint."
So Oscar used scissors
to cut the mint into tiny bits.
Labib scraped the skin off
the lime, then juiced it.
Those and a bit of spice
went into a big bowl of
plain thick yogurt.
Oscar's belly rumbled.
He'd been running late
and only had a meal bar
for lunch. Now the smell of
food was making him hungry.
"Snack time," Oraida said.
"The dough needs to rise,
then we'll cook the filling."
She brought out a platter
filled with all kinds of ... stuff.
"Olives, mixed quick-pickles,
dried figs, grapes, goat cheese,
hummus, and pita," she said.
Oscar wasn't the biggest fan
of foreign food that wasn't meat,
but some of it was growing on him.
He ate the grapes and the pita
readily enough, and the cheese was
okay. He hesitated over the rest.
He wasn't alone, though. The girls
were wrinkling their noses over
the pickled vegetables and olives.
"One olive or one piece of cauliflower,"
Labib said firmly. "Oscar, have you
tried real dried figs? Someone
brought these from Montpelier."
He'd had fig newtons, is all, but
he really couldn't leave Labib
hanging or let the girls get away
with not even tasting the food.
"I'll try one," Oscar said gamely.
The dried fig was odd, almost papery
on the outside but chewy inside, not
tender like fig newtons. It was also
about a million times sweeter, with
a spicy, almost flowery flavor.
"Wow," he said. "That's really
different." He took another one.
Rida was sucking on her olive
like she expected it to melt.
Nakiah tried to swallow hers
whole, almost choked on it,
and spit it out on her plate.
Oscar tried very hard
not to laugh. The scene
felt amazingly familiar
despite the differences.
When Rida got cheese in
her sister's hair, Oscar lost it.
Labib was making muffled noises,
so at least Oscar wasn't the only one.
Ulima said something in French,
then scooped up both of the girls
and headed for the bathroom.
The rest of them cleared
the remnants off the table.
"Oscar, you can make the salad,"
said Labib. "Dice the cucumber
and tomatoes. I'll cook the filling."
"That's it?" Oscar wondered.
"Most of it," said Labib. "Cilantro
and a few other things go in later,
but mostly it's cucumber and tomato."
"Huh," said Oscar. "Okay, that
sounds simple enough to make."
It was, which was good, because
the smell of the meat cooking
was incredibly distracting,
despite the recent snack.
By the time the meat filling
was done, Oscar had finished
the salad vegetables and Labib
added the other ingredients.
Ulima came back with the girls,
still damp from their bath, and
planted them firmly in the chairs.
Oraida brought the dough
and carefully explained how
to assemble the meat pies.
"Uh ..." Oscar said desperately.
Ulima was already turning balls of
dough into flat circles, faster than
a machine could have done it.
"Just put a spoonful of filling
in the center and pass it to me,"
Labib said. "I'll fold it closed."
"That I can do," Oscar said,
relieved. How hard could it be?
It was still harder than it looked,
because the filling was crumbly
and smelled deliciously of lamb
and those mysterious spices.
Labib folded the sides of
each circle into something
that looked like a triangular hat.
Oscar was really glad that they
didn't expect him to do that.
Oraida was, somehow, filling
her circles with one hand and
folding them closed with the other,
but hers were coming out square.
"Different seasonings," Labib said,
"so that we can tell them apart."
It took a while to assemble all of them,
because there were so many and it
took several steps for each one.
Finally, though, the first batch of
meat pies made it into the oven.
The girls started squabbling, and
this time Oraida shooed both
of them into the living room
before Ulima could get up.
"You don't have to babysit
the girls every time you
come to visit," said Oraida.
"I do not mind," Ulima said
in her thicker accent. "I miss ..."
Oscar suddenly realized that
an old woman traveling alone to
a foreign country had probably
lost everyone in her family.
"I miss big family gathers too,"
he said. "So many of my kin
have moved away, it's hard
to get together anymore."
"We all have people we miss,"
Labib said. "We can make
new connections, if we try."
"I am grateful for that,"
Ulima said. "Still ... hard."
Vermont had the same problem
as the refugees, for different reasons:
lots of people without enough family
to help them through the rough spots.
"You know, Silver Square is about
half empty," Oscar pointed out.
"Silver Square?" Labib echoed.
"Yeah, it's downtown," Oscar said.
"A few businesses are left, and
some people live in the townhouses,
mostly older folks whose kids have
all grown up and moved away."
"You've mentioned the issue
before," Labib observed.
"Well, Silver Square is
a nice place to live, and it's
really cheap," said Oscar.
"If some of your older folks
moved in, then they'd have
company their own age."
"I like children," Ulima said.
"Just, the memories, they ..."
She made a piling-up motion.
"Maybe see about inviting
a few younger folks to move in
to help with chores," Oscar said.
"Kids wouldn't be underfoot all of
the time, but they'd be around."
"That's not a bad idea," said Labib.
"Excuse me." He took out his phone
and used it to search for something,
then showed it to Ulima and they
chatted about it in French for a bit.
Then the oven chimed and
the girls clamored for supper.
"We'll talk more later," said Labib.
"I think you have a good idea,
Oscar. If our elders like the place,
perhaps the Business Incubator
can help fill in missing stores."
Oraida took the meat pies
out of the oven and put in
the next batch of them.
Ulima went to the fridge
and brought out falafel dough
which she started frying. They
looked like greenish-brown donuts.
Labib herded Rida and Nakiah
into helping him set the table.
In addition to the meat pies,
there was the cucumber salad,
falafel with mint-lime sauce,
and weird pink pickled onions.
"The triangles have regular spices,
the square ones have harissa,"
Labib explained, pointing.
Oscar tried a regular one,
tentatively pulling it apart.
The bread felt like pizza crust,
soft and springy, but the meat
smelling nothing like pizza.
It was steamy and spicy,
rich with lamb and onions,
but Oscar's taste buds were
too stunned to register anything
other than more ... more ... more.
He wolfed down two of the things
before he slowed enough to try
some of the other dishes too.
The salad was surprisingly good
for as simple as it was -- Oscar
thought he could make it at home.
He had no interest in the falafel,
and the onions tasted funny, but
the mint sauce was delicious.
Then Oraida brought out
rice pudding for dessert.
Oscar whimpered a little.
He was already stuffed,
but no way was he
missing out on dessert.
The rice pudding had
bits of dried apricot and
crunchy pistachios in it.
Oscar actually liked it
even though he didn't like
pistachio ice cream at all.
Nakiah was carefully licking
the rice off of her pistachios,
then leaving them on the plate.
"Thank you," Oscar said to Labib.
"This was an amazing supper,
and I've enjoyed the company."
It really was a dish for family.
Spending the day here had
eased a little of the ache from
his own relatives moving away.
"You're welcome," Labib said,
hurriedly removing the nuts
from Nakiah's reach before
she could start throwing any.
"It's good to make new ties."
"I'll pack up some leftovers
for you," Oraida said, getting up.
"Just a couple," Oscar said.
"It's only me at home, after all."
"That's all right," Labib said.
"We made extra so we can share
them with other people. I'll pass
some down the hall here."
That gave Oscar a new idea
of how he could use leftovers.
"On second thought ... make up
a basket for me and I'll drop it
by Silver Square," said Oscar.
"If they pitch a fit, we'll know that
moving in refugees is a bad match,
but I think they'll love these things."
Oraida chuckled. "Everyone loves
Syrian meat pies," she said as
she put some into a basket.
The smell of them spilled
out of the basket as Oscar
wished everyone good night
and stepped into the hall.
When he made his way
to Silver Square, people
turned to look and see
what he was carrying.
Oscar took the basket
to a group of seniors
sitting in the courtyard.
"A gift from Labib's family
and the Business Incubator,"
Oscar explained, then tried
to describe the meat pies.
Few people waited for
the explanation before
digging into the basket.
And nobody pitched a fit.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes will appear elsewhere.
erulisse, janetmiles, fuzzyred, and my_partner_doug. It also fills the "unexpected mercy / generosity" square in my 8-2-21 card for the August Intimacies Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by Anthony & Shirley Barrette. It belongs to the Rutledge thread of the Polychrome Heroics series."A Dish for Family"
[Monday, June 2, 2014]
"The Business Incubator
is now official," Labib said.
"We have rented an office and
filed the initial paperwork for it.
This calls for a celebration!"
"Okay," Oscar said. He felt
a bit at a loss, though. His idea
of a celebration involved a case of
beer, and Muslims didn't drink alcohol.
"Come over to our home this weekend,"
Labib said. "We'll make Syrian meat pies.
I'll invite one of the community grandmothers
so that Oraida can have some company too."
That was the thing about Syrian women:
you never saw one of them alone with
an unrelated man. They always went
two by two. It kept things comfortable.
"Grandmothers?" Oscar echoed,
wondering that what was all about.
Labib's bright look dimmed a little.
"All of us come from broken families,
but some are more broken than others,"
he said. "I have my wife and children, but
no one else -- no aunt or sister to invite.
Some of the others are alone, and that's
very hard on them, especially the women."
"So you invite them places to keep them
from sitting at home all the time," Oscar said,
remembering the high school prom that he
had done which mixed senior citizens with
graduating seniors. "That's kind of you.
When do you want to do this, then?"
"Saturday, and you should plan to come
no later than lunch -- we'll spend most
of the day cooking," Labib replied.
"What on Earth for?" Oscar said.
"You could just buy takeout."
"You don't buy Syrian meat pies
in a restaurant," Labib explained. "It
is a dish for family, and close friends."
"Ohh," Oscar said. "I get it. You
mean this is like thanksgiving --
cooking all day is part of the point.
Okay, I'll mark it in my schedule."
He pulled out his pocket calendar
and noted it before he could forget.
This was an unexpected but
welcome bit of generosity.
[Saturday, July 7, 2014]
Oscar made his way briskly
through Family Business Rest.
Labib's family had Unit F in
the northwest corner. Families
with small children got first chance
at suites on the first floor, with
easy access to outside play areas.
As soon as Oscar knocked on
the door, Labib popped it open.
"Come in, come in!" Labib said,
beckoning Oscar inside.
The place already smelled
fragrantly of spices that
Oscar couldn't name.
"Here is my wife Oraida,
our older daughter Rida,
the younger Nakiah,"
Labib said, waving.
Oscar had seen them
in passing but appreciated
the reintroduction today.
"And this is Ulima Shamalieh,
who babysits for us sometimes,"
said Labib. "Everyone, this is
my colleague Oscar Paton."
He made it sound so important.
"Thank you for coming, Oscar,"
said Oraida. "Please find a place
and let us know what you can do."
The kitchen was bright and
cheerful, a U-shape separating
the entry from the dining area.
Beyond that lay the living room and
its windows, but the interior walls had
light panels to simulate windows too.
Oscar took a seat at the far end of
the dining table, hopefully out of
the way. The last thing he wanted
was to bump into the women.
"I, uh, I can chop things,"
he offered. "Most of what
I cook is actually camp cooking
or grilling. I'm less use indoors."
They looked pleased, though.
"Dice the onions, please,"
Labib said, bringing out
vegetables and knives
and cutting boards.
The women were
making the dough,
with the girls "helping."
Oscar diced onions
while Labib did tomatoes.
Then Oscar cut flat parsley as
Labib chopped green peppers.
Something was toasting in
the kitchen that smelled
sort of nutty and spicy.
Labib took the vegetables
into the kitchen and then
put together some spices.
He came back with a lime
and a big bunch of mint.
"These will go into
the mint-lime yogurt,"
he said. "It needs time
to chill before supper.
You can mince the mint."
So Oscar used scissors
to cut the mint into tiny bits.
Labib scraped the skin off
the lime, then juiced it.
Those and a bit of spice
went into a big bowl of
plain thick yogurt.
Oscar's belly rumbled.
He'd been running late
and only had a meal bar
for lunch. Now the smell of
food was making him hungry.
"Snack time," Oraida said.
"The dough needs to rise,
then we'll cook the filling."
She brought out a platter
filled with all kinds of ... stuff.
"Olives, mixed quick-pickles,
dried figs, grapes, goat cheese,
hummus, and pita," she said.
Oscar wasn't the biggest fan
of foreign food that wasn't meat,
but some of it was growing on him.
He ate the grapes and the pita
readily enough, and the cheese was
okay. He hesitated over the rest.
He wasn't alone, though. The girls
were wrinkling their noses over
the pickled vegetables and olives.
"One olive or one piece of cauliflower,"
Labib said firmly. "Oscar, have you
tried real dried figs? Someone
brought these from Montpelier."
He'd had fig newtons, is all, but
he really couldn't leave Labib
hanging or let the girls get away
with not even tasting the food.
"I'll try one," Oscar said gamely.
The dried fig was odd, almost papery
on the outside but chewy inside, not
tender like fig newtons. It was also
about a million times sweeter, with
a spicy, almost flowery flavor.
"Wow," he said. "That's really
different." He took another one.
Rida was sucking on her olive
like she expected it to melt.
Nakiah tried to swallow hers
whole, almost choked on it,
and spit it out on her plate.
Oscar tried very hard
not to laugh. The scene
felt amazingly familiar
despite the differences.
When Rida got cheese in
her sister's hair, Oscar lost it.
Labib was making muffled noises,
so at least Oscar wasn't the only one.
Ulima said something in French,
then scooped up both of the girls
and headed for the bathroom.
The rest of them cleared
the remnants off the table.
"Oscar, you can make the salad,"
said Labib. "Dice the cucumber
and tomatoes. I'll cook the filling."
"That's it?" Oscar wondered.
"Most of it," said Labib. "Cilantro
and a few other things go in later,
but mostly it's cucumber and tomato."
"Huh," said Oscar. "Okay, that
sounds simple enough to make."
It was, which was good, because
the smell of the meat cooking
was incredibly distracting,
despite the recent snack.
By the time the meat filling
was done, Oscar had finished
the salad vegetables and Labib
added the other ingredients.
Ulima came back with the girls,
still damp from their bath, and
planted them firmly in the chairs.
Oraida brought the dough
and carefully explained how
to assemble the meat pies.
"Uh ..." Oscar said desperately.
Ulima was already turning balls of
dough into flat circles, faster than
a machine could have done it.
"Just put a spoonful of filling
in the center and pass it to me,"
Labib said. "I'll fold it closed."
"That I can do," Oscar said,
relieved. How hard could it be?
It was still harder than it looked,
because the filling was crumbly
and smelled deliciously of lamb
and those mysterious spices.
Labib folded the sides of
each circle into something
that looked like a triangular hat.
Oscar was really glad that they
didn't expect him to do that.
Oraida was, somehow, filling
her circles with one hand and
folding them closed with the other,
but hers were coming out square.
"Different seasonings," Labib said,
"so that we can tell them apart."
It took a while to assemble all of them,
because there were so many and it
took several steps for each one.
Finally, though, the first batch of
meat pies made it into the oven.
The girls started squabbling, and
this time Oraida shooed both
of them into the living room
before Ulima could get up.
"You don't have to babysit
the girls every time you
come to visit," said Oraida.
"I do not mind," Ulima said
in her thicker accent. "I miss ..."
Oscar suddenly realized that
an old woman traveling alone to
a foreign country had probably
lost everyone in her family.
"I miss big family gathers too,"
he said. "So many of my kin
have moved away, it's hard
to get together anymore."
"We all have people we miss,"
Labib said. "We can make
new connections, if we try."
"I am grateful for that,"
Ulima said. "Still ... hard."
Vermont had the same problem
as the refugees, for different reasons:
lots of people without enough family
to help them through the rough spots.
"You know, Silver Square is about
half empty," Oscar pointed out.
"Silver Square?" Labib echoed.
"Yeah, it's downtown," Oscar said.
"A few businesses are left, and
some people live in the townhouses,
mostly older folks whose kids have
all grown up and moved away."
"You've mentioned the issue
before," Labib observed.
"Well, Silver Square is
a nice place to live, and it's
really cheap," said Oscar.
"If some of your older folks
moved in, then they'd have
company their own age."
"I like children," Ulima said.
"Just, the memories, they ..."
She made a piling-up motion.
"Maybe see about inviting
a few younger folks to move in
to help with chores," Oscar said.
"Kids wouldn't be underfoot all of
the time, but they'd be around."
"That's not a bad idea," said Labib.
"Excuse me." He took out his phone
and used it to search for something,
then showed it to Ulima and they
chatted about it in French for a bit.
Then the oven chimed and
the girls clamored for supper.
"We'll talk more later," said Labib.
"I think you have a good idea,
Oscar. If our elders like the place,
perhaps the Business Incubator
can help fill in missing stores."
Oraida took the meat pies
out of the oven and put in
the next batch of them.
Ulima went to the fridge
and brought out falafel dough
which she started frying. They
looked like greenish-brown donuts.
Labib herded Rida and Nakiah
into helping him set the table.
In addition to the meat pies,
there was the cucumber salad,
falafel with mint-lime sauce,
and weird pink pickled onions.
"The triangles have regular spices,
the square ones have harissa,"
Labib explained, pointing.
Oscar tried a regular one,
tentatively pulling it apart.
The bread felt like pizza crust,
soft and springy, but the meat
smelling nothing like pizza.
It was steamy and spicy,
rich with lamb and onions,
but Oscar's taste buds were
too stunned to register anything
other than more ... more ... more.
He wolfed down two of the things
before he slowed enough to try
some of the other dishes too.
The salad was surprisingly good
for as simple as it was -- Oscar
thought he could make it at home.
He had no interest in the falafel,
and the onions tasted funny, but
the mint sauce was delicious.
Then Oraida brought out
rice pudding for dessert.
Oscar whimpered a little.
He was already stuffed,
but no way was he
missing out on dessert.
The rice pudding had
bits of dried apricot and
crunchy pistachios in it.
Oscar actually liked it
even though he didn't like
pistachio ice cream at all.
Nakiah was carefully licking
the rice off of her pistachios,
then leaving them on the plate.
"Thank you," Oscar said to Labib.
"This was an amazing supper,
and I've enjoyed the company."
It really was a dish for family.
Spending the day here had
eased a little of the ache from
his own relatives moving away.
"You're welcome," Labib said,
hurriedly removing the nuts
from Nakiah's reach before
she could start throwing any.
"It's good to make new ties."
"I'll pack up some leftovers
for you," Oraida said, getting up.
"Just a couple," Oscar said.
"It's only me at home, after all."
"That's all right," Labib said.
"We made extra so we can share
them with other people. I'll pass
some down the hall here."
That gave Oscar a new idea
of how he could use leftovers.
"On second thought ... make up
a basket for me and I'll drop it
by Silver Square," said Oscar.
"If they pitch a fit, we'll know that
moving in refugees is a bad match,
but I think they'll love these things."
Oraida chuckled. "Everyone loves
Syrian meat pies," she said as
she put some into a basket.
The smell of them spilled
out of the basket as Oscar
wished everyone good night
and stepped into the hall.
When he made his way
to Silver Square, people
turned to look and see
what he was carrying.
Oscar took the basket
to a group of seniors
sitting in the courtyard.
"A gift from Labib's family
and the Business Incubator,"
Oscar explained, then tried
to describe the meat pies.
Few people waited for
the explanation before
digging into the basket.
And nobody pitched a fit.
* * *
Notes:
This poem is long, so its notes will appear elsewhere.