Forever #64299
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Forever. A novel by Guðberg Bergsson.
My future wife and future model housewife was eager to learn more from Kata about the cooking she had never heard of or experienced before. My aunt took it as a compliment and didn't let it go for long. That kind of pretense doesn't exist in the family and she said frankly:
I'm a good housewife but I've been a bit of a cook in my life, mostly meat. Yet it's not out of laziness or a suppressed fear of the stove, because I often pop a cake in the oven.
My friend and I nodded enthusiastically in a reassuring manner, to encourage her to keep bragging. She didn't need to be told twice.
If I admit that I am made that way when it comes to eating and soups and not bread, then a good idea came to my mind in the first years of farming. One fine Saturday evening, when I was in a hurry, I accidentally put a leg of lamb in the oven instead of a cake and set it to the lowest current, as if I were going to bake rye bread. It was as if the oven had been told, even though I had forgotten the leg, it roasted so much on the outside of the bone during the night that there was enough for lunch for the two of us the next day; the kids had not yet come into the world. Cooking in old age was then solved in this way in my home, so that my face does not get wrinkled over the pan.
"This is really neat," said the girlfriend, impressed.
She no doubt saw things this way: that way she could get married peacefully without having to worry about cooking on Sundays, she could put the thighs in the oven before she started having a drink and could be relieving herself until morning, when she woke up around noon she would never have to face the most terrible problem of modern couples, waking up exhausted on Sunday mornings and having nothing hot and cooked to eat. That way the food would be waiting hot in the oven.
This is not clever, but rather economical, more than anything else, ingenuity, said the aunt, but did not go into further detail about those hymns.
We carefully tasted the meat. It tasted a little like rye bread, since the idea came from that, but otherwise both familiar and decent. Auntie deserved praise for that. She advised us to start the farm with the same cooking, and not the small dishes and fish soups that are now in fashion and take so much time to prepare, even if everything is put in the pot, that people hardly have time to peek into a glass afterwards.
My future wife and future model housewife was eager to learn more from Kata about the cooking she had never heard of or experienced before. My aunt took it as a compliment and didn't let it go for long. That kind of pretense doesn't exist in the family and she said frankly:
I'm a good housewife but I've been a bit of a cook in my life, mostly meat. Yet it's not out of laziness or a suppressed fear of the stove, because I often pop a cake in the oven.
My friend and I nodded enthusiastically in a reassuring manner, to encourage her to keep bragging. She didn't need to be told twice.
If I admit that I am made that way when it comes to eating and soups and not bread, then a good idea came to my mind in the first years of farming. One fine Saturday evening, when I was in a hurry, I accidentally put a leg of lamb in the oven instead of a cake and set it to the lowest current, as if I were going to bake rye bread. It was as if the oven had been told, even though I had forgotten the leg, it roasted so much on the outside of the bone during the night that there was enough for lunch for the two of us the next day; the kids had not yet come into the world. Cooking in old age was then solved in this way in my home, so that my face does not get wrinkled over the pan.
"This is really neat," said the girlfriend, impressed.
She no doubt saw things this way: that way she could get married peacefully without having to worry about cooking on Sundays, she could put the thighs in the oven before she started having a drink and could be relieving herself until morning, when she woke up around noon she would never have to face the most terrible problem of modern couples, waking up exhausted on Sunday mornings and having nothing hot and cooked to eat. That way the food would be waiting hot in the oven.
This is not clever, but rather economical, more than anything else, ingenuity, said the aunt, but did not go into further detail about those hymns.
We carefully tasted the meat. It tasted a little like rye bread, since the idea came from that, but otherwise both familiar and decent. Auntie deserved praise for that. She advised us to start the farm with the same cooking, and not the small dishes and fish soups that are now in fashion and take so much time to prepare, even if everything is put in the pot, that people hardly have time to peek into a glass afterwards.