Sunday Super Breakfast

By Londa Wilson

William emptied all the food out of his huge ice chest and dragged it over the cracked cement floor to the handy floor drain. It was bigger than three regular ice chests end to end. He opened the spigot on the small end and tipped up the far side to drain out the melted ice. Someone long ago had painted the floor a dull red. Why anyone troubled themselves to paint a cement floor was a mystery. One of many. It must have been a sub basement in some long forgotten building.

He carefully cleaned the inside of the chest with white vinegar. Bags of ice cubes were ready to refill. Helpers simply made them at home and sent them by child delivery. It was a job they enjoyed because they could run free.

"I know plenty of people who would use bleach, ladies," William lectured his beloved steam pipes, "That stuff is poison! It don't belong that close to food. Not to mention it stinks!"

The eggs arrived Saturday afternoon in wagons pulled by four children. Someone had taken an extra precaution with the eggs by lining the wagons with blankets and comforters. Vincent and Catherine arrived shortly after. William is pretty sure what they were doing lingering in the tunnels from the glow in Catherine's cheeks. Not even the best of Brandy could do that.

"Everybody wash their hands. Oh, and thanks for showin' up."

A pitcher of water, soap on a chipped saucer, a bucket and white dishcloth stood ready on the serving table. Everyone did as they were told. William was not to be questioned, especially when he was in his dining room. Vincent washed Catherine's hands for her.

"Some of you haven't been to a egg crackin'," said William as he rubbed his hands together. "You two keep an eye on the others, and help them." William nodded at one of the girls and Vincent. "Gather round here."

He put two heavy stainless rectangular pans on a dining table. They were the kind of pan school cafeterias put hot food in.

"Isn't that what you cook the turkeys in?" Kasey asked.

"That's right! Glad you've been payin' attention." He winked at her. "We each take a cereal bowl, and two eggs. Tap 'em together, 'an one is bound to break. Like this. Pop the broken one open, drop eggy in your bowl. Give it a try, now."

There was about three minutes of no conversation as eggs were tapped with quite a variety of results. Eric demolished his egg and was busy picking the shells out of his bowl. Catherine hadn't made a dent in either egg. She laughed silently. Kasey had broken both her eggs open and looked astonished. Only Vincent and William had managed to do it without any surprise. They opened the cracked eggs with an opposing twist of thumb and fingers.

"Once you fill your cereal bowls, empty 'em into the big pans here. The shells go in this bowl, fur' Mouse."

After some coaxing, Vincent agreed to tell the story of "The Ugly Duckling." When he got to the line "No, he's not a turkey"(1) There was a long pause for giggling since Vincent did a droll imitation of a female duck voice.

It took less than an hour to open two eggs for everyone in the community. All those eggs were an amusing sight.

"Ohhh" said Kasey, "I want to stick my hand in them, just to feel it."

William gave her his stern look.

"But I won't."

"Good thinkin' there. Off you go now, back to playtime."

William missed the amused look on Catherine's face as he carefully carried the pans to the kitchen. The two pans fit on the bottom of the ice chest with room to spare for the milk, and some special cheese he liked to keep for the dozens of snack requests. He tried to have a different cheese every week, so the children could learn what they were called.

Saturday was stew night for a good reason. All those odds and ends of ingredients had to go somewhere when the ice chest was full of eggs.

The stew was easy. Just chop, boil and season.

"When in doubt, salt, butter, and garlic." William remembered Old Vlad telling him, and the advice was still good. Vlad had a thing about pepper. He would never add it to food while cooking, and insisted it should only be fresh from a pepper mill on the table. It was years before William learned the reason. Pepper gave Vlad heartburn. Still, William kept pepper on the table, not in the food. It was a tribute.

"Good Old Vlad. He was a cook of cooks."

Vincent and Catherine showed up to serve and wash dishes. They looked different, maybe even sheepish.

"Bound to happen," thought William. He took his plate of stew and cornbread to his favorite table where he could keep an eye on the food line. He would clean up every food drip, and stir the stew to keep it attractive . He could also judge how well the food was liked. Sometimes his experiments went wrong. Like the yogurt and pickle relish topped squash. It was delicious! It was also left untasted.

Right after dinner William went straight to his chamber. He was asleep in ten minutes. He had no idea he snored.

The 6:30 AM call for guard duty shift on the pipes woke him. He was having a nightmare about his life Above, and was glad to be awake. His clean clothes were left on his chair as usual. He dressed quickly and walked even faster to his kitchen. It was warm and clean.

"Mornin' she pipes! Nice to see you all ready to go!"

There was an advantage to his steam pipe ovens, no waiting for them to warm up. The downside was controlling the temperature. He stuck his left hand in his biggest oven and counted the seconds before it got too hot to keep it in any longer. Four seconds. He cracked the oven door open just a tiny bit. He shifted the egg pans up to the prep table, and beat the eggs with a slightly bent blackened wire whisk. He poured in some milk without measuring, added salt and a few bits of butter. Again he checked the oven temperature with his hand.

"Five seconds. Good enough."

William plucked the domed lids for the roasters from a high shelf. Fitted them in place with a slight wiggle, and gave them to the oven and his she pipes to bake. He sliced bread for toast, put butter and three kinds of jelly on all the tables, and just to keep busy, polished the forks and spoons. Only after thirty minutes did he allow himself to take out the eggs. He scrambled the deep layer of still runny eggs. Then, back in the oven they went.

William decided to tidy up his seasoning box. He made a note that he needed more oregano, and nutmeg. He couldn't start lunch, because the helpers brought in pot luck every Sunday for midday. He was supposed to take the rest of the day off after breakfast, but it made him cranky.

A second wave of helpers did the evening supper. They were all young women. Real enthusiastic, but unimaginative. Cream of tomato soup was their favorite, which they emptied out of cans, and they brought cheese and crackers. Usually they made lots of popcorn, in a covered fry pan which they shook vigorously on the stove top. They laughed a lot when they burned it.

William was reduced to straightening up the store room before the second thirty minutes were over and the eggs were ready to stir again. The dinning room was full. The smell of the eggs brought them in early. They sat at the tables chatting or reading. Vincent was holding Catherine's hands and whispering something in her ear that she found amusing.

William quickly loaded the bread into an empty oven and left the door open four inches. Very soon be pulled the toast out, and put it out on the tables in the ceramic bowls. It did not last long. He lifted the pans of eggs out of the oven, gave them a final stir, and quickly placed them on the warming shelf. His server was a bit late, so he dished out the eggs himself.

He was feeling very affectionate towards them all at that moment. He wanted to think of something extra good to make for them on Monday.

"I wonder if rosemary garlic bread would taste good? I could mix the dough around nine tonight, let it rise over night...."

(1) The Ugly Duckling, by Hans Christian Anderson, published first 11/11/1843 as part of New Fairy Tales: First Book, First Collection