Chapter Three

The log chateau is as cute as I'll get out. With antlers on the walls and old style carpeting. The furniture looks like it came from the 80's, except with an European touch to the whole thing. A thousand year old tapestry heirloom hangs in the guest room where I'm staying. An old tea pot from the nineteenth century sits on a shelf in the small kitchen which has a wood burning stove. A large wooden shield with Huey's wife's family crest from like the thirteenth century hangs in my brothers room. All in all, I feel like I was in some kind of European museum.

I grip the hot mug in my hand even tighter, enjoying the feeling of being dry and warm again. I grip the blanket around my shoulders tighter with my other hand as I walk into my brothers rustic living room. My brother's wife stands up from sitting next to my brother as I walk in. She helps me into a large armchair, making sure my mug of hot coffee doesn't spill over the new elegant carpet.
“How are you feeling?” she asks. She also has a German-like accent. It's sort of nice to be around all these Austrians. With their “Fraulein”s and “Herr”s, instead of “Ms” and “Mr.” Love it!

“So much better. Thanks so much Marie for everything.” I take a tentative sip at the coffee and it burns my mouth.

“If there is anything I can do for you, just let me know,” Marie says and nods. She goes back to sitting almost on top of my brother.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders and gives her a gentle and loving squeeze. “So, Gigi... what would you like to do first?”

I think for a moment and feel the weight and soreness of my body sink into the couch. “I think I'd just like to rest tonight. I'm tuckered out.”

Maurise hops into the room and bounces back and forth. I'm jealous of her energy, but I have to remember that she wasn't one of the people pushing a hundred million pound car up a mountain slope. “Hey, daddy? Can we have Pizza for dinner?”

Huey raises his eyebrows and looks at me. “Pizza, huh? How many times did you eat pizza in Florida?”

Maurise was silent, counting on her fingers for a moment, which makes all of use smile. “Four times. I really, really like Pizza.” She puts extra stress on the second 'really' which is so dang cute I nearly choke on my coffee.

Huey and Marie look at each other for a moment. I wonder if there is some kind of link you have with your spouse, where you can read the others mind... or something. Marie shrugs and turns to look at me thoughtfully.

“Do you know a Pizza recipe?”

I shake my head, with a smile. “Oh we don't make it ourselves. We order it usually.” I turn to look at Huey. “Do you guys have some Pizza place around here? Or internet?”

Huey throws his head back with a laugh. “Of course there's internet. But you have to drive nine miles to get to it.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes at him. “Pizza.” I remind him.

Now it's Huey's turn to shake his head. “Sorry, no Pizza place that I know of...”

Marie holds up her finger and gets up off the couch, skipping over to the kitchen. I look over at my brother expectantly, but he just shrugs. Marie comes back with a very familiar yellow, thick book. I've not just seen that book in my mothers kitchen, but also in my grandma's kitchen and almost in all my aunts kitchens. It much be our families most famous southern food cook books. “Calling All Cooks” the life savor, full of pie recipes and instructions on how to cook your green beans, the southern way. It always makes me laugh.

Marie grins and holds it up like a trophy. She sits next to Huey and tucks her feet under her buns, flipping to the directory at the back of the book.

It's funny, her version is so new, with a paperback book cover and everything. My mom's version has been used so many times that the yellow book covering is... well, I don't know where it is... gone. Some of the directory pages are missing and ALL of the pages are rumpled, dog-eared and stained with different oils, jellies, butters, and chocolate.

Marie sighs, “Pizza... Pizza... How do you spell Pizza in English?”

Huey grins at his German wife. “'P' 'I' 'Z' 'Z' 'A'.”

“Danke,” she thanks him in German. She points at the page and smiles. “Ah hah.”

I get out of my armchair, putting down my coffee mug on a antique lamp stand. I sit next to her and look as Marie flips the pages to page '284'. She goes past the number and has to go back.

“Here we are,” she says, tapping her finger on the paper, squinting at it. “'Breakfast Pizza'... Nien... 'Deep dish Pizza'? Nien... 'Easy pizza'?” She looks at us quizzically.

I shrug. “Turn the page, there might be more options.”

Marie flips the page to page 286. “Homemade Pizza... ja?

“Yes,” Huey says, grinning.

I look and read the ingredients. “1 box hot roll mix?” I frown then let my eyes roam the whole page. I find a recipe for 'Original Thick Crust Italian Pizza. I point to it. “We should probably do this one.”

They read and nod in agreement. Marie reads quietly, “Let's see.”

__
Original Thick Crust Italian Pizza
Crust:
6 c. flour
2 c. water
2 pkg. yeast
3 tsp. salt
2 Tbsp. sugar
1 egg
3 Tbsp. melted butter or oil
Pizza sauce:
1 (6 lb. 9 oz.) can tomato puree
1 1/2 c. olive oil or equivalent
3 Tbsp. salt
1 tsp. black pepper
2 tsp. crushed basil leaves
4 tsp. oregano
4 tsp. minced dried onion
2 tsp. garlic powder
2 tsp. dehydrated green peppers

Pizza Sauce: Mix all ingredients together and simmer for 2 hours.
Crust: Add yeast to water per instruction on yeast package. Scramble egg and add other ingredients; slowly add flour and turn on floured board until elastic. Place in buttered dish and cover until double in size.
On floured board divide in two. Press and stretch dough to fit 15 inch round or large rectangular pan. Coat pan generously with oil. Place dough in pan; cover with pizza sauce. Sprinkle Parmesian cheese and shredded Mozzarella cheese. (Add slices of pepperoni- optional.) Bake at 375° for 27 minutes or until crust is brown on edges. (Pizza can be frozen and reheated for later use)
D.J. Del Guercio, Riverchase Council
____

I shake my head and smile at the southern cook book. I just have to laugh at “dehydrated green peppers.” They have to be dehydrated green peppers, nothing else would do.

Huey grins and pokes me in the ribs. “Olive oil or equivalent, glade to know I have options.”

I roll my eyes at him, but I had been thinking the same. “Like butter?” I joke. It had been our joke with our parents, like... forever. Our country southern family were... REAL southern, accents and everything. My mom joked all the time about how much butter everyone used in all the recipes. It was just one of those things that tickle you.

Huey grins and shrugs at the puzzled look his wife gives him. “I'll explain later.”

Marie shakes her head and taps the book again. “It calls for yeast. This means we'll have to wait for the dough to raise.”

“Darn,” I frown.

Huey looks down at his watch. “It's only four twelve. We have enough time, we can snack if we get hungry.”

Marie nods in agreement. “Alright.”

My eyes are caught back to where is says that the sauce

Maurise stands uncertainly in front of us, rocking on the balls of her feet. I had totally forgotten that she's been waiting for an answer. “So...” she says raising her small eyebrows, and shaking out her dark curly hair. “Can we daddy?”

Huey smiles brightly, “Sure Murray.”

“YEAH!” She twirls around happily and then, accidentally, hits the antique lamp stand with her leg.

--Imagine slow motion dramatic music playing in the background now-- I practically scream as I lunge forward, grabbing my half-full coffee cup right before it makes too much of a mess on the teetering lamp stand. In my effort to save the carpet, I knock over the antique table. Little did I know... the lamp stand top was made of glass from the nineteenth century... oh well. Marie didn't sound too angry... or at least I couldn't understand the German flying out of her mouth at Maurise... but maybe it was “It's okay baby, go get the broom.”... Possibly.... Maybe... Not?