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The Doctor Gribbleflotz Chronicles, Part 1: Calling Dr. Phil

Written by Kerryn Offord

Sunday. After Church Lunch, Drahuta Property

Deep in the middle of "Kubiak Country" the extended Kubiak clan had gathered at the home of Belle and Ivan Drahuta for Sunday lunch. Grown men and women were messing about playing touch football in the yard with some of the children. Others congregated around the grill chatting and talking while Ivan and Tommy Barancek attended to burning lunch. Children of all ages were running around underfoot. On the sheltered veranda a group of women lounged comfortably, watching the activities, relaxing after finally getting their assorted babies settled.

Erin Zaleski, one of Ted's cousins, grinned. "How's the military outfitting business going. Tracy?"

Tracy Kubiak dragged her eyes from her husband Ted, who was playing in the yard. "We're still being run off our feet." Tracy looked around the assembled women. They were all, like Ted, direct descendants of Jan and Mary Kubiak, the original owners of the land known locally as "Kubiak Country." "I've got a pile of jackets that need buttonholing if anybody wants a job."

There was a smattering of "I'm in" and "Yes, please" from the other four women. Tracy gloried in the easy camaraderie and supportive nature of the Kubiak women. So different from her own family left up-time in way-off Seattle. "If you come over the road after lunch I'll show you what needs to be done and give you the necessary thread and buttons."

There were murmurings of agreement before the women turned back to watching the activities going on in the yard. Their quiet contemplations were disturbed only when Tasha Kubiak settled a covered tray of steaming biscuits on the table. "Tuck in while they're still warm, girls. After this batch, there are no more."

Mary Rose Onofrio turned away from watching Jana Barancek and a couple of other cousins calling everybody to a couple of food-laden tables set out by the grill. "What do you mean, Tasha?"

"This batch used the last of my baking powder." Tasha replied.

Belle Drahuta waved a hand. "I've still got some if you need it."

"Same here. I haven't had time for much baking lately. I think I've still got an unopened can in the pantry."

"Thanks Belle, Tracy. You'd think there would be a way to get more baking powder wouldn't you?" Tasha shook her head.

Mary Rose snorted. "Get real, Tasha. If it doesn't go boom, none of the guys are interested. I can just imagine going up to Cousin Greg and asking him to please make some baking powder so we can do some baking. He'd laugh his head off."

"You really think Cousin Greg would know how to make baking powder, Mary Rose?" Tasha asked.

"If he can make his boom toys and rockets I don't see why he can't make baking powder. I mean. It can't be that hard. Baking powder has been around I don't know how long. It's probably written up in one of his books somewhere and all he needs to do is look it up."

"But, Mary Rose, that doesn't get us any baking powder."

"No, but it would get us some instructions on how to make it. Maybe Cousin Greg can write out a recipe. Something easy to follow. Then we could make our own baking powder." Mary Rose looked around the table at the other women, an excited look in her eyes. "That would be great wouldn't it? No need to worry about running out of baking powder ever again."

"So when can you ask Cousin Greg for an easy to follow recipe for making baking powder?" asked Belle.

Mary Rose looked from Belle to Tasha. "I was kinda thinking, maybe Tasha might like to ask Amy to ask Cousin Greg. After all, she is a chemistry teacher in training."

Nodding her head, her mouth full of biscuit, Tasha agreed to ask her daughter to pass on the request.

"Michael. How many times have I told you not to feed that dog from your plate." Belle bellowed before launching herself from her chair and making her way to her son.

The ladies watched Belle put a strong restraining hand on her five-year-old son while giving her husband, who should have been watching him, a sharp talking to.

"Situation normal," muttered Erin with a giggle.

A week later. Sunday lunch, Tasha's place

"Guys, Amy here has come through. Come on, Amy. Show them the recipe," Tasha said pushing her daughter towards the seated mothers. A little self-consciously Amy placed a single sheet of paper on the coffee table in front of the ladies and stood back to let them read it.

"Uh, yuk. Do you see that?" Mary Rose pointed to the first instruction. "Imagine carefully fermenting urine. Does that mean we have to, you know, ask people to fill a bottle? And why add honey? Is that to sweeten it to taste?"

"Ha ha, Mary Rose. Obviously the honey is there to help fermentation," Tasha said, continuing to run her eye down the directions. "How do you cook off limestone?" She looked up at her daughter, a question in her eyes.

With a heavy sigh Amy looked at her mother and her friends. "I think this is going to be a bit like the time Dad tried to do some baking. You remember how he couldn't understand how you got cream from butter and sugar?" Smiling at the memory Tasha nodded her head. "I think you might want to find someone who knows a little chemistry and see if they'll make the stuff for you."

"But we know somebody who knows something about chemistry," Tasha pointed out, giving her daughter a significant look.

In horror Amy took a sudden step back, getting some separation between her and her mother. "No way. Sorry, but no way. I'm much too busy at school." She held her hands out defensively and shook her head. "Really. I think you should find yourselves a friendly alchemist and pay them to make the stuff."

"And how are we going to find one of them?" asked Mary Rose.

"Well, Jena is a university town. There must be tons of them there."

"So you think we should go knocking on doors in Jena asking alchemists 'Please sir, can you make baking powder for us?'"

"Baking soda. If you'll read the recipe again you'll see it's for making baking soda, not powder," Tracy pointed out, her finger pointing to the top of the sheet.

"Amy?" Tasha turned to her daughter. "I thought you were going to ask about making baking powder?"

"I did, Mom. I asked Mrs. Penzey. She said you have to make baking soda before you can have baking powder. If you look near the bottom," she pointed to the bottom of the recipe, "you'll see she has included how to make baking powder. The problem is getting the cream of tartar. It's a by-product of wine making, and she's never seen it in its raw state. She's not sure how to get any. And that's another reason why I think you should contact an alchemist. They know about things like cream of tartar, except they probably call it something different."

Mary Rose looked at Amy. "What you're saying is, we can get baking soda easily, but if we want baking powder, that's going to take a little experimentation?"

Amy nodded. "Yes."

"That's not so bad," Belle said. "We can make biscuits using baking soda. I'm sure we all have some recipes that'll work. Besides, there are tons of uses for baking soda. There's toothpaste substitute for a start. And soon enough we should be able to get baking powder." Amy slipped away while the ladies sat silently digesting their thoughts. "Tracy, are you planning on a buying trip to Jena anytime soon?" asked Tasha.

"Ted and I were planning on going down river in another week or so. I guess we can ask around. We should see if Danielle and Steve can go as well. It's a pity we don't have more people able to speak German. The more people searching the faster things will go." Turning to Belle, Tracy continued, "Will you be able to look after Danielle and Steve's two little monsters if they go?"

"Sure. They aren't that bad, and they are closer in age to Louis and Michael than your mob. It'll keep all of them out of my hair if they can entertain each other. What about Richelle? Do you want me to keep a friendly eye on her?"

"Please. I've already arranged for a couple of the machinists to live in while we're away, but she'll feel more secure knowing you're just across the road."

Jena, ten days later

Tracy looked across the table to Danielle and Steve Kowach. "It's as if they don't want our money. As soon as I say I want someone to make baking powder for cooking they get all uptight and condescending. Their holier than you 'I am an Alchemist, not a cook' line is really getting to me. Have you two had any better luck?"

Danielle shook her head and looked at her husband, who shook his head in negation. "We've been getting the same story. 'Alchemists are not cooks. Please go away and stop bothering me. My work is important.'" She mimicked the condescending attitude that Tracy had become familiar with so accurately that Tracy started to giggle.

"Here comes Ted. I wonder if he's had any luck. Ted, you make any progress?" Steve asked as Tracy's husband took a seat.

"Well, I've ordered a heap of canvas. A few hundred yards of cord of varying diameter, and some oils for waterproof—ouch!" Ted grabbed Tracy's hands to stop her pummelling him.

"Edward Robert Justinian Kubiak, you know that's not what Steve meant." Tracy said, struggling to pull her hands from Ted's grip.

"Has anybody ever told you you're beautiful when you're riled?" Ted asked, a smile in his eyes. They both fell silent as their eyes locked.

"Hey, you two. None of that in public. So Ted, have you found us an alchemist?"

Ted broke eye contact with Tracy and turned to Danielle. "First thing I learnt is, we don't want an alchemist."

"What?" Danielle and Tracy asked in unison. "Of course we do," Danielle continued. Tracy nodded in agreement.

"That's where you're wrong. No." Ted held up his hands to silence their protests. "No alchemist will lower themselves to do what you are asking. What you need . . ." he paused dramatically, "is a technician. Some suitably trained plodder who can follow directions without making any spontaneous additions just to see what happens."

"And how do we find this suitably trained plodder?" Tracy asked.

Ted theatrically drew a piece of paper from a pocket. "By pure chance I have here the directions to one Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz, late of the school at Fugger. Apparently he lacks the proper scholastic and academic attitude to be an alchemist, but in some quarters he is a highly regarded technician."

"What's the significance of the school at Fugger?" Seeing Ted's blank look Danielle hurried on. "Never mind. He has to be better than those supercilious morons from the university."

"I wouldn't bet on that, Danielle. Apparently he styles himself as Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz. His clientele humor him. He's good at what he does, and it's a fairly harmless conceit. But it does mean you might have trouble getting him to make your baking soda."

"Will money talk?" asked Tracy.

"Ah, the Evil West Coast businesswoman strikes. Yep. My informant indicates that the good Dr. Phil has a massive ego, only eclipsed by his vanity. His major expenses are his continuing experiments and fancy clothes. Currently he is 'between jobs,' and the quarter's rent on his laboratory is due shortly. The perfect mark for what you want."

Tracy smirked back at her husband, and rubbed her hands together in anticipation. If he was desperate, then he couldn't afford to knock them back. He would probably offer token resistance as a matter of pride, but to Tracy's mind, they already had him in the palms of their hands. It was always better to negotiate from a position of strength.

Jena, later that same day

"Let me see if I understand, Frau. You wish me, Herr Doctor Phillip Theophrastus Gribbleflotz, Great Grandson of the Great Paracelsus, to make this 'baking powder.'" At Tracy's nod, he continued. "I. I am not a cook. I, do not follow a recipe. I, am an Alchemist. A Great Alchemist. A Great Alchemist does not make funny white powder so people can bake biscuits." It came out stilted, growing in volume as he spoke, until he was almost roaring.

It was a strategic cough from Ted that drew Phillip's fire from Tracy. The six-foot, two hundred plus pound frame of Ted towered above Phillip's thin, short frame. With his pronounced Adam's apple bobbing, Phillip swallowed his ...