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The Price of Dumplings

Written by Terry Howard

"Hey, John Ose, which one of these birds is the scrawniest?" Arch Pennock asked, eying the chickens.

Janos Tamas stopped what he was doing and looked up from his place inside the open air market stall. Behind him were crates of live chickens. In front of him were half a dozen plucked, gutted birds, hanging head down. Off to one side was a hook over a large kettle of boiling water for plucking. At the other side of the stall was a gutting and sorting area. Livers, hearts and gizzards, and chitterlings each went into separate buckets.

"Mister Pennock, good morning. What means scrawniest?"

"The least plump, the smallest."

"Mister Pennock, if you want a cheap chicken, they are cheaper live."

Arch shook his head. "No, John. I want it plucked. I just want an old, tough, scrawny one that's too stringy to fry and too skinny to bake."

"Mister Pennock, are you sure? Nobody asks for that."

"It's what I want, John."

"Well, if you are sure, I have just the bird. You come back in little bit and I have it ready for you."

"That's fine, John. I've got some other things to pick up."

****

After Arch had walked the market and picked up some garden produce, he stopped back for his chicken. As asked for, it was indeed a scrawny old bird. Arch smiled. "It's exactly what I wanted."

Janos was worried. He thought the only way he was going to sell that bird was when it was the only one left. He found Arch's smile reassuring. "Mister Pennock, can I ask why?"

"Sure. I've got a hankering for my grandmother's chicken and dumplings. She only used the oldest hens to make dumplings and I want it to be just right. I could make a better dish, but I'm cooking a memory as much as I'm making dinner." He didn't add that he could get a chicken from the grocery store near his home for not that much more, and he could save himself the walk. He liked the walk. Then, too, he wanted a freshly plucked bird, not one that had been in the meat locker for several days even if it was kept just above freezing. His grandmother's chicken went into the pot minutes after it was plucked. He thought it made a difference.

Janos got a faraway look in his eyes. "I know just what you mean. My bushka, my grandmother, she would make the most wonderful dumplings. When there wasn't enough of any one thing in the house to feed everybody, she would make dumplings. I miss them. The food is good, but I miss those." Janos was living in a settlement house, a co-op one step up from a refugee camp, practically a dorm. When he said the food was good, he meant there was enough to eat, but, truth be told, it wasn't the cooking he was used to.

"Well, hey, you know where I live don't you?"

Janos nodded.

"Tell you what, I'll start the pot a little late and you come on 'round after you shut down for the day. You can share a bowl or two with me so I don't have to eat alone."

"Are you sure, Mister Pennock?"

"I asked, didn't I?" Arch grinned. "See you tonight. Bring your appetite, there'll be plenty. I don't know how to make less than two gallons at a time anyway."

****

Arch walked back into the market to buy more milk. It was pasteurized and the heavy cream was skimmed off, mostly for butter, but it still separated out when it set. Homogenization was just a word in Grantville, which was all right with Arch. His grandmother had kept a cow and he remembered the difference between cow's milk and store milk. The younger generation didn't like it at all, claimed it just didn't taste the same. As far as Arch was concerned, the raw milk tasted better.

Meanwhile, he need the half gallon mason jar he used for milk full instead of half full. He was having a guest and wouldn't dream of having anything to drink with the chicken and dumplings except milk, even though Janos would probably prefer small beer.

****

When the market closed, Janos got cleaned up and ready to go. All day long his mind and his mouth had been busy remembering his home and the meals of his childhood. At Arch's home, he was again reminded of just how rich these people were. The table was set for nobility. There was a bright white tablecloth and expensive paper napkins from up-time. Janos thought they should have been sold. You could use the back of your hand or a cloth which could be rewashed and reused. The flatware was steel and the drinking vessels were glass. He knew from past experience that the up-timers had so much they just didn't think about how rich they were.

Arch was stirring a pot on the stove. "Hey John," he called when Janos knocked on the screen door. "Come on in and set yourself down. Everything's ready." Arch turned the fire off under the pot then he opened the refrigerator and poured two tall glasses full of milk after giving the jar a good shaking to re-mix it.

"I hope I got all the bones out when I cooked the chicken. I always think I have but then I always find at least one I missed when I'm eating, so be careful." The bread Arch bought at the market was sitting in a rack. He took an electric knife to it and set half a dozen perfect slices on the table next to the butter. At last, he set the pot in the middle of the table. "My ex-wife would have raked me over the coals for doing that. I should have put it in a soup tureen or at least a serving bowl before I put it on the table. I didn't even know what a tureen was until I married her. I haven't had one in years, not since she moved out. Besides, it's just us three chickens here anyway."

Arch scooped a healthy serving into the bowls and dug in.

Janos looked at the meal set before him and swallowed his disappointment before he started swallowing a rather tasty meal. Three bowls later, Arch brought out ice cream for desert. When he knew he had company coming, he'd gone home and grabbed a covered Tupperware dish, some ice from the ice maker and a small cooler, then walked back into town ...