The other day my friend's mother Josephine, invited me over for lunch. As I drove to her house I wondered if I should bring flowers or a bottle of wine or something. It seemed odd to go with empty hands, though I knew she didn't expect me to bring anything.
When I arrived Josephine told me that it was market day in her village, and would I like to see it. As we walked around the village she bought baguettes at the bakery, fresh goat cheese from a farmer, organic greens from another farmer, and some wine from a local wine maker. While at the market Josephine ran into some of her friends that she hadn't seen in a very long time, their conversation gave a depth that can only be shared by good friends while only using a few words. Leaning over she asked me in a whisper if I minded if she invited them to join us for lunch. I thought it was a wonderful idea.
We walked back to her 18th century home, and climbed the stairs to the second floor, where a table had thoughtfully been laid in advance and red poppies sat in a vase after she had singed the ends to preserve them from wilting. We sat in the living room, amongst landscape paintings and a decor that sang to my soul. We chatted with a glass of chilled wine, while my Josephine went into the kitchen to prepare the final touches for lunch.
Sitting in her cozy armchair, running my fingers over the heavy, linen, antique upholstery I suddenly realized I had forgotten to tell her I was a vegetarian. I looked up feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. Her friends talked, but their words floated over my head as my sense of smell took over.
How could I forget? I asked myself with great doubt, how was I going to get out of this one. I have been a vegetarian for over thirty years, and can remember only once being in this predicament, and it was not my fault. But this time was different.
Somewhere out in left field, where I felt I was standing, I heard her asking us to come to the table that lunch was being served. A hand-spun, pottery bowl held the organic greens, a vintage basket was loaded with bread, the goat cheese was on a wooden board, and four, round, stuffed zucchini took center stage as the main attraction. Josephine with her warm, gentle, blue eyes handed me the serving spoon, "Do you mind serving, while I go fetch another bottle of wine?"
I took in the details before me, the labor of friendship, the gesture of thoughtfulness she had put in preparing the lunch, the friends gathered at the table, and all those stairs she had climbed bringing this feast before me. I spooned the stuffed zucchini, and knew in a heartbeat that the pink stuffing I saw was not a vegetable.
I had a choice, to either tell her that I was a vegetarian, or to eat the stuffed zucchini and keep my mouth shut.
I weighed the pro and cons: If I told her I was a vegetarian, I would not have to eat meat, meat that I haven't had in ages. If I kept that fact to myself, I would not embarrass her nor myself. I was frustrated, how could I even begin to weigh the pros and cons??? There was only one pro and one con:
Pro: Josephine's lovingly lunch prepared before me in my honor.
Con: My stupid forgetfulness.
I asked her what she had stuffed the zucchini with… mincemeat and a little pork. I gulped, and forced my hand to gently serve each plate and especially to serve the plate in front of me.
My hand would not grab my fork, as if my mind refused to follow my heart. I was going to eat the mincemeat stuffed zucchini and I was going to chew slowly, swallow quietly and do it again and again until it was consumed. As hard as I tried to act naturally, I felt my hand was a dead give away of betrayal. It literally would stop in front of my mouth, and my mouth (!) Oh my god my mouth would not open. It was the ODDEST feeling, as if my body had a mind of its own.
With great effort I managed to open my mouth and fed myself stuffed zucchini, with mincemeat and pork.
I chewed and swallowed, and did it over again and again, eating every morsel.
…and shockingly, in all honesty it was good, kind of spicy like cinnamon good.
Later after Josephine friends had left, I told her I had a confession to make. Josephine, looked at me with confusion. I simply said that I had failed to tell her I was a vegetarian, that her meal was delicious, and that the only reason I was confessing my mistake, was that I planned on having her over for lunch and that I wanted to come back to her home for another lovely meal too, though if possible never to eat meat again.
Note: My friend Josephine has a charming vacation apartment for rent in her 18th century home in Cotignac. Soon she will have a website with more information.
Note: Penelope left a comment that asked:
"… But what was your hostess's reaction to your
confession? Please don't leave your readers hanging on the end of your
story"
Josephine was gracious saying that I did not have to eat the stuffed zucchini, that she would have understood, that she has many friends who are vegetarian… Though I stopped her from saying anymore because I KNEW she wouldn't mind. I KNEW she was the type of person that would roll with the flow and most likely would have run back into the kitchen made me an omelette. I told her that her welcoming spirit was not the point of concern. The reason I did not say anything was because I did not want to take advantage of her generosity, it was my problem alone.
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