I just returned from a lovely family reunion hosted by my cousin Joan in upstate New York.
I had been staying with my brother in Brooklyn, which is always a treat because he’s a fabulous cook, so every meal is a gastronomical adventure.
He’s also a former philosophy professor, so, while the cuisine is wonderful, the conversation is weighty.
Take asking him a question. It’s rare you’ll get a straight answer. Usually, he assesses the question, an evaluation that makes you wish you never asked in the first place.
“What time is Joan expecting us at the reunion?” I inquired.
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“Yes,” I say, “but I forgot the time.”
“The time is not the issue,” he proclaims. “We’re victims of the train schedule. It’s the weekend, so departures are infrequent. It means we can get there either 40 minutes early, or a half-hour late. I hate to be late, but on the other hand, I don’t think Joan would appreciate having guests arrive early. How would you feel if you were hosting a big party and people showed up prematurely">
“Two-thirty,” my sister-in-law interjects.
Meanwhile, my brother is on the phone with Cousin Joan, explaining the train schedule, and asking her if she had a preference as to when she’d like us to arrive.
“I don’t care,” she replies.
Nothing is simple with the professor.
Take breakfast.
“What would you like?” the gourmet Ph.D. inquires
“Eggs would be great,” I reply.
“Fried, scrambled, soft-boiled, poached or shirred?”
“Shirred?” I question. But before he has a chance to finish a dissertation on the meaning, history, planning and preparation of shirred eggs, I tell him I’d be happy with fried.
“Sunny-side up, over easy, over medium, or over hard?”
“I don’t care,” I say.
“Toast?”
“Yes please.”
“White, rye, whole wheat or multigrain?”
“All fine,” I answer.
“I haven’t seen you in over a year,” he pleads. “Can you blame me for wanting to provide my brother with whatever he may desire, even down to the kind of bread he’d prefer?”
“OK, if you put it that way, I’ll go with white.”
“We don’t have white.”
After an extended explanation of why white bread is unwholesome, along with a lecture on the human digestive system, I surrender to multigrain.
A glance at my watch suggests 20 minutes have ed since I was asked about breakfast, but the survey proceeds:
“Would you like coffee?”
“I would love some.”
“Cream or sugar?”
“Just cream.”
“Half-and-half, milk, or non-dairy creamer?”
“Milk.”
“Nonfat, low fat, or regular?”
“Low fat.”
“One percent or two?”
I beg him to let me take him out for breakfast. There’s a coffee shop nearby and I’d grown increasingly shaky.
He agrees, but doesn’t care for the coffee shop and proceeds to make reservations at a three-star restaurant in Manhattan.
“You must try their shirred eggs,” he petitions.
humor columnist Irv Erdos at [email protected].
