It is time for another story in my series on "Painting to Learn". Lessons I have learned while on the job. This one involves food and lots of it.
There are not many workers left who carry a lunch bucket. It used to be that there was no alternative. Either a meal was brought to the job, or one had to drive home for lunch. Over the years, the trend gradually changed, until now, workers will leave the job for coffee break and for lunch. I always thought that it was very inefficient to leave the job at all, unless it was for something that was essential for the completion of the work at hand. The cost of ‘going out’ and the cost of time lost, was a motivation for me to ‘stick to it until it was done'. Because of my penchant for efficiency, I have been reluctant over the years to stop for coffee at all, but I have always stopped for lunch right at noon.
The exception to this rule has always been in the hands of the customer. When I first started working in people’s homes many years ago, folks were more hospitable than they are today and more often than not, I would be offered a cup of coffee and a goodie at ten and at three. I rarely turned it down. Lately, it has been the exception and not the rule, but greatly appreciated when it does happen. I have been offered some very interesting things over the years and some incidents are quite memorable.
My experiences are as varied as are the customers I have worked for. There are a few predictabilities that roughly go along ethnic lines. By far the most hospitable people have been the Mennonites and the Dutch, followed closely by the East Indians. When I first started, I was doing a lot of vacant apartments and some new construction, and the only refreshments I had were what I brought from home. My wife has always been a great cook and the lunches she has made for me over the years have always been excellent and I always looked forward to noon and the chance to ‘dig in’. But as I got into the re-decoration end of the painting business, I was working around people, in their homes, and getting to know them, sometimes quite well.
One of my first experiences being offered a coffee break, was at a Danish ladies home. She was very friendly and at mid morning she asked me if I would care for a cup of Danish Coffee. It was an opportunity to try something new and also a chance to sit down with her and find out a bit more about her story, something which I have enjoyed tremendously over the years. She explained to me that Danish Coffee was quite strong and asked if she should make it a bit weaker for me. Not caring too much for strong coffee, I consented to her suggestion. She sat me down at the table and set the cup in front of me together with a bowl of sugar and a pitcher of cream. I poured some cream into the cup and began to stir the coffee. It did not change colour. I thought the ‘cream’ was perhaps skimmed milk and poured some more into my cup. The colour was changing ever so slightly and it should have been a clue. I sipped the brew and almost gagged. It was thick and syrupy and the strongest drink I had ever put to my lips. She saw my reaction and apologized. She told me that she had run out of her usual grounds and had used instant. Instant was just right for me if it was made with one half teaspoon. Normally she put eight teaspoons of powder into a cup but she cut back to six for me!
The coffee I have been offered since then has been OK and some of it has been great. Some people really have a knack for making excellent coffee. Fresh ground gourmet coffee in a high tech coffee maker surely does beat cowboy coffee taken from an old unused tin above the fridge and served with plenty of course grounds in the cup. The goodies can really only be described as varied and interesting, ranging from delicious to downright awful. It would seem that some people viewed having a trades person in the house as an opportunity to get rid of old stale baking or something that was too good to throw out but nobody in the family was going to eat. In an instance such as that, I would eat what I had started, but never take seconds, pleading upset stomach, or dietary restrictions. I never got sick from anything I ate, but did gain weight on some of the extended jobs.
I was ushered into a kitchen one day and there was a dessert buffet that one would expect on a cruise ship. At least ten different varieties of fresh Christmas baking. The elderly Mennonite Grandmotherly type gave me a quick instruction before I dug in.
“ Try one of each, and then eat all the ones you like.” I am ashamed to report that I followed her instructions to the ‘t’.
I called the German speaking Miss Zumpf the night before and informed her that I would be starting her job the next morning. She insisted that I do not bring any food, but that she would feed me, coffee breaks and a lunch. This was a new one for me. I had been offered lunch many times, but not beforehand, so I would gratefully turn down the offer and eat what I had brought from home. It was empty-handed that I entered Katie’s home and was curious as to what would transpire.
After working only one hour, the first coffee break arrived and I was served a delectable piece of Bundt cake, and when offered seconds, could not refuse. She asked me if I liked chicken and said that she would make me a chicken lunch. A chicken sandwich would have sufficed and I would have been satisfied with and been grateful for just that. Shortly before noon, I caught whiffs of chicken and it was no sandwich she was preparing. The aromas drifting my way indicated that I would indeed be feasting before long. The time came quickly and she sat me down at her dining room table, before an immaculately set table with her finest china and silverware spread before me. There was a bowl of mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, dinner rolls with butter, a fresh garden salad with several different dressing to choose from, but no chicken. She sat down with me and said an elegant grace in German and excused herself to the kitchen. When she returned, she was laden down with an extra large baking sheet spread from corner to corner with oven baked chicken. There had to be at least fifteen pieces of golden brown chicken set before me. I was shocked and all I could blurt out was, “Is there someone else coming for lunch?” Apparently not. It was just me and the chicken. Oh, did I mention more Bundt cake for dessert?
I have many regular customers that have called me back many times over the years. Of those, I have favourites and Pat was right near the top. Pat had a wonderful sense of humour and we would laugh out loud the whole time I would be working in her home. She and her husband belonged to an interesting dinner club which met once a month, rotating between their homes. It was planned out for the year and each month would be a theme night. The dinner was prepared by the host couple and they went all out. It was gourmet cooking at its finest. Needless to day, she was a great cook and baker and it was always evident when I was invited to sit down for coffee. The best treat she ever made for me was a large plate full of scones with butter and home made strawberry jam. I embarrassed myself by eating the plate clean, but I sensed that she took it as a compliment. I was appropriately decorating her kitchen in a colour scheme she got right out of a Martha Stuart magazine.
My first experience working in an East Indian home was making me a little nervous. I sensed that there was distrust and suspicion from the minute I walked in the door. I did what I usually do to build a little rapport and took a mild interest in her home and her children. I quietly went about my work and was polite and friendly when I spoke with her. The grandparents were skulking about in the background, giving me sideways glances, and I was relieved that I was not working for them. At mid morning, she asked if I would care for some East Indian tea. I told to go to no trouble for me but she assured me that the whole family was having tea and it was no trouble at all. I accepted, hoping it would not be another Danish coffee incident. The tea turned out to be quite good, mixed with plenty of milk and sugar, not what I was used to, but good enough for a second cup. I think the second cup was the right move because after that, even the old grandpa warmed up to me a bit. Since then, I have had Indian tea many times and always enjoy it, but knowing that if I had it everyday, I would soon be as big bellied as many of them are.
I have learned that there is a subtle change in a new relationship when conversation takes place over a cup of coffee or tea. They extend hospitality, I accept it, and as a result, a bond begins to form. I have heard so many fascinating stories at these coffee breaks and have indeed had many opportunities to encourage and be encouraged by those who sometimes are complete strangers, until we ‘break bread’ together.
The exception to this rule has always been in the hands of the customer. When I first started working in people’s homes many years ago, folks were more hospitable than they are today and more often than not, I would be offered a cup of coffee and a goodie at ten and at three. I rarely turned it down. Lately, it has been the exception and not the rule, but greatly appreciated when it does happen. I have been offered some very interesting things over the years and some incidents are quite memorable.
My experiences are as varied as are the customers I have worked for. There are a few predictabilities that roughly go along ethnic lines. By far the most hospitable people have been the Mennonites and the Dutch, followed closely by the East Indians. When I first started, I was doing a lot of vacant apartments and some new construction, and the only refreshments I had were what I brought from home. My wife has always been a great cook and the lunches she has made for me over the years have always been excellent and I always looked forward to noon and the chance to ‘dig in’. But as I got into the re-decoration end of the painting business, I was working around people, in their homes, and getting to know them, sometimes quite well.
One of my first experiences being offered a coffee break, was at a Danish ladies home. She was very friendly and at mid morning she asked me if I would care for a cup of Danish Coffee. It was an opportunity to try something new and also a chance to sit down with her and find out a bit more about her story, something which I have enjoyed tremendously over the years. She explained to me that Danish Coffee was quite strong and asked if she should make it a bit weaker for me. Not caring too much for strong coffee, I consented to her suggestion. She sat me down at the table and set the cup in front of me together with a bowl of sugar and a pitcher of cream. I poured some cream into the cup and began to stir the coffee. It did not change colour. I thought the ‘cream’ was perhaps skimmed milk and poured some more into my cup. The colour was changing ever so slightly and it should have been a clue. I sipped the brew and almost gagged. It was thick and syrupy and the strongest drink I had ever put to my lips. She saw my reaction and apologized. She told me that she had run out of her usual grounds and had used instant. Instant was just right for me if it was made with one half teaspoon. Normally she put eight teaspoons of powder into a cup but she cut back to six for me!
The coffee I have been offered since then has been OK and some of it has been great. Some people really have a knack for making excellent coffee. Fresh ground gourmet coffee in a high tech coffee maker surely does beat cowboy coffee taken from an old unused tin above the fridge and served with plenty of course grounds in the cup. The goodies can really only be described as varied and interesting, ranging from delicious to downright awful. It would seem that some people viewed having a trades person in the house as an opportunity to get rid of old stale baking or something that was too good to throw out but nobody in the family was going to eat. In an instance such as that, I would eat what I had started, but never take seconds, pleading upset stomach, or dietary restrictions. I never got sick from anything I ate, but did gain weight on some of the extended jobs.
I was ushered into a kitchen one day and there was a dessert buffet that one would expect on a cruise ship. At least ten different varieties of fresh Christmas baking. The elderly Mennonite Grandmotherly type gave me a quick instruction before I dug in.
“ Try one of each, and then eat all the ones you like.” I am ashamed to report that I followed her instructions to the ‘t’.
I called the German speaking Miss Zumpf the night before and informed her that I would be starting her job the next morning. She insisted that I do not bring any food, but that she would feed me, coffee breaks and a lunch. This was a new one for me. I had been offered lunch many times, but not beforehand, so I would gratefully turn down the offer and eat what I had brought from home. It was empty-handed that I entered Katie’s home and was curious as to what would transpire.
After working only one hour, the first coffee break arrived and I was served a delectable piece of Bundt cake, and when offered seconds, could not refuse. She asked me if I liked chicken and said that she would make me a chicken lunch. A chicken sandwich would have sufficed and I would have been satisfied with and been grateful for just that. Shortly before noon, I caught whiffs of chicken and it was no sandwich she was preparing. The aromas drifting my way indicated that I would indeed be feasting before long. The time came quickly and she sat me down at her dining room table, before an immaculately set table with her finest china and silverware spread before me. There was a bowl of mashed potatoes, steamed vegetables, dinner rolls with butter, a fresh garden salad with several different dressing to choose from, but no chicken. She sat down with me and said an elegant grace in German and excused herself to the kitchen. When she returned, she was laden down with an extra large baking sheet spread from corner to corner with oven baked chicken. There had to be at least fifteen pieces of golden brown chicken set before me. I was shocked and all I could blurt out was, “Is there someone else coming for lunch?” Apparently not. It was just me and the chicken. Oh, did I mention more Bundt cake for dessert?
I have many regular customers that have called me back many times over the years. Of those, I have favourites and Pat was right near the top. Pat had a wonderful sense of humour and we would laugh out loud the whole time I would be working in her home. She and her husband belonged to an interesting dinner club which met once a month, rotating between their homes. It was planned out for the year and each month would be a theme night. The dinner was prepared by the host couple and they went all out. It was gourmet cooking at its finest. Needless to day, she was a great cook and baker and it was always evident when I was invited to sit down for coffee. The best treat she ever made for me was a large plate full of scones with butter and home made strawberry jam. I embarrassed myself by eating the plate clean, but I sensed that she took it as a compliment. I was appropriately decorating her kitchen in a colour scheme she got right out of a Martha Stuart magazine.
My first experience working in an East Indian home was making me a little nervous. I sensed that there was distrust and suspicion from the minute I walked in the door. I did what I usually do to build a little rapport and took a mild interest in her home and her children. I quietly went about my work and was polite and friendly when I spoke with her. The grandparents were skulking about in the background, giving me sideways glances, and I was relieved that I was not working for them. At mid morning, she asked if I would care for some East Indian tea. I told to go to no trouble for me but she assured me that the whole family was having tea and it was no trouble at all. I accepted, hoping it would not be another Danish coffee incident. The tea turned out to be quite good, mixed with plenty of milk and sugar, not what I was used to, but good enough for a second cup. I think the second cup was the right move because after that, even the old grandpa warmed up to me a bit. Since then, I have had Indian tea many times and always enjoy it, but knowing that if I had it everyday, I would soon be as big bellied as many of them are.
I have learned that there is a subtle change in a new relationship when conversation takes place over a cup of coffee or tea. They extend hospitality, I accept it, and as a result, a bond begins to form. I have heard so many fascinating stories at these coffee breaks and have indeed had many opportunities to encourage and be encouraged by those who sometimes are complete strangers, until we ‘break bread’ together.
1 comment:
I really enjoyed this post!
I am thinking that the German lady who served you that amazing chicken 'dinner' lunch was probably thrilled to be able to cook for someone. Ahhh..so sweet!
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