{"id":582,"date":"2008-12-19T18:23:34","date_gmt":"2008-12-19T23:23:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=582"},"modified":"2010-11-18T20:47:37","modified_gmt":"2010-11-19T01:47:37","slug":"tis-the-season-for-food-and-hilarity","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/?p=582","title":{"rendered":"‘Tis the Season – for Food and Hilarity"},"content":{"rendered":"

photo-2-small.JPG<\/a> <\/p>\n

“Laughter is brightest, in the place where the food is.” <\/p>\n

—Irish proverb
\n_______________________________________<\/p>\n

The message was waiting on my answering machine last Friday when I got home from the gym. From the Amish housewife, the one who gave me that cherry pie a few weeks ago. She had a deal in mind. <\/p>\n

Her family was having their annual Christmas gathering the next day. Their married kids were coming home for the feast. Roasht, with all the fixings. Plus lots of other food, seasonal goodies. If I brought them a hard copy of my latest blog, they would trade it for food. <\/p>\n

Who could refuse an offer like that? Sounded like a great deal to me. Will trade blog for food. Maybe I can expand the concept, at least locally to Amish people who don\u2019t have access to a computer. <\/p>\n

Amish Roasht (pronounced \u201cRoo-usht\u201d) reigns among my favorite dishes. I didn\u2019t grow up with it. It\u2019s pretty much exclusively a Lancaster County concoction. Like most Amish cooking, it\u2019s pretty simple. Not particularly good for you. But, ah, is it ever tasty. <\/p>\n

It\u2019s a mixture of bread, stuffing, chunks of chicken, other tasty ingredients I can\u2019t identify, and topped with dark gravy. Baked and browned to perfection, served at all Amish weddings. Lancaster weddings, that is. In most communities, the bride and groom get to choose their menu. Ham, beef, steak, whatever. Even hot dogs. Not in blue-blooded Lancaster. The meal is traditional, set in stone. Roasht, mashed potatoes, corn, creamed celery. Laden tables of it. With my admittedly unsophisticated palate, I couldn\u2019t imagine getting tired of such fare. But if one had a number of weddings to attend in a short time, it might be possible. <\/p>\n

I don\u2019t get invited to many weddings here in Lancaster, so Roasht is a rare treat for me. I usually have to beg the guys at work to skim some from the weddings they attend, which they are extremely hesitant to do. So I promptly called my friends and left a message. I wouldn\u2019t be able to come around until Saturday night, but I would be there, blog in hand. Have my Roasht ready. <\/p>\n

Saturday was a busy, extremely eventful day and I didn\u2019t get home until 6:30. After printing the blog, I sallied forth with it to collect my food. Drove the several miles to my friends\u2019 place and pulled in the drive and parked. Through the windows, I saw a circle of stragglers, snacking and visiting after a long day of feasting. The family greeted me cheerfully and the good housewife promptly and loudly introduced me as David Wagler\u2019s son, Ira. Or, as they say my name in Lancaster, \u201cIar.\u201d No one seemed even slightly impressed. Guess they\u2019d never heard of Dad. Or me. Which was fine. <\/p>\n

I sat on a chair at the edge of the circle and chomped on snacks the good housewife pressed on me and joined in the conversation. Everyone was having a boisterous time, swapping old Amish jokes, and stories from the past. One young man launched into a hilarious tale, which he claimed happened right here in Lancaster County. Although I found it extremely funny, I can’t tell you how very dubious I am about the veracity of the tale. Even so, it\u2019s worth repeating. <\/p>\n

I didn\u2019t take notes, but near as I can recall, the details are loosely as follows. Please keep in mind that I cannot vouch for the truth of even a single detail.<\/p>\n

During all Amish church services, the preachers go into conference, or \u201cObrote\u201d for about an hour as the service starts. Usually in a side room or upstairs. Most often upstairs. The congregation sings until they return, and proceed with their officiating duties. <\/p>\n

One Sunday, in a particular district in Lancaster County (my hosts stubbornly persisted in claiming), the preachers finished up their conference in the Obrote. Decided who would preach, who would read scripture, and so forth. Led by the Bishop, they somberly filed out of the room and approached the stairs to return to the congregation. The Bishop clumped down, looking grave as Bishops are wont to do, followed by four preachers and a deacon, the deacon bringing up the rear. <\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know anything about this particular deacon. Perhaps he hadn\u2019t slept well the night before, or perhaps he hadn\u2019t drunk enough coffee that morning, or maybe too much. Maybe he had other things on his mind. Maybe this happened down at the southern end, and he was barefoot, like they do down there. Most likely, though, he just wasn\u2019t paying attention. <\/p>\n

In single file, four preachers and the Bishop walked down the stairs in front of him. Sadly, as he stepped down on the top step of the stairs, the deacon stumbled. Flailing wildly for the hand rail, he lurched forward and bumped solidly into the preacher in front of him, two steps below. \u201cAch, my,\u201d the preacher cried out in warning. But it was too late. He instantly lost his balance and fell forward onto the preacher in front of him, two steps below that. That preacher fell onto the preacher in front of him, two steps down. The last two preachers, alerted by the commotion, instinctively grabbed the hand rail and hung on. Although they momentarily stemmed the flood, it quickly over-whelmed them as well. Down they tumbled, all the way down to the elderly Bishop, who was just reaching for the door knob to open the stairwell door that separated them from the congregation. <\/p>\n

The people below, of course, were lustily roaring some slow church tune, perhaps the Lob Song. The house swelled and echoed with their singing. Despite the great noise of their joyful roaring, they suddenly heard a series of sharp bumps and crashes from the stairwell. The clatter increased, distracting the song leader, who was in the middle of a particularly drawn out lead. He faltered and lost his concentration, and promptly got stuck. All the men rushed in to help him get back on track. Their off-key assistance made an awful racket.<\/p>\n

The fearful rumbling from the stairwell increased dramatically, like an onrushing tornado. And just then the stairwell door was violently flung open by an unseen force. Before the horrified congregation, their esteemed Bishop shot out as if propelled by a cannon and crumpled to the floor. Instantly followed by the four preachers, who popped out one by one like dominoes, landing around and on top of the unfortunate Bishop. Last of all, the deacon tumbled out, coming to rest at the best possible spot, perched on top of the pile. <\/p>\n

All decorum was lost. Whoosh, right out the window, just like that.<\/p>\n

The song leader, greatly distracted, lost all composure and gave up any pretense of trying to lead, his voice faltering to a forlorn squeak. The song sputtered to a halt. Everyone gaped at the incredible scene. Several nearby men roused themselves from temporary paralysis and jumped up from their benches and rushed toward the pile of men. <\/p>\n

But lo, the pile struggled; arms and legs flailed about and began to untangle them- selves. Muffled exclamations were heard. The deacon rolled off his lofty perch at the top and, in an entirely reflexive reaction, vigorously slapped at his legs to dust off his pants. One by one the preachers unwound themselves and staggered to their feet. Lastly, even the Bishop rose unsteadily to his feet with some assistance from the preachers. <\/p>\n

No one was seriously injured. Miraculously. <\/p>\n

The song leader cleared his throat. This was his moment. Heroically, he rose to the occasion and restarted the song. Relieved, everyone joined in, and roared lustily again. Led by the now gingerly hobbling Bishop, the preachers regrouped and filed slowly forward to their seats with as much dignity as could be mustered under such calamitous circumstances. The very embarrassed deacon brought up the rear, stepping carefully so as not to stumble again. They all sat down and recomposed themselves to normal austere settings. <\/p>\n

The remainder of the service unfolded uneventfully, although no one remembers any details of the sermons. <\/p>\n

And that’s the tale. Except for a few mildly embellished details (well, maybe more than a few and perhaps more than mildly embellished), exactly how it was told to me. Along with repeated assurances that the event actually occurred. I don\u2019t know. Seems the stuff of legend, too wild to be true. <\/p>\n

But I just write what I hear. Somebody\u2019s got to record this stuff. For the future, and all.<\/p>\n

It was time to get back home and watch some football. I gathered my container of Roasht and a pack of cookies, profusely thanked my hosts, and headed for the door. Without question, I got the best of the deal. One blog in exchange for some great material for another, plus a goodly portion of home-cooked food. The Roasht was delicious, and provided two substantive meals.
\n______________________________________________<\/p>\n

On to some facts I can verify. Anne Marie returned home to her family Monday morning. She zips about the house, energetic and active as ever. Wearing a brightly colored little hat to cover her surgery scars. One would never know she had brain surgery last Friday. Her parents arrived from Canada last weekend and plan to stay for a month. I stopped by for supper Wednesday night. Everyone was all hyper about Christmas. <\/p>\n

Paul and Anne Marie asked me to thank everyone who sent them cards, letters and gifts. I had not asked permission to post the request, so they were a bit surprised. And very grateful and humbled, to hear from so many people they didn\u2019t even know. And some they did know. Once the official test results return, usually in three to four weeks, they will make the decisions on what treatments to take this time. It\u2019s looking like they may be able to get in at Johns Hopkins for some advice. Thanks to Ellen Wagler for her tireless assistance on this front.<\/p>\n

Well, Christmas is almost here. Grinchy as ever, the spirit of the season eludes me as usual. This year, I have one person to shop for, myself. OK, maybe a few family members, too. I always head to the mall on Christmas Eve to walk about, looking for last minute impulse items. It\u2019s always fun, the mall almost spooky in its emptiness. <\/p>\n

Weather permitting, my brother Nate and I may head to Kentucky the day after Christmas to see our parents. Which may present some challenges for me to post on schedule, what with them having no electricity and all. Not to mention internet access. I\u2019ll play it by ear and see what happens. <\/p>\n

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, OOPS, I MEANT TO SAY, “BAH, HUMBUG.”<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“Laughter is brightest, in the place where the food is.” —Irish proverb _______________________________________ The message was waiting on my answering machine last Friday when I got home from the gym. From the Amish housewife, the one who gave me that cherry pie a few weeks ago. She had a deal in mind. Her family was […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-582","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-news"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/582","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=582"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/582\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1468,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/582\/revisions\/1468"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=582"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=582"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.irawagler.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=582"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}