
Mother is prodding a bowl of nachos gently, so she doesnโt disturb anything, like the first police officer at a murder scene.
โWhat is it?โ she asks my son, putting her fork down.
โNachos,โ he replies.
โIs it Greek?โ
โNo. Itโs a Mexican corn tortilla covered with cheese and salsa.โ
โSalsa?โ
A thought catches her. She nods at me. โHis godmother danced the salsa. Argentinian. Itโs in their blood.โ
Sheโs confusing nachos with Naxos, salsa with tango and Cuba with Argentina. It is correct that my godmother was a chorus line dancer and married an Argentine. However, she was born in Croydon.
Mother is like a psychedelic signalman
Sometimes this happens. Mother is like a psychedelic signalman, who switches the points on the railway track, setting you off on a journey to an unknown destination. A simple conversation gets absurdly diverted.
โSalsa is also a type of Mexican sauce,โ my son replies, gamely trying to put the conversation back on track.
She peers at the Mexican take-away laid out on the kitchen table, suspiciously. Her radar locks onto an open polystyrene tub.
โWhatโs that green stuff?โ
โGuacamole,โ says my wife. โItโs avocado mashed up with other stuff.โ
โOther stuff?โ says Mother.
Mother doesnโt like the look or the sound of the food. Events are running out of control faster now, the way the last inch of bath water appears to spiral down the plug faster than the first.
The take-away is her treat to us. A kind gesture to break the covid-19 lock down ritual of DIY cooking, clearing and cleaning and a way to assuage her unnecessary guilt she doesnโt contribute enough around the house.
It’s turned into a family faux-pas
Instead, itโs turning into a family faux pas. Weโre embarrassed weโve ordered something she doesnโt want to eat. Sheโs embarrassed to admit it and is now racking her brain for an excuse to say โnoโ to dinner, like a vegetarian diplomat trying to refuse a plate of exotic offal, without giving offence.
Itโs my fault, of course. I could have ordered something safe. She likes fish and chips, especially chips. With careful negotiation we might even have formed a consensus around an Indian or Chinese meal. But no. I decided it was time to experiment.
โMexican? Are you sure,โ said my wife?
โChilli con carne is your least favourite food,โ said my son. โItโs the only opinion youโve held consistently since I was a baby.โ
โEverything deserves a second chance,โ I said, exuberantly pressing the โAddโ button on my โJust Eatโ app for portions of enchiladas, burritos, tacos, nachos, quesadillas, tortillas and even a vegetarian chilli con carne.
Now itโs arrived, Mother has come to inspect the gift sheโs bought us. Sheโs standing next to the table tilting like a Tudor house, ground floor timbers leaning one-way, top floor leaning the other. If she sits down, getting up will be a big effort so sheโs weighing things up carefully, while my son snaps the lids off the takeawayโs plastic containers. Each snap sounds like a dull firework and infuses the kitchen with an aroma of plastic, cheese and chilli.
Son pours kidney bean sludge into a bowl
My son pours a kidney bean sludge into a serving bowl in front of Mother, who turns away from the table with a faint groan, her mind made up.
โIโm not very hungry right now. I havenโt been feeling quite myself all day. Iโll help myself to some cheese and biscuits later, if you donโt mind.โ
โNachos is sort of cheese and biscuits,โ says my son, pointing at the yellow cheese on top of the pile of nachos, setting like lava as it meets the air. Itโs his last roll of the dice.
โNo, thank you, darling. I think Iโll go to bed. Iโm not feeling well.โ
Once sheโs gone upstairs and my son has taken her a plate of cheese and biscuits my wife turns to me.
โThereโs a lesson here, isnโt there.โ
โNever order Mexican,โ I ask?
โWe should just focus on giving her food she knows and likes and not try to turn these moments into a foodie festival.โ
โShe was fine until she saw the chilli con carne,โ I say.
My wife shakes her head.
โBy the way, the chilli is disgusting,โ says my son. โOne positive take out from this debacle is that dad has been right about one thing all these years: chilli con carne is the worse dish in the world.โ
The Man in the Middle writes our funny, thoughtful blog series. Musings from a middle-aged man living with his aged Mother and the Family.
ยฉ The Man in the Middle
Find The Man in the Middleโs at www.maninthemiddle.blog Heโs on Twitter @maninthemiddl15 and Facebook maninthemiddle guru