On: The Toast

The Toast

Colleen Rogers

Last month my husband and I were in a Doctor’s office.  We knew the staff and their families fairly well, so we always made small talk with them to inquire about their children and grandchildren.  One of the ladies there always boasted about her son, who had recently received the credentials he needed to become a professional chef.  On New Year’s Eve, not long after he earned his diploma, he decided to repay his parents for their support by gracing them with some of his culinary expertise.

To prepare for this event, he carefully shopped to procure the most lavish ingredients and wines, using the perks of his newfound trade to get insider deals on his purchases.  He prepared some of the side dishes at home, gently hauling them to his parents’ house for careful reheating.  The main course was, of course, prepared on site to insure its greatest freshness and peak of flavor. 

When the day’s meal was finally ready, he laid out each dish with flair and meticulous placement on the dining table, which was set with a combination of his mother’s best dishes and his own spectacular accoutrements.  When his family and friends were seated and ready to be served, he pulled out his final surprise—a rare and coveted vintage wine.  He judiciously explained the value of his selection, and how it was the perfect pairing for the dishes being served.  With great enthusiasm, the guests joyfully anticipated the popping of the cork, and the gentle pouring of luxury, privy only to this select party.  Many of the guests were imagining the breezy waves of this vintage pairing poured into the perfectly chosen, exactly matched table goblets.

When the moment for the ceremonial cork popping was finally on deck, the chef was gleeful.  He had never had a chance to share something so exquisite with those he loved.  With an expert, swift movement of the wine screw pull and a strained tug, the cork rocket jettisoned at maximum velocity thru the dining room ceiling, leaving a hole and spraying vintage blood red vino on the whitest of ceilings.  With residual force, the cork shot through its’ final landing strip, chunking out his mother’s precious granite countertop. 

The chef’s mother began screaming, shouting about the damage done to her home, and about how her son was clearly not ready for the standard of professionalism she had expected from him.  The remainder of the meal was eaten in virtual silence, with only small, quiet requests to pass uncomplemented entrees.  With the uncomfortable atmosphere, the guests politely excused themselves and called it an early night.  The noveau chef profusely offered to pay for the damages, but his mother chose to indicate that she and his father would have to take care of what was done themselves.

As the chef’s mother relayed the story to us, my husband and I listened in dismay to hear the outcome of the chef’s inaugural experience.  We wondered how encouraged he would be to continue as a professional chef after this incident with family.  We were curious as to why his mother was more agitated about her own property than she was proud of her son’s overriding accomplishments.

And, in our morbid fascination, we wondered if on the mother’s deathbed, the chef would toast her, being sure not that the cork did not pierce the ceiling.

Drawing courtesy of:   http://www.humblegrape.co.uk/blog/20131017cork-vs-screw-cap/