The Three Sisters were really three sisters, Spanish-looking girls, the daughters, it was said, of a shipwrecked sailor who had drifted ashore, married, spawned, and then moved on, leaving the three dark beauties who had been taught cooking by their father. (“Proving,” said Gramp, “that all great chefs are men.” “Proving,” said Mama, “that give a fool a white cap and a big spoon and he'll act out Napoleon among the cold cuts.”)
The Three Sisters lnn did not look impressive, but it had charm, and under the big elm tree. at a table covered with a snow-white tablecloth, sat Gramp, twisting his mustache back and respectfully contemplating the silver mint-julep mug in his fist. (“Never crush the mint leaves, Stevie, just bruise them. And always drink a julep from a silver mug.”)
“Pull up a chair. Stevie, Things went well at the stockholders' meeting. We're going to call in the outstanding debentures and pay dividends on the nonvoting sunk. Then we'll split the common stock, three tot one. You follow me?”
“No. Are we going to be rich?”
He looked at me closely and frowned, “Dues it matter?”
“I was thinking it over in the cab,” I said. “No. Not very much. There aren't enough things 1 want to buy.”
He slapped me on the back. “That's my lad … understands the futility of desire, the hollowness of material things. Let's eat!”
The sisters got busy inside; then two of them came out with trays and the third one stood in the doorway, holding her roasting fork like a marshal's baton. Gramp bowed to them and introduced me and we fell to. It was a fine lunch. Gramp as usual recorded most of it in his journals, which were becoming more mixed up. confused, dog-eared and tattered as time passed. I have dredged up the following about the food of the Three Sisters:
There was baked rockfish and a flounder, seasoned with garlic, bay leaf and thyme, with lots of butter in active service. The main dish was breast of chicken Three Sisters, cooked with wild rice. (“A grass, Stevie, not at all a true rice. Indians go out in the swamps with their dugout canoes, drift among the wild grass and beat the heads off it with their paddles. What falls into the dugouts they call wild rice.”) The chicken was cooked with sherry and cognac, large mushrooms, pimiento, green peppers, saffron and chopped parsley. Served in a timbale on a platter, with the sauce poured over, it was remarkable eating. The vegetable was asparagus Delaware; large white asparagus, garnished with hard-cooked eggs, grated cheese, and blanched almonds.
Dessert was apple charlotte: orange marmalade over tan apples, wonderful thick egg-white meringue, sprinkled with grated orange and lemon rind. The three sisters watched with pleasure while we ate. Gramp then presented each sister with a good cigar and, being a sailor's daughters and at least partly Spanish, they all lit up and smoked.
When we got back to the hotel. Mama was there with quantities of milk glass in the shape of vases and plaits and other brittle objects.
Mania said, “I spent lots of money.”
Gramp nodded and tested a bit of glass With a finger, tapping it sharply, and listening as it rang out. “Nice clear sound.”
“What does that mean.'” I asked.
“Nothing,” said Mama, pulling off her long gloves. “The only thing you tap and get an answer from is a melon. If it's ripe it echoes.”
“Cut glass,” said Gramp. “You can tell the lead content of cut glass by tapping it.”
Mama made a low bumm sound in her throat. “Cut glass, really Gramp, cut glass is just something you get free by cutting out soap wrappers.”
“Damn.” said Gramp, who had a huge collection of cut glass, and was well aware that fashionable people now considered it vulgar. I liked the feel of it, running my fingers over its facets, but I too thought it vulgar and, what was worse, ugly. But no one except Mama ever told Gramp his cut glass wasn't fashionable any more.
Mama said, “There's an old farm below town, people named Rodgers own it. They used to be very important, but have come down in the world. They arc selling their milk glass, and also some ruby glass. We'll drive out tomorrow.”
Gramp looked over the milk glass spread around the room and said, “Haven't we enough?”
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