Читать книгу Beyond Delicious: The Ghost Whisperer's Cookbook - Mary Ann Winkowski - Страница 25

ONE OF THE THINGS PEOPLE DON’T REALIZE is that I see ghosts all the time. Some people think I only see them when I visit a house I’ve been called to, but the truth is, I see and hear them almost every day, just as you see and hear people when you go to the mall. Not that there’s a constant parade of ghosts bothering me every hour of every day, but they’re there. I’ve just learned to tune them out over the years.

Every once in a while, though, they just can’t be ignored—like the Polish twins I came across one year at a church down the road from my house. My husband, Ted, and I had gone down to the church to buy pierogis. It was during Lent, and most of the churches in our neighborhood sell pierogies as a fundraiser during that time, so it had become a tradition for us. Ted loves the sauerkraut filling, but I prefer the cheese. Of course, these days you can get them filled with just about anything, and I remember thinking as we drove to the church that day that I really needed a good recipe for pierogies. Most of them were homemade by the parishioners, and I’d seen ghosts at the neighborhood churches plenty of times before—I wondered if maybe some of those ghosts were former parishioners who might have a good recipe to share….

Unfortunately, I came to learn that pierogi recipes are closely guarded secrets. I should have guessed as much—the church we bought from made you go around the back and knock on a locked door to get in. You practically needed a password just to buy pierogies! Once we were inside, a woman politely took our orders, then went in the back to put them together. As she went through the door to the kitchen, I saw a woman—a ghost—come out.

I’d seen this spirit around before from time to time, but I’d never made contact of any kind with her. I was mulling over my pierogi-recipe plan and thinking of asking her when another ghost came into the room behind her—a ghost that looked exactly like the first one.

Twins, I breathed to myself. In all my years, I couldn’t remember seeing twins, at least not twins who had both failed to cross over, haunting the same place. They even had the same clothes, the same hairstyle, and the same sour, disgusted look on their faces. They were also the same age, I realized, which meant they must have died at nearly the same time.

Recovering from the mild shock of seeing twin ghosts, I was about to catch their eyes and let them know I could see them when the one who had entered second looked at her sister and said harshly, “Listen, Helga—I told you that’s not the way you make it!”

The first ghost I’d seen rolled her eyes and replied, “That may be, Olga. And it may be that you’re the better cook, but I’m a better baker! And I know you can make it that way!”

“You can’t, you horrible woman!” Olga spat back. “Why don’t you ever listen to me!”

I couldn’t believe it. Having just gotten over the fact that they were twins, now I was standing listening to them argue—loudly. Ted couldn’t see or hear a thing, of course, which honestly amazed me—they were going at each other at top volume, presumably bickering over some recipe or other. I was probably gaping at them by this point, and I know I was staring because Helga cut herself off mid-sentence and looked right at me. I just couldn’t look away.

“Olga?” she said in a loud whisper. “Olga! That lady over there? I think she can see us!”

“Yeah?” Olga replied with a glance in my direction. “I think you’re crazy.”

“No, she can see us!”

“Yes I can,” I said. “And I can hear you, too.” Ted was still oblivious to the whole thing. One of the blessings of my calling is that I communicate with these spirits in my head, so at least I don’t have to go around mumbling and talking to the air.

“Well, what do you want?” Olga snapped, suddenly giving me her full attention (and not to be outdone by her sister, no doubt).

“How about a recipe?” I asked. “For pierogies?”

“No!” they answered curtly in unison without hesitation.

“We’ll never give that away,” Helga added. “That’s a family recipe and it died with us.”

“How did you die?” I wondered, trying to soften the mood. Olga explained that they died in a house fire. From what I could gather, they must both have been overcome by smoke before they died, because neither of them could even remember there being a fire. They also explained that this had been their church and that they just liked hanging around, seeing what the ladies were cooking.

“There might be an even better kitchen if you cross over,” I offered. In truth, I have absolutely no idea what’s on the other side, but they didn’t know that, and a really great kitchen is as good a bet as any!

At that moment the woman came back with our orders. While Ted was paying, I asked the ladies again for their pierogi recipe, but the declined. So I offered them a trade: I’d make the White Light so they could cross over if they gave me a good recipe before they left—not pierogies, but something worth sharing nonetheless.

“Okay,” they agreed, so I asked them to follow us into the parking lot, where they gave me the following recipe.

Sweet Cabbage with Caraway Seed

2–3 ounces salt pork or bacon, minced

1 medium onion, minced

2 small heads white cabbage

2–3 teaspoons caraway seeds

3 tablespoons bouillon

Salt and pepper to taste

Salted boiling water

2 teaspoons flour

½ teaspoon Kitchen Bouquet

Cut cabbage into small sections, cut and core, and parboil in salted water for 10 minutes. Drain. Heat salt pork until transparent; add onion, and continue cooking until onion is lightly brown. Add cabbage, caraway, bouillon, and seasoning. Simmer, tightly covered, stirring occasionally, until soft (about 1 hour). Dust with flour and add Kitchen Bouquet; stir and let simmer another 5 minutes. Serves 6–7.