Bake until edges just start to turn golden but centers are still moist, 10 to 12 minutes. Remove to a cooling rack to cool completely.

Store in an airtight container for up to one week.

Courtesy http://www.eatwisconsincheese.com/

21

Oh, what a dummkopf I can be. I don’t know what made me think that the gang from the Garden State would be satisfied with a supper of scrambled eggs and franks and beans. The Babester and I often made do with just such a repast on Freni’s day off. A couple tubes of jumbo-size biscuits and a tossed salad, and what more does one need? Why, throw in a vitamin pill, and one has a veritable banquet!

“This isn’t what we paid for,” Olivia Zambezi said.

“You paid for a filling meal,” I said evenly. “Now fill up.”

“We paid for authentic Pennsylvania Dutch cuisine,” George Nyle said.

“I am an authentic Pennsylvania Dutch woman, and I made this cuisine; thus it is authentic Dutch cuisine.”

“It’s crap,” Peewee Timms said. “My grandma used to serve this on Sunday nights when we visited. Neither she nor my mother could cook worth a darn.”

“Yet somehow you didn’t starve,” I said, and not nearly as unkindly as I might have.

“Hon,” Gabe said under his breath. He is always the conciliator, although it’s not because he believes in peace, so much as he fears conflict.

“Yes, that was mean,” Tiny said. “I thought you were nicer than that.”

“I am nice. Look, our Amish cook quit, and since I really don’t need your money, I’d be happy to give you all refunds.”

“Please, if I may,” Surimanda said, by way of breaking into the conversation. She was dressed in a black velvet blouse with kimono sleeves, a black velvet ankle-length skirt and high-heeled black suede boots. Around her waist was a gold chain belt. Her blue-black hair was gathered in a chignon and adorned by a single silk rose the color of fresh blood.

“Certainly, you may,” I said. “And just so you know, in this country April showers bring May flowers, and I’m told we can look forward to a very soggy April.”

Miss Baikal brushed aside my attempt at obfuscation. “Miss Yoder, I like this food. Is good sturdy peasant food.”

I beamed. “Indeed! Peasant food, that’s what it is, only I shall call it ‘peasant fare’ and charge an extra twenty dollars per meal for it.”

“Why, that’s highway robbery,” Olivia said. She was obviously quite livid.

“I don’t know,” Barbie Nyle said. “It sounds reasonable to me. You try ordering peasant fare in a fancy Manhattan restaurant and see how far you’ll get. This is a one-of-a-kind experience we’re getting here, and I say let’s go for it. Miss Yoder, what do you call these things again?”

“They’re biscuits, dear. They’re like rolls, but they come from a tube. And those,” I said, taking the liberty of pointing at her plate, “are beans. And that’s a frank.”

“What fun,” Carl Zambezi said, and although his wife scowled at him, she dropped her objection to my meal.

However, the woman had the eyes of a hawk, and the manners of a vulture. “Where’s the boy at?” she demanded abruptly, her mouth filled with masticated yellow egg.

“He’s staying at a friend’s, dear.”

“Is that so? Isn’t he a little young for sleepovers?”

Now that was rude, challenging my parenting style like that. “Not in my culture, dear,” I said facetiously, which really is not the same as lying, because it is teaching someone a much-needed lesson. “We institute mandatory sleepovers at six weeks of age as part of an initiation process. That way, if we’re invaded by the Russians and-God forbid-a mother is killed, the child will be used to other adult caretakers.” A little late, I remembered Surimanda’s presence. “Oops, those would be bad Russians, dear, not your kind.”

Nevertheless there were gasps of awe and disapproval from my rapt audience. But, more important, Olivia looked like she’d been put in her place.

“She’s only kidding,” Gabe said. “Little Jacob just started having sleepovers; in fact, this is his first one.”

If my arms had been long enough, and if I hadn’t had five hundred years of pacifist breeding to overcome, I’d have reached the length of the table and throttled my dearly beloved. What was he thinking! Someone in this bunch could be in cahoots with Melvin. At the very least, there was bound to be a bug somewhere, and the dining room seemed like a likely location.

Yes, I’d conducted a thorough search before supper, but surveillance systems these days are extremely sophisticated. Short of taking a torch to the room, there was no way I could be sure of disabling everything anyway.

“Miss Yoder,” Olivia said, a new bite of egg familiarizing itself with her dentures, “I don’t find you in the least bit amusing. It’s a shame, you know, because at first I thought we might really get on, given the fact that we are roughly the same age. But you are rude, crude, and generally very abrasive; you are not anything like what I expected a Mennonite woman to be like.”

“I think she’s delightful,” Tiny said.

“Me too,” Barbie said.

I looked at the men, one at a time. “Well?”

“Sorry, but I’ll have to agree with my wife,” Carl said.

“And I’ll agree with mine,” Peewee said, “even though you did insult me with your ‘didn’t starve’ comment.”

“Which was true,” Tiny said. “You promised me you’d go on a diet.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“What about you, George?” I said.

“You’re a hoot, Miss Yoder.”

I turned to Surimanda. “And you?”

“I adore you, Miss Yoder.”

“Then it’s settled,” I said. “I will continue to be myself, we will continue to feed you sturdy peasant fare, and you will butt out of our family business. Capisce?”

“Hon!”

But everyone except Gabe laughed-even Olivia snickered.

I used to have lofty dreams. Often in them I flew without the benefit of wings. Since the birth of Jacob, my dreams tend to be darker and have, in fact, included a few in which he is somewhere far away, and I am trying to reach him. In these dreams there are always insurmountable obstacles, such as the road keeps disappearing, or Jacob’s whereabouts continually change. I’ve even had a few dreams in which I can no longer remember what he looks like or, worse yet, I see Ida’s head on my dear son’s body.

This particular night I was dreaming that Agnes and Dorothy Yoder were one and the same person. Agnes was actually Dorothy’s fat suit, which she could take off and put on at will, or, to look at it another way, Dorothy was Agnes’s skinny persona, the soulless slattern she could slip into anytime she wanted to experience a mindless mattress mamba. Given that Agnes was my best friend and still a virgin, this dream was disconcerting to say the least-especially since I was supposed to be her business manager.

“But you can’t quit on me now,” Agnes pleaded. “You were supposed to arrange a sleepover with the Royal Moroccan Marching Band. They’re only going to be in town one night.”

“What?”

“ Magdalena, you’re getting very forgetful. My rendezvous with the Shriners was Saturday night in Somerset; it was my breakfast in bed with the Jaycees-”

“No, no, I won’t!”

“ Magdalena, it’s only me-Gabe.”

“Gabe? Best friend or not, you get your hands off my Cuddle Buns!” I lunged for Agnes with both hands, claws bared.

“Hon!”

“What?” I popped up in bed as the bad dream drained away like the remains of a large soap bubble.

“You were having a nightmare, hon, and were fighting back at something tooth and nail; I have the scratch marks to prove it.”

“I’m so sorry! There’s some hydrogen peroxide under the sink-”

“Don’t worry about me. There’s someone here to see you.”