Last night I gave my two farm Indian employees and their families dinner at my house. There were five of us adults, one teenager and three small ones. We sat at two joined tables, the adults drinking wine and the others fruit juices.
Unlike my neighbor Bob, I am limited in cooking skills. Bob, a part-time bachelor, can create sauces which have those who don’t know that he hails from Seattle, believing his skill to have been taught by an Italian mother.
My main course for the farm family was a seafood mix with pasta, flavored with Old Bay, a favorite from the days when I lived on the Chesapeake Bay. For desert I had “baked” two Betty Crooker cake mixes topped by marsh mallows which created sticky goo as they melted in the oven.
Casilda the farm manager with a bowl of her spinach like dish which she makes from the inner leaf of dacin
However bad my cooking, the family are the most complementary of guests and never do I have to save left overs. On the rare occasions when everyone is so full that there are left overs, Casilda, the farm manager (if with just two employees one can be designated the manager) collects up the food to takes it back to their side of the farm.
Casilda and America
Casilda, her sister, America, and Kati the teenager do the washing up while Casilda’s wife Andres and America’s husband Offilio sit on at the table with me discussing politics. Andres who is an entrepreneur in his own right is our expert on both the national and the local politics.
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