Unique goulash

The goulash Der Bingle made turned out to be a variant of what I think of as goulash . . . and I encouraged Cameron to hit his grandpa up for a $5 Little Caesar’s pepperoni pizza. Der Bingle  came home with an $8 three-meat pizza for him so I guess Cameron made out pretty well. Der Bingle would have been a totally guilty Hungarian, if he were a Hungarian, which he is not. There are lots of things I could have been photographing lately to add a little visual aid to these posts, but believe me, now is the time to be thankful for this little trend of no photos. Well, I guess I’d better get off the goulash subject and say things such as how nice Der Bingle is to bring me Hot Head Burritos and take Sydney to the fairgrounds and to give me all sorts of gadgets. Why, there are so many things that if I threw them in a bowl and made a culinary analogy, they would make a great goulash. Oh, dear, I am hopeless.

Goulash? Perhaps.

We are planning goulash tonight – we being Der Bingle, Cameron and I. They may be adding many, many spices so this could be an adventure for me. I remember once, a long time ago, Der Bingle sprinkled a pizza with really hot peppers and I spent most of the time at the table with my tongue in a glass of iced soda.

Other memories have been popping up of late. When I was young, something would trigger a thought in my father’s mind and he would cite a quote of piece of poetry. Once, in the summer, when I was in my late teen, we were in the warm weather eating area that looked to the east. He was still seated and I was getting up and I can still see him and hear him citing William Wordsworth:

THERE was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,
          The earth, and every common sight,
                    To me did seem
                  Apparelled in celestial light,
          The glory and the freshness of a dream.
          It is not now as it hath been of yore;--
                  Turn wheresoe'er I may,
                    By night or day,
          The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

Perhaps it was me getting older but still not of an age to realize things would not always be the way they were; perhaps it was him remembering his years before the war; perhaps it was some of both.

I hear those words again now in my head . . . and I remember that evening . . . and I understand more.

I have to smile – I thought everyone had fathers who quoted poetry at the dinner table. I guess I was pretty lucky.

So what will distinguish this goulash meal for Cameron – perhaps the quote for the movie Housesitter with Goldy Hawn and Steve Martin.  (Der Bingle has been working to give him a foundation in cultural reference movies.)  Actually, it’s a quote I already used when the subject of goulash came up; you know, this one: “I punched a totally innocent Hungarian.”

Yes,  I know, it’s not Wordsworth.