"Grandma's Kitchen Etiquette"

                                                              "Grandma's Kitchen Etiquette"

                                                                              By: Jodi Rath

"I can't believe we have run the restaurant for a full year now," Ava said.

"I know. Grandma Opal and Aunt Fern always said we'd make it happen," I said, smiling at my best friend, Ava.

"Well, Mama Opal had to give us our kitchen etiquette lesson over and over," Ava said with a laugh.

"Oh man, I forgot all about that. Didn't that all start when we were five years old?" We took a moment to reminisce about our childhood. "Remember how you used to pronounce it edit cut and then our whole group would say the same thing? It used to drive Grandma crazy!" I exclaimed.

I sat down with a cup of tea thinking back to when we were kids:

"You don't got no kitchen edit cuts," I said, as I shoved Lydia out of my way–almost falling off my stool. Then, using both hands, I awkwardly flipped the imaginary steak in the heavy cast iron skillet on the stove top

"You two are so immature," Betsy said with a sigh, smoothing her long red hair in her hands.

"Well, we are kids, Betsy," Ava said with a duh look. "Jolie, you better not let Mama Opal catch you shovin' on Lydia, or she will give you her edit cut speech!"

"Lord knows no one needs to hear that again." Lydia picked up the fork she dropped when I pushed her.

"Wash–" began Betsy and Ava simultaneously, ending in laughter.

"Mama Opal will know, somehow, we are using a fork that hit the floor, and come after us!" cackled Lydia.

"You better not be making fun of my grandma," I said, slamming the spatula down on the counter.

Ava put her body between Lydia and me.

My grandma liked to call us 'the dirty diaper crew,' since we had been friends since birth. We hated that name. Lately, Lydia had been rubbing me the wrong way. One of the things we loved to do the most was play "restaurant owners" in my grandma's kitchen. Today, my grandma and Betsy's Aunt Ellie had taken us to Ellie's cabin in the woods. Grandma Opal didn't mind us playing, but she did make us listen to that kitchen "edit cut" speech a few too many times for our liking.

"Oh, Jolie, leave her alone; she's just joking around!" Betsy said in Lydia's defense.

"Girls, are you arguing again? Get in here, now," my grandma hollered from the living room.

"Mama Opal, it's not Jolie's fault. Lydia was making fun of you!" crowed Ava over the din of girls' voices.

"Tattletale!" Lydia screamed and ran back to the kitchen.

"I'm not tattlin'; I'm telling the truth!" Ava wailed to Grandma.

"Girls, you all need to be thankful you have each other. There's no time for bickering! Betsy, your Aunt Ellie and I have been best friends since your girls' age, and we used to throw fits and argue too. Now we are getting older and realize how special our bond is. I'd like to think the four of you could learn that at an early age. Now go on in there and apologize to poor Lydia."

"But, Grandma, I didn't do nothing wrong," I cried.

"Jolie Tucker, this is Ellie's cabin, and you are my granddaughter, and I will not have you mistreating guests. Your mother raised you better than that. Don't stick that lip out pouting at me, girlie; it won't work on me," she said and skedaddled the three of us back to the kitchen to make nice.

"Hey, where'd Lydia go?" Betsy wondered.

"I don't know, but where is Grandma's special cast iron skillet?" I squealed.

She—wouldn't—dare!" Ava bellowed.

"We'd better find her and that skillet before Grandma does," I said.

"She had to go outside; I'll bet she's in the shed," Betsy said, heading out the door.

We all left our coats behind to make our departure less noticeable, so once outside we huddled together, teeth chattering. Late fall in Leavensport, Ohio, could get chilly, and of course, Lydia picked a gloomy day when a misty rain was falling to make us chase her around.

"Lydia, if you are out here, we are all freezing! Please come out! I'm sorry if I was being such a slimeball," I yelled out.

"Why have you been so mean to her lately?" Betsy asked.

I shrugged my shoulders and made a mumbled "I don't know" sound. "She's been getting to me."

"She's been playing kickball with Keith," Ava said, giving Betsy the wiggly eyebrows.

"Rat! FINK!" I yelled at Ava, crossing my arms and pouting.

"You like Keith?" Betsy asked all teeth.

"I mean—kind of—I guess—oh—I don't know!" I spat out. "But Lydia stole my grandma's old cast iron skillet; seems I have a right not to like her."

"I knew you had it out for me for some reason," Lydia said, coming out from behind the garage, "and I didn't take your grandma's stupid skillet either."

"Who took it then?" I asked, hands on hips.

"How would I know?" Lydia glared.

"Get in this house right now before you four catch cold," Grandma yelled through the window.

We all skulked back into the kitchen, where the cast iron skillet sat on the oven where I had left it before all this started.

"How'd that get back there?" I gasped, pointing. All of our mouths were hanging open.

"How many times do I have to tell you girls that you can't run a restaurant without proper kitchen etiquette? Things won't go well for you if you all don't learn your manners," Grandma said, wagging a finger at all of us.

The four of us looked at each other in defeat. This time we had earned the "edit cut" lecture, and we knew it.

It was ten years later that I learned that Aunt Fern had walked in after Lydia ran out. She listened to Grandma scold us, then grabbed the cast iron skillet and hid in the bathroom when she heard us moving toward the kitchen. When we went outside to find Lydia, she came out and told Grandma she was there and what she had done. Grandma told her to put the skillet back on the stove, and that would teach us a lesson.