Note
Dear ones, when I wrote the note, I very much hoped that I would hide the lion's part of my story under the spoiler. Now I began to form a recipe and saw that there was no such button in the recipes. Wisely, I guess, but I was upset. Reducing the note was beyond my strength. Maybe you will understand me when you remember your parents. If my story is too long for you - feel free to read it: this will not affect the cooking process.
There is nothing special about this recipe ... For anyone but my family. And only for my family, the history of this recipe is not just a family history, it is part of one of the warmest and most important Family Traditions ...
There are three of us in the family: my dad, my daughter and me. Seven years ago, my mother passed away, who has always been for us the core, stimulus, support, and hope - in general, the very real Guardian of the family hearth. My parents lived a very happy family life for forty years and, you know, now, at my age, I don’t know how I would answer the question about the existence of endless love if I didn’t have their example before my eyes ... Mom was a very special woman - due to her difficult nature, she categorically did not recognize the word "impossible". Absolutely all the children who came into her field of vision obeyed her, well, just everyone, strangers and her own, those who knew her well and those for whom she was a stranger. Not a single child who was fed by our mother had the thought to say “I don’t want” or “I don’t eat it” - absolutely everyone ate absolutely everything, slept and walked in due time, read books and played games with pleasure. In her mother's hands, the most hopeless indoor plants came to life, and at her dacha she could grow something that, in principle, does not grow in our latitudes (by the way, everyone there called her the Chief Agronomist, and they said so - that our Chief Agronomist would come and she had everything find out). Without a medical education, mother could leave any animal that fell into her hands. A dog of my childhood and adolescence - a Rottweiler with a human soul lived in our house for eighteen years (I think dog owners know: this is a very long dog life, especially for representatives of this breed). The twelve-year-old cat Kuzya lives with his grandfather, who fell into his mother's hands completely unhealthy and does not show much hope in this regard. When my daughter was six years old, she fell ill with bilateral pneumonia. We, of course, drank all the drugs prescribed by the doctors and fulfilled all their appointments, but I still do not know what then put my child on his feet so quickly: were these pills or mother's sleepless nights with endless various compresses, rubbing and decoctions for drinking (where she then took all these recipes of traditional medicine - I don’t know, because we didn’t have the Internet yet). In general, everyone in my family knew that no matter what happened, the main thing was to get to my mother (grandmother), and when she was next to her, nothing bad would happen ...
But one day something bad happened and our grandfather was left alone ... Or rather, then he felt so that alone, or rather, he then, in my opinion, did not feel anything at all and did not want anything. My daughter and I turned on all our ingenuity to remind him of our existence ... I have a very special dad - my daughter and I joke: "Made in the USSR and in a single copy" ) He is the smartest in our family, he has a unique ability to be different from others, an excellent sense of humor and a wonderful light character, which did not deteriorate even at a respectable age, he was always easy-going (the main thing is that his health does not fail), but most importantly - he is totally, absolutely and indestructiblely reliable, you can always use him and you need to count in any situation. He is still amusingly shy when my father and I are trying to paste a kiss for him or arrange hugs, but our grandmother knew, and my daughter and I know for sure - he, without hesitation, would give his life for any of us, and actually every day of his life is a selfless service to us and our interests,the interests of the Family. And there is no pathos in this, because what pathos can there be every day and every minute ... My dad is a vivid example of how one should be able not to spoil the life of children by moralizing and imposing one's own position, but readily and trustingly accept their every decision, believe in them and help with all available and inaccessible means.
But then ... he seemed to have no strength at all and practically lost interest in life. We got very scared and came up with a plan. At first, my daughter and I broke everything that could be broken in our apartment so that he constantly came and repaired (we live in different apartments, but in neighboring five-story buildings - anyway, from the moment of moving to the present day, we believe that we live as one family ). We unscrewed the light bulbs, they allegedly burned out at us at a rate of seven pieces a day, we made holes in the hose from the washing machine, we broke the mixer in the kitchen, we daily came up with one hundred and eighteen absolutely urgent and difficult tasks, despite the fact that he was at that time also worked. All of this helped, but not much.
Once, when it became completely unbearable, I had a chance to arrange a form of hysteria for my dad (I knew perfectly well that, on the one hand, like a real man, he knows how to endure them philosophically, and on the other, I will not be hysterical all the time, so the effect will be) the summary of which boiled down to the following: "Dad, I understand that you had one, but I had two of you and ... Bolivar can’t bear two, finally have pity on me and my granddaughter." And you know ... it worked - our grandfather woke up when he woke up, remembered our existence and, moreover, awakened his interest in life, formulating it briefly: "If only my girls were happy." If only my girls were happy - and he obediently wandered around the shops after us while we enthusiastically and passionately updated his wardrobe (during his mother's illness he lost a lot of weight), if only my girls were happy - and he pretended to be interested in buying new furniture and meekly threw away the old one that had fallen into disrepair (we tried what we could change in his apartment so that the situation would be different - thank heavens that then we could afford it), if only my girls were happy - and he began to learn to live anew: to determine himself what shirt will go with what pants, where will he go on vacation, when and where will he dust and vacuum, and what he will eat today.
Exactly one year after my mother left, our grandfather gave up my cooking, having learned how to cook first courses for himself, he easily mastered a bunch of kitchen gadgets (we gave him the first slow cooker chosen at the Bread Maker for the New Year, and now only grandfather in our family prepares yogurt and bakes bread), began to improve my culinary skills and gave my daughter and me an invaluable gift, returning our most beloved family tradition - Parents Day. Since the time of moving to a separate apartment, we, of course, often and constantly visited our parents, but on Saturday we always and certainly came - to mother's unique table, to tea with sweets, to cute family chatter, to debriefing and making plans. It is this tradition that grandfather returned to us, and in full ...
You probably think that, as in all decent families, we come on Saturday to clean up and prepare grandpa's food? No, everything is very, very different. It is grandfather who cleans the apartment on Saturday before our arrival (without fanaticism, according to his plan), prepares us an amazing dinner and stores something special. The cat Kuzya asks grandfather every time: “Why are you letting them in? Okay, I - I can only hide, but you are big and you can not open the door for them? " The cat Kuzya hates Saturdays, because only on this day he is ruthlessly kicked out from under the blanket in the morning - the girls will come, you need to put things in order and put together a sofa on which the girls will rest.Now, unfortunately (and maybe fortunately), my grandfather has retired due to the cruel imperfection of our legislation and regular non-payment of wages, the economic situation has sadly changed, which, of course, affected the components of all family meals in every home. but we have one thing that remains unchanged - grandfather's desire to feed us tastier. For the sake of this family dinner, grandfather mastered many tricks and recipes: at first, when finances allowed, he ordered shashliks for us at a local restaurant, in any weather he went there for them (there is no delivery there) and by the time we arrived, everything hot and ready was on the table. Then it was time to order sushi and rolls at home (grandfather, to put it mildly, is indifferent to them - but the girls will come and they should be happy). Then we bought my grandfather a tabletop electric oven and he mastered the preparation of barbecue in it; then a family recipe for making chicken wings was invented; then, with the purchase of a multicooker, the unhealthy French fries ordered at the restaurant were replaced with the family recipe for brillon and spiced potatoes; then there was the season of slightly salted salmon (then grandfather could easily afford to spoil us like that) and salmon baked in the oven ... Oh, and there were also grapefruits and pomelo (well, I don't know what this wonderful overseas fruit is called correctly), divided into slices and absolutely cleaned of all films and seeds ... If only the girls were happy ... can you imagine the complete peeling and dividing of two huge grapefruits into slices, done by male hands? With the purchase of a bread machine, it was homemade dumplings (Lord, what kind of dumplings my mother and my grandmother made ...) Oh, and a lot of other things were invented by our creative grandfather for the girls to be happy ...
But today the orange chicken offered to your strict court has become the undoubted hit of the grandfather's program.
To my shame, I started learning to cook quite late - I just didn't need it, living under my mother's wing. No, well, some things, of course, I knew how and baked since childhood, but to cook so that the result coincides with the idea and expectations - even now I still do not always succeed ... Quite a long time (but, in fairness, for a long time ) we bought ready-made grilled chickens, and then suddenly, completely unexpectedly, we discovered the presence of an oven in our stove, and rushed ... I came up with this recipe by choosing from different recipes and putting together everything that we love (note - our grandfather hates cilantro, but ... the girls should be happy). At first I cooked it, and this was the best reason to invite grandfather to us, but ... grandfather does not like to depend on circumstances and somehow by the next Saturday, after spending two hours at the phone and carefully writing down the recipe, he produced a real masterpiece. Now every Friday grandfather goes to buy a chicken (by the way, all the saleswomen in the local market and in local shops love him madly - I go home from work, they will report everything to me: when grandfather was and what he bought, how he looked and how he joked, and you know - what's the secret? Firstly, an excellent sense of humor, and, secondly, he has a very broad concept of "girls": for grandfather there are "my girls" and "other people's girls", but all girls, without exception, should be satisfied ), pickles it, and on Saturday morning sends it to the oven and my classmate, who lives in the apartment above her grandfather, says that on Saturdays the best smell in her life is heard ...
Every Saturday, my daughter and I, and my next homemade cake in our hands, merrily fall out of our porch and decorously follow to grandfather's, polished with neighborly glances (and keeping our fingers crossed, because our neighbors are different). We come to grandfather on Saturday, on Parent's Day, to a table set like a man, and he cuts a chicken, and puts baked potatoes on plates for us, and asks us to salt and season the salad cut by him in advance according to our taste (grandfather actually loves more with sour cream, but ... you already know, right? ...yes, of course, girls should be happy), and pours juice or compote cooked with our own hands, and we quickly make mayonnaise sauce (fortunately, so that the girls are happy, grandfather obediently acquired an excellent blender in his time) and sit down at the table ... And when from chickens safely remain only bones, my daughter and I sit on the couch and wrap ourselves in a blanket (the cat Kuzya does not approve of us and therefore ignores us in every possible way, he loves only grandfather and terribly does not like Saturday) and chat, and watch TV, and entertain grandfather with stories about the past week, carefully filtering them (well, because why upset grandfather) and dream of tea. And two hours after the chicken, we drink tea with a cake, and when I see grandfather trying on my crooked and incorrectly twisted roses for five minutes with a knife, because, in his opinion, this is a terrible beauty and it’s a pity to cut it, and it takes a long time does not dare to do this, and my adult dotsya giggles at this procedure - there is no one in the world happier than me. I am also learning to decorate cakes in order to once again see this childish admiration in my father's eyes ...
Nothing is tastier for me now than this chicken, just as there is nothing in the world more important than Saturday, because only on this day and with this chicken I am not the eldest and not the main one, I do not make decisions and am not responsible for them, I am closed from everyone winds and storms, because I am again a child who is unconditionally loved and pampered, protected and cared for ... On Saturday it always seems to me that all the troubles in the world, our grandfather is able to shrug his hands, if only ... well, you know ...
I must tell you that my grandfather is constantly improving (as a culinary specialist in particular), and I am happy that I firmly know: no matter how desperately difficult my week is, no matter how mercilessly my boss hurts me, no matter how small my salary is no matter how many betrayals I had to endure on Friday - tomorrow will be Saturday, and I will have an orange chicken, and properly brewed tea, and a warm blanket, and my grandfather's shoulder ... And I constantly pray to God that he would give my dad as long as possible the opportunity to be the most important and eldest on this Saturday and also so that he must give me the opportunity to return my daughter to childhood and pamper her children sometime later, well then every Saturday ... And I firmly believe: if every man made his The motto is the meaning of our grandfather's life - this world would be perfect: there would be no wars, no betrayal, no tears, no abandoned children, no forgotten parents, there would be no place for injustice and despair. Come on, men, let's chorus: "If only the girls were happy"! Oh please…
