Every family has one member who seems to bear the brunt of the family pain. And whether through this pain or through some sad neurological development, this family member winds up just a little on the wacky side. Meet my maternal grandmother. Serbian to the core, g-ma's Mothers Day was made perfect by our taking her out to a Serbian restaurant in South Philly last Thursday night.
We walked into the restaurant, complete with patriarch portrait directly above the bar, and the owner and his wife immediately greeted and conversed with G-ma in Serbian. You could almost hear them thinking, "No, don't bother trying with those Serb-Irish mutts, they know not of the Serbian language." Which was correct, none of us do, though I tried to make my Russian pass. (Poor, CMac, piss poor.) We took up the whole front window with our table, which wasn't saying that much as it was not an especially large restaurant. And we started the wine flowing. Because when you have dinner with G-ma, it's best that wine be served.
Even little Banana had a small sip of wine. We figured we were caught when the owner's wife said, "You are not of drinking age..." but she just wanted to see if the little one wanted a Sprite with her underage sip. G-ma started in on painful childhood stories (it's not a holiday dinner without painful childhood stories), the highlight of which was a (I kid you not) 10 minute detailing of how all the family's graveyard plots were purchased.
G-ma loves jewelry, and noticed Al's turquoise bracelet in the middle of all the fun storytelling. G-ma asked if she could try it on. She kept it on, hoping Al wouldn't notice, for 10 minutes, until Al took a break in the grave plot story, gently grabbed her wrist and removed it.
Perhaps my favorite personality trait of the K-vich (g-ma's maiden name) family women is that we are totally unable to deviate from whatever plans we set in our heads. Even when these plans are crazy. The best demonstration of said quality went something like this...
G-ma (to waitress): I'll order once you bring out everyone else's dishes, so I can see what I like.
Mom: Just order now, Mom. Get something. If you don't like it, we'll trade.
G-ma: Okay, I'll order when I can see what everyone else's looks like.
Mom: They can't just wait and put your order in last, Mom. Just get something.
G-ma: Well I either want [insert Serbian dish #1] or [insert Serbian dish #2], so I want to see what the other dishes look like first. Go ahead, (to the waitress), take their orders.
Me: G-ma, I'm getting #1, so why don't you get #2?
G-ma: I want #1. It'll be softer on my sensitive teeth.
Waitress (heretofore silent): #2 is actually softer, and very flavorful.
G-ma: Oh, I don't know.
Waitress: I think you'll really like #2...
Mom: Go ahead, Mom, order now...
G-ma: Okay, I'll have #2.
Everyone Else: (Sigh of relief.)
The whole night ended with some very "smooth" homemade Serbian shots, of which G-ma took multiples because Dad and Al thought they tasted like shoe polish. She pretty much giggled as we cheered her on. Then she demanded that someone help her get up and get out to the car. She was a little too tipsy to manage that one on her own.
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