Sherry Chapmanby Sherry Chapman
First published in January/February, 2008, Volume 5, Issue 1, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies.
Mutton. Sometimes I curse the day it was ever found for eatin’ purposes. Once we get a shank of it, it’ll do us near a week what with Mr. Borrden’s orders of “Serve it” if there is over a morsel in the house. I used to think the man is cheap, is why. There have been many sales of mutton in Fall River these past months, and he’s instructed Mrs. Borrden to lug a fair sized bundle home when he hears of one.
Myself, I think that it smells funny. Especially after four to five days runnin’ in the summertime. Those days I grab an apple or a few cookies for my own dinner. We have plenty of pears, but I’m no great lover of them.
With St. Patrick’s Day comin’, it don’t mean nuthin’ to people like the Borrdens and those who ain’t Irish. But they like the fair weather this thyme of year usually brings. Even Mr. Borrden may be in a good mood if we get ourselves a warm, sunny day.
It comes to mind of one fair day last spring. There’s this big lad, who does not speak good English. I’ve heard people say he’s rushin’, but he don’t go so fast that I’ve ever seen. He was just startin’ his ice cream peddlin’ – his first day of the year. He gets a team of horses from Charlie Gardner’s stable where his boss rents a stall. He drives a wagon with “Wilkinson’s Confectionary” blarin’ on the sides of it. He don’t do no yellin’. Those signs are loud enough.
Well on this day Mr. Borrden comes home and says, “The ice cream man will be passing our house any moment. How would we all like some ice cream?” Mrs. Borrden’s lips were lickin’. Miss Lizzie turned up her nose, but you can be sure she’ll be diggin’ in deep with a spoon in the night. Miss Emma – I don’t think she likes no food. Well, I like good ice cream, and the stuff Mr. Bubinsky peddled was the best I ever had. In fact, to be fair it is the only ice cream I’ve ever had. But it is good, convenient and he is friendly enough. Mr. Borrden shoved a quarter into my hand. I asked what flavor he’d like, and he says, “Mutton would be fine.”
“Oh, Mr. Borrden. Pleez –“ He cut me off with, “Be gone with you now, servant girl. And no back talk or you’ll find yourself thrown outside on your green Irish hind end.” (Mrs. Borrden looked at him. “Green?” she assked. He cleared his throat and said, “I’ve heard they are.”)
I had no choice but to go out and before I could gather my wits about me, the Bubinsky lad looks over to me and I waved him come over. Now I know I have not been in this countrie for too long a time, but never once had I heard of a meat-flavored ice cream. It doesn’t exist. But succeed in my task I must or, I was afraid, I would be cast out and then where would I go. I would have to go back in that house and better be carryin’ what he asked for.
“I vant eyes-creem, ya?” I told ya his English wasn’t no good. I don’t know but it would do me no good to ask for mutton ice cream. And the peddler was mixed up enuff as it was. Fool, Mr. Borrden. But ye’ll never see yer own ways.
The man jumped down and looked at me expectin’ me to say what I wanted. I couldn’t ask for the mutton flavor. Mr. Borrden will just have to see that he can’t get everything he wants no matter what the price. “Strawberry, please,” I said. The fellow went back of the wagon and after a few moments came back with a pail of strawberry ice cream. I paid and then returned to the house.
“Well!” Mr. Borrden was quite jovial. “Good girl. You got the mutton ice cream.” “It’s not mutton. It’s stawberry.” His face was startin’ to look stormy. “They don’t have no mutton.” Tho my eyes weren’t closed, I prayed to all the saints, and to some that might notta even been. He started to relieve me of the pail. “Oh! They are out!” he said. “Yes!” I answered. “No harm done,” and he took the pail into the dining room, where I was to follow with spoons and bowls.
Well, for those of us who do celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, I would like to share my recipe with you of a real good side dish that comes from my dear cousin, Minnie in Montana.
Apple Mash
This serves four people, or two real hungry ones.
All ya need are: a pound of apples, two pounds of potatoes, a big spoon of sugar and a couple spoons of butter.
Peel yer potatoes and cook ‘em in boiling salt water. While they’re boilin’, peel, core and slice yer apples. Put the apples in a pot with a big spoonfull of water and the sugar. Cook it until it’s all soft. Mash yer potatoes. And beat in yer apples and butter.
This goes good with fried herring or bacon.
May you enjoy the four greatest blessings: Honest work for your hands to do.
A hearty appetite to nourish you. A good man or woman to give you love.
And a wink from God himself above.
