New Story - Garlic Soup with Poached Egg * Sopa De Ajo Al Huevo

Garlic Soup with Poached Egg.

“It’s nice to have dinner alone! How rare that is.” I said.
“It won’t be long till we have that all the time and I bet you’ll hate it” Jack responded.
“You’re probably right but it’s still nice tonight. Do you want coffee?” I asked.
It was a Saturday night and the children who still lived at home were out with friends. Before Jack had a chance to answer the phone rang. It was our friend Helen. “We’re waiting for you. Everyone is here. Are you OK? Dinner is ready to be served. “
“Sorry, Helen. We’re running late. We’ll be there in about 15 minutes.” I answered, feeling a little nauseous. “Jack” I yelled, “we forgot! We’re supposed to be having dinner at the Geidt’s.”
Jack jumped into the shower and I changed my clothes and we were out of the house in ten minutes. The Geidts lived only a couple of miles from us so we were there in the promised 15 minutes. There were 10 other people waiting for us in the living room having appetizers and drinks. The dining room table was beautifully set for 12 with the candles burning and glasses sparkling. Helen and Harold had just come home from a trip to Spain. They planned to cook a Spanish dinner and invited friends to join them. The house smelled of everything they learned to cook on their travels.
We sat down in the living room and were offered drinks, which we accepted happily and chatted for a few minutes before Helen called us all in to dinner. Jack and I were seated across from one another so we could see the expression on each other’s faces. We didn’t want to hurt our host and hostesses feelings so we pretended to look forward to this special ethnic feast but we had just had a big dinner and were very full.
The first course was a delightful small salad. Jack and I nibbled at the lettuce and made a good showing of eating our food. No one could guess that we were stuffed. Every once in a while I’d catch Jack’s eye and have to look down in my plate to keep from laughing.
“Will we make it through this meal?” I wondered. “I’m feeling a little sick.” Suddenly the smell of garlic was overpowering and I looked up to see Harold carrying a tray laden with large steaming soup bowls. I recognized the bowls as those brought home by the Geidts as souvenirs of their trip. Harold came around carefully and placed one bowl in front of each guest. Mine came and when I looked down I saw a whole, barely poached egg with bright yellow yolk staring up at me like a jaundiced eye, floating in a bowl of red liquid.
I knew I couldn’t make myself eat it. What could I do? I excused myself and went to the bathroom to think that problem through. What a dilemma. I could claim illness. I could claim an allergy to eggs. I wondered what Jack would do.
I came back to the table resolute to try to eat. I broke the egg yolk and stirred up the soup. Then it wasn’t so obvious that I wasn’t eating. I took a few spoonfuls and was happy when Helen came to pick up our bowls to prepare for the next course. “Didn’t you like it” Helen asked?
“It was delicious. I just can’t eat that much.” I answered looking across the table at Jack. His bowl was empty. What a hero! How’d he do it? I managed through the rest of the meal. Each course was a new torture which required cunning deceit.
Helen, who was a college teacher, came in and stood at the head of the table and told us about the next course. She had the menu and recipes printed on beautiful paper for us to take home. The next dish was called Lamb Calderata http://www.tienda.com/recipes/lambcalderata.html and Helen said, “This is one of the most classic dishes. It is found in various versions right through central Spain depending on the area. We found it made with red peppers, almonds, cumin, and tomatoes. It used to be made with mutton, but now it is made with young lamb.” I listened to the description and it all sounded wonderful but the odor of the lamb coming from the kitchen was so strong that I thought it could be mutton. I knew couldn’t eat a bite of it. What was I going to do?
The incredibly fragrant dish was brought in and it was truly gorgeous. It was served in the pottery casserole it was baked in but that smell made me want to escape from the table. Oh my. .Helen said that the side dish that was also brought to the table at the same time, in a lovely Spanish casserole called a Clay Cazuelas was equally aromatic and I wanted to hold my nose. It was called an Andalusian vegetable pot and we were told it had pork, chickpeas, and assorted seasonal vegetables. It was cooked a long time into a luscious spiced stew. Just listening made me feel like I was going to explode.
Our plates were filled by our hosts and passed along to us. I couldn’t even ask for a small portion. The mound of food on my plate was daunting. I ate a little of each of the dishes and hoped my reluctance didn’t look too obvious. I looked at Jack and he was deep in conversation with the person next to him and his plate was empty.
Finally the desert came. It was a beautiful, huge, shaking, quivering flan. My stomach shook and quivered to match. I excused myself from having any when Helen asked how much flan I wanted, “I won’t have any” I answered. “I’m trying to stay off sweets.”
I kept my eye on Jack to see what he would do when it was his turn. He just reached out and took a bowl full when Helen asked “How much would you like, Jack”?
“It was a wonderful evening” I said to Helen as we were leaving. “Sorry we were late”.
“No problem” Helen said. “it just gave us a little more time to visit before we sat down at the table”.
“I don’t know how we forgot. Never again. It was just awful” I moaned in the car on the way home. “We need a better calendar. Do you think Helen and Harold knew we already ate” I asked?
Jack just kept driving.
“How did you do that” I asked.
“Do what”?
“Eat all that food.”
“It was delicious” he answered.
So much for thinking you’re in sync!