The cook and I

Přichovice is where I was last week. It's up in the highlands of CZ very near the Polish border. What was I doing there, having sun and fun? Far from it. I was there as one of the teachers/nannies/mothers of 21 kids ages 4-10 for our school's annual summer camp. How I retained my sanity is beyond me.

Actually, it wasn't so bad. Kids can be really hilarious. What's more, they don't know that they are. Everything they do is purely innocent or spontaneous, without any intention to hurt or to deceive someone. In a world of wasted lives, being with them is very refreshing.

DRUNK COOK

On our fourth night there, the cook got drunk. He was this sixty-ish man who had been giving me odd looks since the first meal was over. That night his tongue got loose and my suspicion was confirmed. He came upstairs giving a speech on how he was annoyed at me for not eating much of the food he prepared. He was very unhappy that I didn't like his cooking, and that not eating well is not good for the body.

I had to grope for words in Czech to explain to him I love the meals but the portions were just too big for me to finish. "Jsem malá, mám malý žaludek ," ( I'm small, I have a small stomach.) was my plea for a truce. He was having none of it.

Fine. There's just no instant remedy for bruised egos.

Then he changed tactics. From lecturing, he was now on to cajoling. He was like-- "What do you want me to cook tomorrow? Do you want rice? I'll cook something special for you just so you would eat everything." I said I'm eating, I love the food here, just give me smaller portions, but he was in la-la land that there was just no way of hitting the point.

The next day he was back at giving me odd looks. I have no doubt he was glad to see me board the bus this afternoon. Finally we can both get on with our lives.