Chez Saga

"But then I won't look like you!" she cries.

And I'm like: 'Huh?' with my mouth open and everything when she takes the bag of flour and reaches in ...

"Saga!" I cry, shocked, "Don't you dare!"

"Too late!" she sings, and out flies a cloud of flour right into my face and hair!

Game. On.

My snarl warns her of my intentions and she shrieks fearfully and delightedly as we chase each other around the table, reaching into the bag of flour, hurling clouds of it everywhere.

"What's going on? What's going on!" stomps in a bossy and demanding Elena Marie. When she sees the flour fight however, she jumps right in, throwing flour at us both, and disengaging to the hall whenever we target her, but jumping back in when we refocus on each other ... which happens the second Saga grabs a handful of flour and rubs it right in my face!

Ooh! that girl is SO gonna pay!

Eventually Elena Marie's had her fill of fun and breaks up the flour fight so she can get back to reading in peace with a very pointed question of when supper is going to be ready? ... asking the question as if she were asking: 'why isn't supper ready now!'

Babysitting my nieces is just so easy ... most of the time. Except when they get bossy ... which happens most of the time.

So we set back to work, except for my menacing aside to Saga: 'You are so gonna get it later!'

And Saga's impish: 'It was so worth it!'

"Okay, enough foolishness," I declare. "Now we make the gnocchi."

And I show Saga how you flatten the one inch piece slightly with your fingers and the fold it over onto itself. "There!" I say. And we set to work folding the rest.

It always takes so much longer than anticipated, but eventually, folding, we get the first batch done, and I slide those from the breadboard into the pot of boiling water (with a touch of extra virgin olive oil and salt).

The first batch in, I slide the covered pan into the oven and set the timer to 35 minutes.

"DINNER IN HALF-AN-HOUR, ELENA!" I bellow.

"What was that?" Saga asked, indicating the oven.

I wave away her question.

"ELENA?" I demand.

Back to me comes a petulant: "Okay; okay!"

You have to tell kids what's coming up or they get lost, frustrated and angry. This is a lesson I've learned as a babysitting auntie.

Pleased that Elena got it. I return to folding the gnocchi with Saga.

"So, what is that in the oven?" Saga asks in her ... nearly perfect proper English accent. Not Swedish accent.

Not too much.

Hey, and who am I to say? Like I'd last one second in Sweden.

Incidentally, I just love-love-love that Swedish accent, but I will never-never-never even think! Swedish Chef. Nosirree. Not me. No.

Saga sounds just like a 'Saga version' of the Swedish chef.

I DIDN'T THINK THAT!

"Um," I say, distracted by the ever-distracting thoughts, and the directions those distractions take me: "it's the main course to go with the gnocchi: eggplant parmesan."

Saga stops verk. I MEAN: 'work'!

JEEZ!

"Are you going to share that recipe now, too, or are you just going leave me," and then she nods toward the camera and adds frostily, "and all your millions of followers in the dark about it?"

I shift on my feet. "Saga, I don't have millions of followers!"

"Well?" she demands.

Saga is not to be deterred.

"Yes, m'am," I say humbly. "It's in my book of recipes on the shelf over there ... will you read it out while I finish up with the gnocchi?"

"Okay," she says forgivingly. And washes her hands and says, "Where?"

I say: "That red-plaid notebook has my recipes I print out."

She nods and pulls it out, putting it on the counter and starts leafing through the pages, looking for the recipe.

I finish up the gnocchi, but then seeing Saga bent over the recipe book like that ...

"Um," I say, "I'll just freshen up. Could you put these into the pot for me?"

"Sure," she says, muttering to herself, looking distracted. She tears herself away from the book and puts the gnocchi in while I go to the bathroom to 'freshen up.' I do just that. And get ... something from a certain secret place [that nobody will ever-ever find].

Child proofing your house can be just so difficult. First it was scissors and screwdrivers and wall outlets. Now it's ... well.

I come back, la-di-dah, from freshening up, and Saga is still looking through the recipes, muttering, 'Can't find it!'

When I come up behind her bent form and brush ... something ... right between where her legs join. You know, ... from the back.

Saga absolutely howls a bloodcurdling scream when the butt plug quests along between her cheeks, brushing lightly her entrance, and she slams her hands down as all color drains from her face.

I burst out laughing as Saga turns on me, murder in her eye.

"Why did you scream? What's that?" Elena Marie's head pops into the kitchen.

Oops! unexpected consequence!

"What, this?" I ask, ashen-faced, thinking faster than I have ever thought before. "It's, ah, well, it's a ..." ... not plug! Not Plug! NOT PLUG! ... "... it's-a-stopper!" I rush out that last bit.

Elena looks at it with interest. "You mean like for a bottle? That must be a really big bottle!"

"Well," I agree, relieved, "I suppose relatively speaking the vessel would be larger than a wine bottle, yes."

I can't help but look along Saga's backside appreciatively.

"But it is for the finest of vessels," I add, grinning.

"Can I have it?" Elena asks brightly.

"Um, no!" I say quickly, imagining the Armageddon visited on me by Mrs. _ when Elena Marie shows her mother the 'stopper' she got from her auntie. "Um, I have to use it for, um, something tonight, I mean today!"

"What?" Elena asks curiously.

"Uh, not now! Not now!" I say quickly, glancing at the oven. "Dinner's almost ready, so would you help us set the table?

I quickly stow the ... 'stopper' in the kitchen utensil drawer.

What? It's sanitized! Back off!

Elena drops it; thank God! and helps setting the table. Her imperative to help, and to be bossy while helping, overtakes her native curiosity.

"Found it!" Saga says brightly, but shooting me a death glare, and reads out the recipe for Eggplant Parmesan.

3 peeled eggplants

2 beaten eggs

4 cups bread crumbs (but I just use as much as I need)

6 cups spaghetti sauce (I use a jar of spaghetti sauce and one can tomato paste and 1/2 jar red wine)

1 (16 oz) package shredded mozzarella

1/2 cup parmesan

1/2 teaspoon dried basil.

'phfina's Spaghetti sauce:

2 cans tomato sauce

2 cans tomato paste

1 can sweet red wine (kosher?) ... really, 'phfina: "1 'can'"? Yes, really. You pour the wine in the can of tomato sauce to clear it out.

7 or so sliced mushrooms

1 T oregano

1 T basil

1 T garlic powder

1/2 t onion or celery salt

To make the spaghetti sauce sauté the mushroom in extra (not so) virgin olive oil and mix in the spices, the garlic, oregano, basil and a shake of salt. Add the sautéed and flavored mushrooms to the tomato base and combine with more shakes of the spices. Simmer on low heat while you 'do' the eggplant (see below).

Bread and fry the eggplant in extra virgin olive oil, then layer a baking pan with repeated layers of sauce, eggplant, and cheese. For the layers: lather (layer), rinse (not really) and repeat until you use up all the ingredients, filling the pan.

Bake at 350F for 35 minutes uncovered or a bit longer for a golden-brown crust of cheese.

On cue, the oven beeps as we ladle out the gnocchi from the surface of the boiling water. The food all comes out hot, tomato-y (except the gnocchi), Italian.

We all sit down. Elena Marie says, "Are we done with your show now?"

"Oh, yeah, that's right," I answer, and then wave easily at the camera. "Bon Appetite!"

As the spritely clarinet plays the closing theme and the camera fads to black, Elena Marie commands bossily, "Okay," just like her auntie, "let's pray."

And we cross ourselves and intone, "Bless us, O Lord, in these thy gifts ..."