GOURMET CONNOISSEURS

       Last things first: Wendy is back at her post as gate keeper, and we have a new social worker, a tall young man. When I arrived, he was in the kitchen getting coffee, Joey was not there yet, and the young man turned on the lights for me—no, I still can't find the #$^@%$^ switches.

       This was a very busy morning in the kitchen, and I had no time to ask about Mr. Huggy. I did get to speak to Phil, and I think he's depressed.

     As I prepared to leave the shelter today, I asked Joey if he had a menu in mind for next week. "Soup," he said.

       "Soup? Soup??"

       "Well, M'am, I think we need to get these people weaned off gourmet foods."

       Yes, the quiche went over so very well, that it scared Joey. Come to think of it, Miss Lillian will probably get her panties in a wad when she hears about today's meal. She's been known to accuse me of "spoiling them."

       Oh, but I did spoil them today. It was wonderful. Joey dashed about while I barked orders, and within 90 minutes I had put together 10 quiches, a pasta dish, and broccoli. We had several kinds of quiche: cheese, cheese & broccoli, cheese and bacon, cheese and sausage, and the last two were made of the leftovers: sausage, cheese, black olives...

       (Just an aside: Joey cooked the bacon in the deep fryer. Who knew? Furthermore, it was SO crispy that I didn't have to do much more than touch it to crumble it.)

       The pasta dish was made with small egg noodles slathered with pesto sauce and butter, with a generous portion of minced black olives, and a dash of salt.

       I always think of the pre-lease folks as our test group, but their tastes are truly different from those of our homeless. They began with whiny faces, frowning brows, and questions. I felt like Joey and I were having to sell the food, but pretty soon, we were handing out seconds—and thirds.

       A woman among that group requires gluten-free foods, so we prepared a plate for her with two boiled eggs, 4 sausage patties, broccoli, and grits. She eyed the quiche enviously. Finally she returned to the counter and said sadly, "I really wish I could have some." When I questioned her level of wheat intolerance, we decided that she could have the quiche if she carefully avoided the crust. So she had a big slice!

       Then the homeless came in. The group appeared to be small at first, and we still had a number of pies left! One tiny old man looked at the plates, gave me an apologetic look, and said, "I don't eat that."

       "It's quiche!" I said.

       He wasn't sold.

       "Do you like omelets?" I asked.

       Yes, he did!

       "Well," I explained, "it's just an omelet in a pie shell. It's eggs with cheese and bacon, or sausage, or broccoli…

       He brightened up and chose a flavor. Later he came for seconds. He was one of the last to leave, and made sure I understood that I had sabotaged the "diet" he was on.

       Then another wave of homeless came in, and soon those quiches were flying off the serving shelf.

      One of my favorites among the pre-release is a very large man who always get seconds, and today he was anxious to try all the flavors of quiche, but he had not touched the pasta. I asked him about it. His nose wrinkled up. "Well," he said, "I'll try it, just for you." And he took a big bite. "It's not bad." Later he had another bowlful.

       I've never seen such a rush on food in that shelter! It was exhilarating! People were asking Joey my name so they could thank me personally—Miss Joy—Mrs. Joy—Joy… thanks!

       …and Joey wants to wean them from gourmet. I don't think so!

       So the babies were not there today, and I was quite relieved to not have to deal with them, BUT, we have a new child—a little girl—age 6! I mean, of all children, that gender and age are no doubt my favorite. I gave her a Beanie Baby—then some candies and gum and an art kit. Her parents are young, well spoken, and very intelligent! Again, I don't know what brought them there, but they have no signs of drug abuse, so I'll assume they are just victims of hard times. At any rate, I surely felt like Santa himself, and there will BE no weaning!