QUEECHEE

      It's brisk today. The fall colors are blowing quickly off the trees, heralding a winter with a full house at the shelter, and it's full up—already. In spite of the tolerable weather, one lone smoker was nursing a cigarette  and hunkered against the breeze on the homeless-resident side. He was gray-haired and frail looking. He didn't look up.

       Gatekeeper (Les—the strapping, tall, dark, handsome fellow) wasn't around, but one of the residents let me in. Another fellow called from the foyer, "What's for lunch?"

       "Quiche," I answered.

       "Well, I'll have to order out," he replied. No apologies.

       Doug had a huge pot of greens on to simmer for dinner, but I had promised him that lunch was on me. All he had to do was fry up a dozen slices of bacon. Those were ready when I got there with my frozen pie shells and a can of black olives.

       I set to work, making a huge mess, but within about half an hour I had put together 8 quiches. There was a tiny can of ham chunks in the mystery box, so one quiche had ham and cheese. All of the quiches were made with eggs, milk and grated cheddar cheese, but about four had bacon. The rest had vegetables which included two or more of the following, depending on how much I had chopped up: bell pepper, onion, and black olives.

       Doug and I put the pies on two huge baking sheets, and slid one into each of the ovens. Doug eyed each pie, as they were in the creation process. He didn't think he'd be wanting any. He doesn't eat black olives… he wasn't thrilled with most of the concoctions, but he thought he might "try" the plain bacon/cheese edition.

       While those baked, I put on a large pot of grits. This was my first time to serve grits to 25 people. I used "quick grits" which take 3-5 minutes to cook, but really good grits are still gritty after such a short time. I had to do some math with the recipe: 12 cups of water, 3 cups of grits, 1-1/2 tsp. salt, and 1/4 cup margarine. I let them bubble for at least half an hour. The consistency was perfect, and in the end, the pot was scraped clean.

       On the side, we had fruit cocktail and then applesauce.

       At 11:30, the pre-release were called to lunch. However, our "new child," that huge pale fellow of good cheer had been in the dining room for some time, sipping coffee and trying to compete with the drone of the stove fans for conversation. Truth was: he was all about the food.

       So they came in. They eyed the plates, they frowned, they asked questions. Some of them took leftovers of fish sandwiches from yesterday, but the majority took the quiche. After about 10 minutes, "Joy! I LIKE quiche!" came flying over the serving counter from a fellow who'd just eaten his very first piece. Could he have some more? Yes, he could.

       Many asked for more, and Doug and I surely enjoyed watching them discover quiche. Doug, too, was all over the bacon/cheese quiche—filling his plate and ducking behind the refrigerator to scarf it down.

       When the homeless residents arrived, the questioning looks were much the same, but only one fellow asked for a sack lunch. He was NOT putting "egg pie" in his mouth—no matter what was in it! Surprisingly, a number of folks knew what they were looking at. Boy #2 came to the counter with his mom and took a leftover fish dinner. Watching his mom eat quiche, he decided he'd like to just "taste" a piece with bacon in it. Mom came to ask for "just a taste." Within a minute, Mom was back to ask if the child could have a whole slice. That was the best part of my day with them—and my last visit with them. They are leaving for a place of their own on Friday. I'll miss them.

       There was no sign of Boy #1, but he still lives there.

       Big John was quite jolly today—last week's pall has fallen away, and he brought his usual good cheer to the dining room. He leaves in two weeks. I'll miss him a lot! He asked about my daughter, and started a brief but honest conversation among several of us about raising kids.

       I'll leave you with the good, the sad, and the wretched: A woman arrived very late for lunch. She was dressed up, as for church. Doug let out a snort of disgust, "She won't eat anything! Turns her nose up at everything!" However, there was only one plate left on the shelf—a bell pepper, cheese & onion quiche. The woman took it and sat down. Then she came back to ask for a separate bowl for her fruit, as she wanted to warm her quiche. Then she ate with gusto and gave the quiche high marks. Surely she doesn't "belong" in a homeless shelter.

       As I finished organizing the usual donated sacks of bread, one of our residents reported that a man was digging through the dumpster out back, for food. Nothing we could do. Not a thing. Some people prefer to dig their goods from the trash. I guess it saves them from feeling indebted.

       During lunch prep I asked Doug how our fellow with lung cancer was doing. Was he still there? "Yes," Doug said, "he's sittin' right there in the dining room drinking coffee." I craned my neck around the warming oven to see. There was that gray-hair, frail-looking smoker I'd passed on my way in. I guess it doesn't matter anymore if he smokes or not.

       Gatekeeper bellowed as I passed his window on my way out, "Lunch was great! Thanks a bunch!"

       Lunch was great, and he'd never understand, but it didn't have a thing to do with the menu.