SKIYI, THE GRILLED CHEESE AND THE FLY

 SKIYI, THE GRILLED CHEESE AND THE FLY

With dad running the store and mom’s affinity for immigrants from villages in Lebanon, her being one of them, mom managed to attend several of the “muhrajans” around the country (“festivals” of Arabic music, singing and dance, and?)

Mom always included me in her excursions, traveling mostly by train. The following is one excursion.

The train stopped at a small depot/diner for a break. We sat at the counter flanked on both sides by middle aged loud Lebanese women on the same excursion, all of whom were prepared for “whatever” since "Skiyi" was present. In addition, Skiyi brought along the favorite accompaniment of middle aged Leb women, a young Leb boy (mostly for his cheeks).   Affectionately squeezed on both sides of the face, combined with countless ‘habeebees’ (my love), kisses and hugs from the old ladies, my only hope for release was the arrival of my order, the burger.

The waitress delivered my burger and mom’s grilled cheese sandwich. Instantly mom called the waitress to attention: “There’s a dead fly on my plate sister”. Referring to others as “brother” or “sister” was not at all uncommon in the 50’s. There it was, a gnarly black shape smaller than a pea that could be anything, but most likely not a fried fly. Whether familiar or newly acquainted with Skiyi, no excuse could be made to ignore Skiyi’s impressive, formidable mind and thereby possibly the reason the waitress replied with some intensity: “That’s burnt cheese, not a fly!” Yikes! All heard it! The Leb women, their whispering in rhythmic unison as if to say to the waitress, "you don't know who you are dealing with" instantly became anechoic (more silent than space) in mesmerized anticipation or more likely expectation that Skiyi would swing into action.

Incidentally, not everyone was afraid of Skiyi.  She had a few admirers, most of whom were professional people and common laborers. She was outspoken, intimidating, and sometimes scary. She was an exceptional business woman, uniquely savvy, witty, very generous and an admired cook.   She was featured on a few episodes of a cooking show called Home Fare.  Children were drawn to her.  

OK, here it is! Skiyi replied once again with: “I said, it’s a fly, not burnt cheese!”. Right or wrong, about the fly, mom and dad ran a grocery store and where, guess what, the customer is ALWAYS right. Skiyi and Abe adhered to it unfailingly! Mom’s mistake was that not everyone followed that rule. To that, the waitress, stressed with mom, and a diner filled with loud Mediterranean women said: “Well, if you don’t like it you can lump it!”, and walked toward the kitchen. Oy Vey!

Mom turned to me, a 11-12 years old, and said in “broken” English: “What that mean ‘lum(b)’ it?” - the “p” sound is rarely used in Arabic it?” It means, mom, that if you don’t like it - TOO BAD! By this time the waitress was pushing the swinging door to enter the kitchen which was approximately 10 feet from us. Mom called out, “Hey young lady”. You can take your sandwich and “lumb” it. Suddenly the grilled cheese sandwich was sailing through the air with great ease, like a land to air missile, programmed as precise as any NASA rocket such that it smacked the waitress flat on the side of her face. The Leb women, expectedly elated with the show and each with her own version to relate, were armed for the rest of the trip and for many years following - I am a witness. 

 We followed mom back to the train where characteristically plenty of Lebanese food snacks brought from home awaited us. The mess we left on the train near our seats is another story.