Manimal Crackers

Simon's Dinner

Then I remembered that I was going to make dinner with Simon that evening. But at first I couldn't find him. "Simon? Where are you?" I cried out.

"Yes?" said a suave English voice out of nowhere. He was sitting under Dad's desk, reading yet another one of his historical books. I believe it was about Robert Louis Stevenson, except that Dad didn't tend to have any books "by" him, just "about" him.

"What the hell are you doing down here?" I asked.

"I'm just enjoying one of your father's fantastic works of literature." 

"Wonderful, I thought I lost you for a minute. You know, I misplace a lot of things, to the point where it totally frustrates my Dad. He's always complaining that I'm losing things and whatnot. Anyways, you want to help me make dinner?"

"Absolutely!" he said. "But why are you asking me?"

"Well, I think Dad is feeling replaced by you. I mean, here you are, helping to guide me through life, basically taking over his role as a father. Not to mention he's always complaining about me liking celebrities more than, um....regular people," I said, not wanting to offend Simon.

"Your father, envious of me?" asked Simon, totally baffled at my dad's reaction. "I truly can't imagine!"

"Oh, he's very jealous of you," I insisted.

"Jessica, your father isn't envious of me," he defended. "We're close friends, and we've never had anything negative to say about each other."

"Maybe he's just really good at hiding his emotions. He's actually very good at faking it."

"Nonsense," said Simon. "If yours truly was making your father feel uncomfortable about something, surely I'd know.

"Believe me, I can sense when he's nervous like this," I said. "It's like a sixth sense."

Okay, that part wasn't too far off the mark. For an autistic person, I'm very good at sensing what people are feeling and "why." That's why I (usually) try to obey my parents. If they're upset about something, they'll let me know all too well. And if I'm responsible for upsetting them, well, they'll make sure I regret it big time.

"Look, maybe he won't feel replaced if we do something nice for him," I continued. "Not something small like getting him a gift card to a favorite restaurant or a card. Actually doing something for him, like cooking dinner for him."

"Oh, that would be lovely!" said Simon. "Absolutely lovely!"

"I was going to ask him what he's interested in, but since I want it to be a surprise, I'd like to know what your suggestions are."

"Well, what do you have in the crisper?" he asked. (I guess "crisper" is a British word. I always wondered why Dad referred to that part of the fridge that way.) Basically, we have two crispers, one for veggies and another for meat. The latter had plenty of conventional meat, like lamb chops, steak, and veal, but there was one piece that stuck out. It was the dreaded Cornish gamehen.

Guess what Simon chose to make.

"That looks absolutely delicious!" he said, pointing to the gamehen.

"Are you sure?" I asked, hesitant. I thought Cornish game hen was disgusting, and if I made it for Dad and Mom, I would have to eat it with them. Lucky me.

"Well, Cornish gamehen is a sheer delicacy where I come from," he told me. "For every film I was part of, I requested it on set."

"They had that kind of food on sets?"

"You better believe it," said Simon. "In Britain, sometimes they'd serve duck on sets."

Well, okay then, I thought to myself. So I hesitantly pulled out the Cornish gamehen and started making it. Oh, who am I kidding? I started wondering how the hell I was going to make it.