My grandmother was the world's best cook, I always believed so. Her meals were probably no better than the Alexander's down the street or the Collins's next door. Her southern fried meats and summer garden vegetables somehow gave my family a sense of stability and it was something so special how she so gently placed her culinary concoctions on these matching plates. To a little 11 year old girl, it was just a pretty plate with a flower in the middle. For years, these matching plates served everybody in my family on happy holidays and once in awhile a solemn sad occasion. On one of these particular happy gatherings, my uncles would pass this silver bottle back and forth between themselves under the table so my grandmother wouldn't see, and they would pour what looked like weak tea into the glasses on top of the linen covered table. By the time dinner was almost over, my uncles had become the center of attention. Loud laughter and stories from years before I was born brought everybody into the dining room and into yesteryear. Before my Uncle Joe ended his version of what had happened, he would flail his fork around to make a point before sinking it into the blackberry cobbler on the dessert plate. As usual, Uncle Simon would interrupt with his version of what really happened to who, and how and when and where and then take a sip of his weak tea. Uncle Simon caught me staring at his glass of special tea and gave me a wink before placing it back down on the table. My uncles were now louder and more animated than ever and so was everyone else. My Uncle Simon pushed his chair back and then stood up.
"I'm going to get some of that blackberry cobbler." he said as he stood up. "I don't want to use that child's plate like Joe This here is a man's plate." he said, shaking the plate in front of my Uncle Simon, who just waved him off. Uncle Joe staggered into the kitchen.
"Mabel where's that cobbler?" he yelled from the kitchen.
It's on the counter. I covered it up." my grandmother yelled back. Everyone heard the sound of aluminum foil being lifted and suddenly, a startling noise that was rarely heard on occasions like these. Something fell and crashed to the floor. It wasn't a pot or a pan because they don't break. It 't awasn't a drinking glass glass because we all know what that sounds like. One unanimous gasp from the dining room ended all conversations. There's a long terror-filled pause. Everyone in the dining room is looking at my grandmother, wondering how long the forth coming argument between Joe and my grandmother would last. My grandmother slowly rose from her chair and casually walked to the kitchen.
"Mabel I'm so sorry. I'll buy you another one, I promise." he said with a pitiful tone in his voice and a slight slur in his remorseful apology.
"It's alright Joe. It's alright. It was a accident and I know you didn't mean to do it." my grandmother said, trying to console him and to contain her fury at the same time. This was the first plate to break from this special china set.
My uncle come back into the dining room carrying a different plate. As soon as he entered the dining room, everyone had noticed the he is holding the everyday, should have been free grocery store give-a-way plate. It's the dish that's on the bottom of the other dishes because it's the one with the smiling rooster playing a banjo, it's also chipped and it is bright, very bright orange. 'The world's most ugliest plate.' my grandmother would say. Uncle Joe's eyes are bloodshot red from the catastrophe he had caused and most likely from the weak looking tea. He returned to his place at the table, leaning over onto my other uncle before sitting back down.
"See! See what you did you drunk bastard!" Uncle Simon said teasingly. Uncle Joe took his fork and broke off a piece of the crumbly cobbler crust, gathering the blackberries and juices bringing them harmoniously to his mouth. He ate the cobbler, not savoring the luscious dessert but sat silently inside of embarrassment instead.
