Spinach, Part One

Oh, the joys of good food! The first time I tasted a hot artichoke spinach dip with celery, I thought I'd never eat something that tasty again. But different foods mean different things to different people.

Even if they had artichoke spinach dip in Germany, I know my mother would never want to even try it. Here is the story of little Margot (my mother's name) and her relationship to spinach.

Margot unlocked the door to the apartment, slipped in, and shrugged her satchel from her shoulders. She sniffed the air and her stomach tightened. She was hungry, but that smell!

She stood in the hallway, coat still on her slight ten-year-old frame. Maybe Mutti was in a good mood today and wouldn't make her eat it. 

“Is that you, Margot?” Mutti’s voice came from the kitchen. “Hurry up, food’s on the table.”

Margot stretched to hang her coat on the hook, pushed her satchel under the coat rack, and hurried down the hallway to the kitchen.

Little Brigitte sat in her wooden high chair, waving her spoon in the air. Mutti looked up from putting mashed potatoes onto the plate in front of Margot’s chair. “How was school?”

Margot pulled the chair out and sat down. “Fine.” She shrugged. “What are we having?”

“Mashed potatoes, spinach, and eggs.”

Margot’s shoulders slumped. She’d hoped against hope…

Mutti ladled a large glob of pureed spinach onto her plate.

Margot suppressed a shudder. It looked like a fresh cow patty and smelled like one too. She looked up. “Can I just have eggs and potatoes, please?”

Mutti placed a fried egg on top of the unappetizing mess. “No. You need to eat your spinach, too.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Oh well. I’ll take some off.” Mutti scooped a tablespoon of spinach from under the egg and plopped it on her plate. “But you need to eat the rest of it.” Mutti turned and put a plate with a cut up egg, some spinach and mashed potatoes in front of two-year-old Brigitte, next to her at the table.

Margot carefully removed the egg from the cow patty of spinach and ate it. She stirred a little spinach into her mashed potatoes and put the mix into her mouth. If she concentrated on the taste of the potatoes, it wasn’t too bad. Before she knew it, though, the potatoes were gone, and the pile of spinach looked even larger than it had before. She opened her mouth to ask Mutti if she couldn’t get up. After all, she ate some of the spinach.

At that moment, Brigitte waved her pudgy arm and swiped her bowl onto the table. It hit her glass of milk on the way down and milk spilled all over Mutti’s apron and dress.

Mutti jumped from her seat. “Darn brats,” she muttered and wiped her face with her cloth napkin. She jerked Brigitte from the chair. Brigitte wailed.

“You’re done eating,” Mutti hissed. She dragged the soggy napkin over Brigitte’s face and hands, and left the kitchen with her. Brigitte’s screams faded into the hallway.

Margot looked around. Maybe she could rinse the spinach down the sink while Mutti was gone. As she rose and grabbed her plate, Mutti stormed back in. “What do you think you’re doing?” She grabbed Margot’s plate and pushed her back into her seat. “You stay here and eat your food.”

“But Mutti! I don’t like it!” Margot wailed.

“I don’t care. You stay here and eat, if it takes the whole day.”

Maybe if she sat really quiet and didn’t move, Mutti would let her go eventually.

Mutti finished her plate, then cleaned up the mess Brigitte had made and washed the dishes.

Margot fidgeted. “Mutti…”

“Don’t you say another word. You finish your plate. That’s that. No more discussions.” Mutti wrung out the dishcloth and wiped the table around Margot.

Margot shrunk into her seat, staring at the spinach. It seemed to glare back at her. She glanced at Mutti. Spinach couldn’t be too bad. Mutti ate it. The green goo on her plate seemed to grin. Margot grabbed the spoon, scooped up a large spoonful, and stuck it into her mouth. The stuff was slimy, as expected, but now it was also cold. I’ve got to eat this, Margot thought and swallowed. The gooey stuff slid coldly down her throat. Suddenly an image of a cow doing its business came into her mind.

Her stomach convulsed and without being able to help it, Margot threw the spinach back up onto her plate.

Mutti dropped the dishcloth into the sink, and stormed to Margot’s chair. Her hand connected with Margot’s wet cheek. “Darn brat! You did that just to spite me. You will eat this, no matter what!”

Margot bit her lip and squeezed her eyes shut. Crying would just make Mutti madder. She shrank into her chair and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Mutti, Mutti," A sleepy voice sounded from the hallway.

“You stay there and eat this,” Mutti yelled. “I’ll be watching.” She grabbed the newspaper and sat opposite Margot, ignoring Brigitte’s cries.