My Writer's Cramp Pieces

Plain Old Spaghetti

For the Writer's Cramp -- plain and simple vs. health food...

Plain Old Spaghetti

Stanley is a mechanic whose favorite food is spaghetti -- not the kind with fancy sauces, nor the kind that has funny, odd-looking noodles that nobody can pronounce. Stanley just wants plain, ordinary spaghetti, with tomato sauce right out of the can and just a sprinkling of old-fashioned Cheddar cheese.

“There is no way that I’m going to feed you that kind of thing anymore,” his wife scolds. “I have to take care of your heart, Stanley. You’re getting nothing but nutritious dinners from me from now on.”

Stanley sighs. The strange meals that Barbara has been fixing lately are giving him heartburn.

Mushroom Soufflé, artichoke heart lasagna, spinach and brussel sprout casserole, and the worst – vegetarian loaf with carrots and peas as decorations. Stanley shudders and stares up at the ceiling, his eyes swimming with tears at the memories.

“Don’t give me that look,” Barbara says just before she stomps off with a blisteringly-angry scowl on her face.

Stanley sighs, then sneaks into the kitchen and spreads some store brand peanut butter on the last piece of white bread. He looks for more, but all the other loaves in the refrigerator are the strange kind: sesame seed and rye, pumpkin and pistachio nut, and zucchini & oat bran. Stanley picks up his single piece of peanut butter and white bread and slinks off.

That night for dinner, he endures pumpkin soup with chestnuts and white asparagus. The sesame seed and rye loaf is in the center of the table, sliced neatly next to the soy margarine. Stanley takes a piece and samples it. He makes a face at the younger of his two sons.

“I see that!” his wife flares. “I’ve done my best to set the table with a delicious meal that is not only healthy, but nutritious!”

Stanley pauses to ponder the difference between healthy and nutritious. He certainly knows how it differs from delicious.

“You three better start liking good food like this because it’s all you’re going to get from now on. I refuse to be the cause of heart disease or rickets or . . ." she sputters, her eyes filling with tears.

“Thank you, dear,” Stanley cuts her off. “I appreciate your concern for my health, only . . .”

“Only what?” his wife says, preparing to argue.

“Only the doctor said I was healthy as a man half my age.”

“Is that right? Fool doctor. What does he know?”

Wisely, Stanley doesn’t argue.

This continues day after day. On Wednesday, Stanley and the kids eat Turnip Pie with Sweet and Sour Greens. On Thursday, it’s Green Bean and Broccoli Bake. On Friday, they dine on Rutabaga and Pine Nut Scrambled Eggs.

Stanley is turning green. The boys are looking like starved waifs, and the atmosphere of the house glows Swamp Putrid. Something has to change.

On Saturday, Stanley takes the boys out for pizza. They wolf down four larges. None of the pizzas have a single vegetable. When they return to the house, they find that Barbara has brought a juicer.

“From now on, all our vitamins will be from liquid sources,” his wife tells them. Stanley calmly pats his stomach and sighs.

All that weekend Barbara juices. On Monday morning with pea and carrot juice sitting at his breakfast table along with a bowl of ground sawdust and sandpaper, which his wife calls “Nature Food,” Stanley decides that he has to do something about the situation since it's not only going away, but getting worse.

That day at the auto shop, he picks up the phone and calls Jack LaLane, the very man who brought on all their problems.

“Oh, no," Jack says. "Pea and carrot juice? Oh, dear. Yes, I do see the problem. Sure, I’ll be glad to come to dinner. I can fix this right as rain.”

That night, when Stanley comes home, he tells his wife that they're having company for dinner. When he tells her who's coming, Barbara faints. Stanley calmly orders take-out. By the time his wife recovers, the doorbell is ringing, and the delivery boy has already brought in an extra large order of spaghetti and meatballs.

Barbara, looking pale and wan, lifts her head weakly. “You can’t feed that to Jack LaLane,” she wails. “You don't understand. He eats nothing but health foods.”

“You’re right,” says her husband, and he picks up the phone and dials. The fast food restaurant delivery service is there in minutes with fried yams.

“There,” says Stanley. “Happy now?”

His wife shakes her head and tries to stand up. “No vegetables, no juice? I have to get up. I must. I've got to fix something.”

But the shock has been too much for her. Barbara is so weak in the knees, and in all other parts, that she can hardly walk. Stanley helps his wife over to the easy chair and plops her down. “There, there,” he says. “I’ll take care of everything.”

Just then, Jack LaLane arrives. He sits down with the family and cheerfully eats spaghetti. He raves over the fried yams. All the while, he smiles his perfectly capped teeth at the kids and at Stanley and speaks quietly to Barbara.

“Ah,” said Barbara. “Now, I understand,” she says after one of his whispered sessions.

With a wink, and a thank you, Jack jogs off into the night, hoisting twenty-pound weights as he runs.

Stanley pats his stomach, sends the boys off to do their homework, and sits down on the couch. His wife comes over and joins him. They kiss, they giggle, they . . .

The next morning, there’s apple and pear juice for breakfast. And pancakes with applesauce! For dinner that night, the boys and Stanley feast on spaghetti squash with tomato sauce and cheese. There are green beans on the side. Stanley takes a big helping and grins. Happy to see him eating, his wife kisses him. The boys, seeing their parents spontaneous embrace, groan and make faces,. “Ewwwwww,” they say. Then everybody laughs.

But peace reigns in the household, and thanks to Mr. Jack LaLane, so does good health.


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