Benedict Whispers Holiday Edititon

By Sadie De Arruda

I will once again preface this by saying that this is not my own voice but the voice of a persona I made up. This voice and I don't share the same opinions or a point of view in any way.

As most of us know, the upcoming holidays are a time for one thing: delicious food. Some will say that it’s all about family and everyone being together. To those people I say, go make friends that aren’t biologically obligated to listen to your terrible stories.

Each year on Christmas day I have treated myself to a five-star meal, traveling across the globe in search of the next best thing. This year will look very different from that. After the popularity of my previous work, my editor insisted on my return to my brother's house for the holiday season. And although I checked with HR about whether or not this was grounds to have my editor fired for workplace harassment, I will be joining my brother and his family as HR said I had no case.

So once again I stood outside my brother’s house, realizing he didn’t pick up on my hints about a good contractor and yet another generous wad of cash for his birthday gift. As I raised my hand to knock on the door I decided to quickly santize the area seeing as my brother had created a walking version of the flu. And after emptying out the entire bottle of hand sanitizer in my bag I decided it would still be best to knock with gloves on.

I was greeted by a domesticated version of the man I knew as my brother. The once proud man now stood in front of me wearing an apron with the words ‘Real Men Bake’ with his name written just below, and pulled me into a hug before I took off my previously lint-free green velvet jacket. He hung my coat on the small hooks clearly made for my niece causing my coat to brush the floor on top of little sneakers and dirty rain boots. I knew sacrifices would have to be made for this job, but never did I think they would start so early.

My sister-in-law soon walked over to greet me. I was delighted to see she must have started taking my restaurant recommendations; this seemed to confuse her, but I explained that her sudden weight gain was clearly from my introduction to good food. However, before we could continue our conversation she excused herself to check something in the kitchen. And to make the encounter even more bizarre, I could have sworn I heard whimpering, followed by the crinkle and crunch of a cheap bag of chips coming from the kitchen shortly after.

Never one to live in the past, I walked over to the coffee table where a plate of different beige-coloured appetizers laying lifelessly on a platter. It was clear even to the untrained eye that this platter must have been a Christmas gift of some sort from my niece as it failed to lay flat on the table top. It was decorated in a way that was either in an abstract style or a sign to stop wasting money on art classes.

My brother once again found me and brought me into the backyard where I found my niece making what appeared to be yet another snowman (someone really needs to check that this child actually talks to other kids at school and not just whatever paid professional is stuck listening to her). My brother called her name which sent her running towards me. Always quick on my feet, I quickly dodged the attack leaving her to topple over into the snow. However she quickly recovered and began giggling. I’d ask what was so funny but I doubted it would interest me in the slightest.

Seemingly during the attempted attack by my niece, my brother had snuck back into the house. His ploys to collect free babysitting would have to be better to trick me again. Turning back towards the house I was assaulted by his offspring. Melting snow ran down my back, soaking my shirt. Clearly, this was a sign of undiagnosed anger issues. I turned back to stare at her as she began to laugh and form another snowball. It was clear that I needed to be the bigger person. I quickly scooped a bigger snowball, big enough to knock her out until Easter. Almost as if he knew what I was thinking, my brother called out from the house asking for me for a hand in the kitchen. She may have won this round, but her daddy won’t always be there to protect her.

Back in the kitchen my brother was basting the turkey while telling me about the importance of being a feminist in this day and age, going as far as telling me about a rally in town in a few days. I laughed internally at the notion of staying in town any later than this dinner. Reminding my brother that pink washes me out and my fact checker is a woman and I approved her request for over-time pay as her Christmas gift.

The in-laws had just arrived when my sister-in-law finally reappeared, a smudge of shame chocolate still on her cheek. And suddenly it was time to eat. I didn’t know that we could skip the opening festivities, next year I think I’ll just come for the doggy bag and drive over to the shelter for my contribution.

Still wearing his custom apron, my brother began to bring the food out to the table. I was called on for assistance with the turkey. Until that point I was under the impression that I was a guest at this dinner. Once everything was laid out, everyone gathered around the table to determine whether my brother had done a good job or if we needed the Chinese restaurant flyer burning a hole in my pocket. As some form of a sick joke, I was seated beside my niece and would be forced to watch as she practiced her terrible stand-up routine while shoving as much food in her mouth as would fit.

I would like to be clear that no hyperbole is used in what’s about to be used, simply because there was no need to after seeing the meal my brother had prepared. I’ll start with the star of the show, the turkey. In appearance everything was perfect, from its flawless shine over the skin to its golden colour most professional chefs would envy. However, the troubles started when the knife was unable to penetrate the turkey. It was in this moment I remembered the chef was the same man who didn’t know there was another way to serve toast other than burnt until his late twenties.

Eventually, my brother forced his way into the turkey, revealing a frozen inside, complete with icicles. I suggested we mark the time and the date having found Superman’s fortress of solitude. My brother was less than impressed by this reaction, leaving me to ask, why so cold?

I will say that my brother’s interpretation of mashed potatoes was a technique new to me. I had previously assumed that the potatoes should always be boiled and peeled before mashing. And I was correct in that assumption. It was as his mother-in-law’s dentures popped out of her head while eating the mashed potatoes that my brother could be seen mentally considering his life choice. And to make matters more interesting my niece quickly snatched her grandmother's dentures to try and break apart her father’s potatoes. I will say that the gravy was solid in terms of flavour as well as texture, containing more lumps than a airport hotel pillow.

Seeing dinner clearly hadn’t gone as planned, my brother decided to pivot and serve up dessert. And who could go wrong with pumpkin pie? As it turns out, my brother. The pie, like everything else on the table, appeared innocent enough on the outside but it was when my sister-in-law took a rather large bite, she discovered the pie’s true nature. It seems that my brother never learned much about produce, and lacked the knowledge of the difference between a pie pumpkin and a carving pumpkin. To say the least, the pie had all the right ingredients and baking time, yet we got more turkey flavour out of it than the real turkey. This was enough to set off his wife as she burst into tears in front of us all, and instead of running off to the bathroom she stayed put right there making all of us stare in concern, wondering if we would have to comfort her.

As I looked out at the people in front of me I was reminded of a famous painting. The Last Supper, only with less hope. I thought about God, and why he had put me here, at this dinner table, surrounded by crazy people. And then I hoped this could be my last supper here. And while all these thoughts swirled through my mind the chaos that had filled the house had begun to calm. My niece returned the dentures to her grandmother in exchange for candy from her purse. My brother finally took off the apron. My sister-in-law pulled herself together enough to apologize for her behaviour. At the same time her father realized the leg he was caressing was in fact mine and not his wife’s, and promptly apologized as well.

As we waited for the Chinese delivery we began our exchanging presents. My niece insisted on giving her poorly wrapped gifts first, handing me a small package wrapped in layers of mismatched paper and even more tape. I opened it to reveal a homemade key chain with her thumb prints in the shape of a heart, signed by ‘your favourite little chef’. I do hope she knows this assumed nepotism won’t get her anywhere in this world. While the key chain doesn’t match the details of the rest of my car, and only because my other keychain broke a few weeks earlier, I have been carrying around the keychain for the last week.

I decided it was time she got her gift in return, pulling a small box out of my bag. She tore through that paper faster than Nicholas Cage ends a marriage. I could see the rest of the family leaning in to see what the box contained before she exclaimed ‘hair nets!’ It appeared that I had lost the energy of the group so I continued. I told my niece that every great chef needs to think of personal cleanliness first and foremost when working in the kitchen, and I made her promise me she would always wear a hair net in the kitchen. She agreed to the deal and I went to retrieve the second part of her gift.

I told my brother he would have to put aside his feminist agenda for a day to assemble the plastic kitchen set for his daughter. Despite my kindness my niece simply screamed in my face in reaction to this gift. She followed that up with a quick thank you before putting on her hair net and turning her attention to her new toy. My sister-in-law came over to ask how I thought of something so perfect, and I must admit it was my partner’s idea and not my own. Bu I didn’t have to admit if to her, so I told her I was an extremely kind and creative person who should get more credit.

My moment in the sun was very quickly overshadowed by my brother and sister-in-law’s gift to their daughter as they gave her a shirt with the words ‘big sister’ scrawled across the front. Never before in my life have I seen two people so desperate to get the attention of a crowd.

As for my relationship with my brother I don’t think I’ll be visiting again any time soon in hopes of staying clear of the new germinator on the way. However, I’ll be sure to share information on vasectomy clinics in his area instead of contractors for his next birthday, along with the cash. As for my niece I hear she’s been cooking up a storm in the kitchen, and keeping to our promise of wearing the hair nets. Maybe someday when she’s fully grown I will let her cook for me again. Until then I’ll settle for seeing her on Christmas. Happy holidays readers, and remember to defrost your turkeys.