A Twelfth Night Flight of Fancy
written by: Pamela Ebel
Rose Calloway hurried up the walk to her front door. Just one day away from hosting the annual Twelfth Night Celebration for the members of her Mardi Gras Krewe, she needed to visit her favorite specialty bakery for some last-minute items. Unfortunately, it was across town and a good thirty-minute drive when it wasn’t right before the holiday.
Unlike other cities where people were just winding down from Christmas and New Year’s celebrations and planning to take a break, New Orleanians were just gearing up for the start of a real celebration – the beginning of the Carnival season.
Rose lamented that so many of her family members had passed on, and it was at this time each year that she really missed her only child. Her daughter Lily had moved to France for work that made coming home difficult. Still, there were numerous members of the parade krewe to fill the house with laughter and good cheer. It also meant that each year, Rose had to create a special feast.
With her mind running down a list of recipes, she almost tripped over the UPS box sitting at the top stair.
Frustration ratcheted up as she stared at the parcel that undoubtedly held another piece of whatever current project Stan was creating. She picked up the box, planning to remind her husband of the promise he made to back off from the projects.
Opening the door, she stopped to admire the eight-foot Frazier Fir that stood in the middle of the living room. Covered in white twinkle lights, it cast a warm glow.
Walking closer, she looked at the special ornaments Lily had made each year from the time she was four. There were also all of the ornaments she and Stan had purchased every year, one each, representing their thirty-five years of marriage. It was another New Orleans tradition that the Christmas trees and decorations remain up until after Epiphany, January 6th.
A feeling of nostalgia flooded over her until she looked at the box in her hands.
“I’m home. I have to hustle to get across town to the bakery. And you have another package from UPS.”
“Hey, kid, glad you’re home. Did you have a good krewe meeting?”
Stan appeared with a glass of champagne for Rose in one hand and a martini for himself in the other. He looked at the box on the coffee table.
“What did you order, Rose?”
“What did I order?”
She reached for the champagne and took a big sip.
“I didn’t order anything.”
“Well, I didn’t either. I promised to hold off. Who is it from?”
The couple clinked glasses in their afternoon toast and leaned down to examine the box’s address card.
“It can’t be!” they remarked in unison.
“Aunt Clotilde said she couldn’t come for her usual Twelfth Night visit because she was going to the Catskills to see Bunny. What is she doing in Thailand?”
Rose backed away from the box as if it held an IED.
Stan shook his head.
“How am I supposed to know what Tilde is up to? She’s your eccentric aunt. The only way we’re going to know why she’s in Thailand and what’s in this box is to open it.”
He pulled out his pocket knife and gingerly began to peel away the layers of parcel paper. He opened the box slowly as Rose stepped up to peer in.
A card addressed to them was taped to a black plastic container. Rose opened the card and read aloud:
“My dear niece and that man you married, I send greetings from Phi Phi Island (and that is pronounced Pee Pee loves). I am at the Viking Cave Resort just across from mainland Thailand and having a wonderful time in a magical country, unlike the Catskills, about which there is nothing magical in my humble opinion. But I digress. Your second cousin Clarice is living here for a spell (a term she uses to avoid having to be specific) and invited me to visit.
Since I’m fond of trying all local cuisines when I travel, I had the most marvelous dinner the other evening. One delicacy stood out to me, and I wanted to share it with you for your annual Twelfth Night Feast. Enclosed is what the Thais call ‘The Caviar of the East.’ The cooking instructions are included, so follow them closely.
You will also receive two freshly baked King Cakes from my favorite baker because they will taste much better than your usual fare from Mrs. Dorie’s Bakery! Remember! Follow the directions and ENJOY!!! Love, Aunt Tilde.”
Rose took the container out of the shipping box, carried it into the kitchen, and opened it carefully. Inside were the cooking instructions. Beneath them was nestled a reddish object about six inches long that looked like one half of a small football. Lifting it out, Stan moved it around as Rose read the instructions:
“This package contains the most precious of the Swiftlet Bird’s creations, the blood red bird’s nest. During mating season, the birds build these nests on cave walls using their saliva, which hardens when exposed to the air. Considered by the Chinese to offer antiaging and improved recovery times from illness and injury, Bird’s Nest soup is highly prized and highly priced. This one is $300.00. Follow the instructions carefully and enjoy longevity and good luck. Best Nest, LLC. Visit our website.”
Below was the recipe that appeared quite simple:
1. To prepare the bird’s nests, soak in cold water for several hours or overnight. Rinse well. Go over the nests and pick out any loose feathers.
2. Boil the bird’s nests twice by bringing a pot of water to a boil and simmering the bird’s nests for about 5 minutes. Drain and again add to a pot of water, bring to a boil and simmer for 5 minutes. Drain, rinse well, and squeeze dry.
3. Place the bird’s nests in the pot and add 4 cups water. Bring to a boil and simmer until the bird’s nests are quite soft (up to 2 hours). Add the rock sugar, stirring to dissolve.
Rose picked up the hard, red nest, and the couple examined it carefully. It smelled of damp air and wet, small feathers. She placed it back in its container, closed the lid, and put it, the note, and recipe on top. Putting everything in the parcel post box, she closed it up and looked at her watch.
“I have to hurry before the bakery closes. I’ll change and then take this out to the garbage can on my way to the car.”
“Wait! What? You’re going to throw away a $300.00 gift from Tilde? You can’t do that!”
Stan reached out, grabbed the box, and headed back into the kitchen. He pulled a pot out of the cupboard, filling it with cold water. Retrieving the nest. he placed it carefully into the pot.
“Go on. I’ll look into this further and get what we’ll need to make the soup tomorrow.”
“You’re as crazy as Aunt Tilde if you think I’m going to serve everyone soup made from a nest made with saliva of a bird living in a cave in Thailand, or wherever in hell Tilde got this thing. And if you actually intend to cook that, you will have to do it in the outside kitchen. I won’t have our house filled with this foul, no pun intended, smelling object.”
Rose stomped off to change, and Stan carried his pot out to the backyard.
Her phone rang just as Rose was getting ready to leave.
“Bon Jour Mama! I wanted to be sure to catch you because I’m going with friends to the Moulin Rouge tomorrow for Twelfth Night festivities. Are you all set for the dinner? I really miss it. What specialty item have you added this year?”
“Oh, Lilly! It’s so wonderful to hear from you. And your plans for dinner sound marvelous! It makes me envious that I can’t he there with you. I always wanted to see Paris!”
“I know mama. That’s the main reason I jumped at the chance to move. I would always hear you and Dad laugh when you had a toast about not having Paris. You should come visit now that you’re both retired. But you didn’t answer my question about a special item for dinner. What is it? A salad or dessert?”
“Well, Lilly, you won’t believe what it might have been thanks to Aunt Tilde. She sent us a bird’s nest with directions to make Bird’s Nest Soup. Can you believe it?”
“Mama, Aunt Tilde sent you a wonderful gift. ‘The Caviar of the East’ is so special and has miraculous healing powers. I have a good friend from Thailand, and he serves the soup on New Year’s Eve. Your guests are in for a great dinner experience!”
“Really, Lilly, I know you love your aunt, and I know you love new experiences, but I can’t possibly serve that disgusting soup to our friends. Someone might get sick, die! I…”
“Mama, trust Aunt Tilde and trust me. Everyone will not only not get sick, many of you may experience the most special gift of all, longevity. You’ll see. Tilde sent you a ‘flight of fancy’. Enjoy it, and I’ll call to be sure you are all fine. Got to run. Love to Dad.”
Rose headed to her car with Lily’s words filling her mind. As she was leaving for the store, the Bake King delivery truck appeared and handed her two, large special King Cakes. She raced back to the kitchen and, unsure how long they had been unrefrigerated, placed them in the freezer.
The next afternoon, Rose arrived home from the krewe meeting to finish her dinner preparations. She opened the front door cautiously, sniffing the air for any offending odors. The Eucalyptus oil she used was all she smelled.
Looking out the back window, she saw Stan in his outdoor kitchen with a boiling pot. Pouring herself a glass of champagne and mixing a martini, she headed outside.
“Good afternoon, dear. I made your favorite drink. What are you up to out here?”
She smiled as he turned to look at her. They hadn’t spoken much since the argument over the bird’s nest the night before.
“As I promised, I was making Tilde’s Bird’s Nest soup.”
He put the spoon in the pot, pulled out a gelatinous broth, and poured it into a small bowl. Rose stared as he held it out. Seeing the look on the face of the man she had been married to for thirty-five years, she took it. The soup looked like JELL-O. She poked her spoon around and finally took a small sip. It even tasted like JELLO before it was frozen.
“It really doesn’t have much taste at all, does it?”
Stan turned and stirred the simmering pot as he sipped his martini.
“Yeah, it certainly doesn’t seem worth $300.00. But it might have been better with the actual nest in it.”
“What do you mean? The nest isn’t in it?”
Rose stepped over and stared into the pot, empty except for the JELL-O substance.
“What happened to the nest?”
Stan took a long sip of his drink, looked over at their neighbor’s house, shook his head, and started to laugh.
“It appears that the Turners have a thief living with them.”
“A thief? What in the world are you talking about? Madge and Vince’s kids have grown and gone for years. They live alone.”
“Well, I took the nest out of the pot and placed it on the table while I got the water boiling a second time, and I heard a noise. I looked around just in time to see a Chimney Swift carrying it off. He disappeared into the Turners’ chimney. Then I heard another noise and saw two other Swifts standing in the King Cakes I was thawing out. They were covered in purple, green, and gold frosting and flew off to the chimney carrying the baby trinkets.”
Rose saw claw prints and missing pieces of crust in the cakes. She looked at Stan and then over at the Turners’ chimney.
“Well, shouldn’t we go see if we can get the nest back? I mean for $300.00. What are we going to tell Aunt Clotilde about the soup? And what about the King Cakes. We need these for the Epiphany celebration. Someone needs to get one of the baby trinkets so they can host the next party ?”
Stan put his arm around Rose as they clinked glasses.
He held out a UPS envelope, and Rose read the note:
“Dear Mama and Dad, enclosed are two first-class tickets to Paris. You will leave on Ash Wednesday after your Mardi Gras responsibilities are over. We’ll have dinner with my friend, and he’ll serve his famous version of ‘The Caviar of East’. And to add to the fun, Aunt Tilde will fly in to join us. These plans come straight out of that ‘flight of fancy’! Happy Twelfth Night! See you soon. Love, Lily.”
“And don’t worry about the King Cakes. I ran to Mrs. Dorie’s and bought two, and your gumbo is defrosting to serve as the soup course. As for Aunt Tilde, we will assure her at our visit with Lily that the nest was Good Luck for the Birds of a Feather that stuck together and that she sent a gift the Magi would never have thought of.”
“And finally, my wonderful husband, we’ll have Paris!”
With his arm still around Rose, they laughed and watched a feather float out of the pot and into the sky.
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