Our Christmas Cookbook - 11. The Potluck

The Potluck

By Cole Matthews

“Can you hand me the bowl of fresh minced ginger?” Colin asked, nodding towards the small glass monkey dish on the counter. Sammy thought he looked harried and annoyed, but the thin smile on his face said otherwise.

“Here you go,” the smaller man said, handing over the ingredient. Colin tried to blow a lock of his ginger hair away from his lips, but it simply floated for a moment and then alit back on the corner of his mouth.

“Please dump it into the bowl with the meat,” Colin’s nasally and neatly-clipped English accent sounded more annoyed now, but Sammy knew how to handle the Britisher. He brushed away the offending strand of red hair and kissed his cheek. Then he scraped the small portion of minced ginger root onto the mound of pork.

The whole kitchen smelled like a butcher shop, but now with the introduction of spices and herbs, it was beginning to change.

Sammy watched as the big guy’s shoulder muscles bunched and relaxed as he mixed the ginger, salt, rubbed sage, paprika, and black pepper in the big bowl. The meat grinder was at the ready, attached to the mixer with another large stainless-steel bowl poised beneath it.

“I’ve never seen anyone make sausage before,” Sammy said, shifting on his bare feet from side to side.

“It’s an old family recipe, and my granddad would always make a big pot of sausage balls for Christmas. I remember as a little lad running into the kitchen with my cousins and nicking them off the baking pan right out of the oven. Granddad would act mad, but we knew he was thrilled at how much we loved them.”

Colin was openly grinning now, his forearms bathed in meat juices and red with spices. His eyes glowed as he flipped the grinder on low. Grabbing two handfuls of seasoned meat, he dumped them into the hopper. With a wooden plunger, he began feeding the machine. Out from the die at the front of the machine, freshly ground meat came creeping out, slowly at first, and then picking up speed as the big man added more meat and pressed it into the machine.

“Now what’s this for again?” Sammy asked, tugging abstractedly on the hem of Colin’s oversized shirt. He put it on this morning after their first night together. They’d been testing the waters for some time with witty banter and knowing glances.

When the two of them got a little hot and heavy after last night’s match, he ended up in the rugby player’s bed with a torn shirt on the floor. Their long flirtation had finally bore fruit.

“For Wayne and Dooley,” he said, putting the last cubes of meat in the hopper. He grunted as he pushed them into the grinding tube. “Poor guys. Thirty-some years together, and then one of them gets cancer. Some of the players decided to make this thing work. We figured Christmas was the perfect time to say thank you.”

“I wondered why they hadn’t been around much. Earlier this fall, they went to every meet and practice. I haven’t seen them in months.” Sammy said, watching the other man closely. He loved watching a man in action.

“They’ve always had better attendance than most of the lads,” Colin said, turning off the whirring machine. “There. Now I’ll let them chill for a while. If you want, I can make you some breakfast. A proper English fry-up if you’d like.”

Sammy watched as Colin washed his hands thoroughly, and Sammy took advantage of it. He began kissing the back of the ginger-haired man’s neck, rubbing his broad, thick shoulders, and nuzzling his ear.

“I can think of something I’d like better,” he said softly.

“So can I,” Colin said, turning, and smashing his mouth on Sammy’s. The two began snogging in earnest with breakfast forgotten.

***

“So, Colin and stat-boy, huh?” Stacy said, folding a pair of jeans carefully. He glanced over at Billy, who was fingering his tablet carefully.

“Yep. I knew they’d finally hooked up when I saw Colin’s car was gone, and our field manager was nowhere in sight.”

“What are we bringing tonight?” the dark-haired man asked. He was on the local gay rugby team, while Billy was a “rugby widow” as the spouses called themselves. It was all in good fun. He picked up a small jersey and shook it out before folding.

“I’m looking at a deviled egg recipe, or maybe I should bring something sweet,” Billy answered abstractly.

Stacy picked up a larger shirt, flicked it out and read the name, Minnesota Mayhem on the front. This was his practice jersey, with lots of rips and some stains, each had been a bruise or bump, and all good times in the end. “What about some kind of dip, like that spinach one you make?” he asked, picking up a pair of compression shorts and fingering the large hole in the leg.

Beau, Billy’s cat, jumped into the clothes basket and settled down on top of the remaining warm clothing. Stacy looked to his boyfriend for help. The man didn’t see him, continuing to browse the Internet. He continued.

“That’s a great idea,” Billy said. “Besides, I’m sure Olive is bringing a yule log cake.”

“You can never have too many sweets though,” Stacy said, plucking the last pair of underwear from underneath the cat. Beau swatted at him, his claws extended, but the big man eluded the cat’s paw, and quickly folded it and placed it with the others.

The rugby player stretched his six-foot five-inch torso, heavily muscled, to his fullest reach and grunted in satisfaction. Beau stretched as well; his warm bed having been snatched away from him.

Billy looked up and grinned at the sight of them. His two favorite males showing off. He set the tablet to the side and patted the couch cushion next to him. “No, you can never get too many sweets,” he said as the big guy sat next to him.

Stacy gently traced the line of his boyfriend’s jaw, brushing the soft blond bristles as he did so. “I hope we can last as long as Wayne and Dooley,” he said and kissed the other man’s lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Billy said. “I can’t believe Dooley has liver cancer. The guy doesn’t even drink.”

“Well, he has a pint or two after a game,” Stacy said. “Not like some of us throw them back. Anyway,” he continued after stroking Billy’s closely cropped hair. “He had hepatitis and never really recovered from it. That’s what caused the cancer.”

Billy turned and put his hands on either side of Stacy’s large blocky head. He kissed the tip of his nose.

Stacy began exploring his boyfriend with his hands, and squeals of mock anger burst forth as Billy pulled away and smacked his boyfriend’s chest. “You know I hate being tickled.”

“I know something you do like though,” Stacy said. He reached over, took Billy’s hands in his, and placed them behind him on his ass. “Want a little Christmas nookie?” he asked.

“I’ll say,” Billy said, pulling the bigger man closer.

***

Olive’s husband Stan sighed as she carefully unfurled the towel with the rolled-up sheet cake. “Are you sure a yule log is appropriate for the occasion?” he asked.

“It’s Christmas and a yule log is always appropriate at this time of year,” she said, picking up a bowl of creamy filling. It was orange scented, and Stan could smell it from across the table. There was a lingering aroma from the orange peel she’d zested, and it’s rich, sweet smell made his mouth water.

He loved her baking, and she loved doing it, but did it really fit with the occasion? “What’re the rest of them bringing?” he finally asked, leaning back in his chair as she worked.

“Colin’s making sausage balls.”

“Bangers and mash?” Stan said, scowling.

“No.” Olive snorted at him. “It’s a homemade sausage ball recipe from his grandfather, I think.” She finished spreading the filling on the chocolate cake and began rolling it back up. “Terry is bringing some Caesar salad thingie, and Derek made a tater tot hot dish with chili.”

“That sounds good,” Stan said, perking up. “What’re Billy and the boy bringing?”

“Billy’s making his hot spinach and artichoke dip.”

Stan nodded and didn’t say anything for a minute. “I hope he doesn’t chase this one off.”

Olive shook her head. “It’s his life. I think we shouldn’t meddle.”

“Stacy needs to settle down. He’d be happier if he didn’t keep playing the field. Life isn’t just another rugby match.”

“You know, Stacy is using the “w” word already. When I talked with him on the phone earlier, he said it.”

“The “w” word?” Stan asked, his brows arched. “That’s a pretty big deal.”

“Yeah, when our son says “we” instead of “I,” it means something,” Olive said, gently rolling the cake onto a sheet. She picked up the pan of chocolate ganache and started frosting.

Stan pondered his wife’s meaning. Then he breathed in heavily and said, “Do you really think this potluck is a good idea? Last time I saw Dooley, he’d lost about thirty pounds, his skin was yellow, and he was so uncomfortable. Having a bunch of us show up out of the blue has got to be stressful.”

Olive didn’t look up from glazing the cake. “Wayne arranged everything. It has to be now. I suggested Valentine’s Day, but they don’t think he’ll make it until then.”

“What about a transplant?” Stan asked. “Isn’t he on the list?”

Olive paused, nodded, and then continued her work without looking at her husband. “It’s moving too fast. Wayne wants this last Christmas to be Dooley’s best.”

Stan fiddled with the placemat on the table. It was hand-sewn by his wife with little red and green beads and felt leaves and poinsettia petals. Gold and silver thread laced the entire thing. He felt tears sting behind his eyes.

“I love you,” he said, choking up a bit.

“I love you too,” Olive said, without missing a beat. “Now, get me those white chocolate leaves I made earlier. You can help me decorate it.”

Stan stood and watched as his wife brushed away her own tears with the back of her hand.

***

Dooley watched as his partner walked into the living room from the dining room. “What have you been doing?” he asked tiredly, his head feeling like it was filled with lead weights. “You’re making a lot of noise.”

“I’m just getting dinner started,” Wayne said, brushing his hands against one another. “You need to get dressed.”

Dooley shook his head. “What do I care about Greg and Tom stopping by? They’ve seen me in my pajamas before. Hell, they’ve seen me naked in the locker room.”

“Get dressed,” Wayne insisted. “I’ll help you.”

“I can do it,” Dooley groused. “I can still dress myself.” The man pulled out his oxygen tubes and turned off the valve. He carefully stood up from the chair and wobbled a bit. As Wayne stepped forward, the feeble man lifted a hand. “I’m fine.”

The doorbell rang almost immediately after Dooley made it to their bedroom.

The man brushed his teeth, shaved his sunken cheeks, and carefully brushed his graying and thinning hair. His visage was so macabre to him. He picked up a happy snap photo in a silver frame on their dresser. It was a picture from just last year, and Wayne and he were grinning like idiots. His hair was thick and lush, and he had put on some weight. His cheeks were round, and he had a double chin, but he was so happy.

Looking in the mirror, his face was wan and gaunt. Gone was his happiness. The ravages of the cancer, or the chemo, who knew which did what, had taken its toll.

He’d put on a brave face for Wayne. They didn’t have much time left, so he’d be his old self, at least for an hour or two.

When he left the bedroom, he heard voices. Laughter rang out as he walked to the dining room, his breaths becoming shallow.

The dining room table was filled with food.

There were people filling the space. Candles blazed with light and red and green ornaments were everywhere. At first he was confused by the crowd. Did he know them? But, then he saw they were all familiar. His sister and the neighbor next door were talking and laughing. Next to them, a man was gesticulating excitedly.

Dooley cleared his throat and the man with ginger hair turned to him. It was Colin from the rugby team.

“Merry Christmas, Dooley,” he said raising a red Solo cup in a cheer.

“What are you…?” but his voice trailed off as Wayne entered the room from the kitchen.

“Let’s set up over here,” Wayne said, leading a man loaded down with a speaker and a laptop. “We’re having the ceremony in the living room.”

“What?” Dooley asked, his breath becoming more labored. “Wayne?” he asked incredulously.

“Let’s get you back on the machine,” Wayne said gently. He left the man with the sound equipment in the corner of the living room and guided Dooley to his chair. After getting his partner seated and the oxygen tubes in place, Wayne sat on the ottoman and took Dooley’s hands in his.

“We’re getting married tonight.”

“But, you never—”

Wayne interrupted. “I was an idiot. You always wanted a wedding, and I thought it wasn’t necessary. I’m giving you this. Please, let me give you this.”

Dooley could see the pleading in his partner’s eyes. “You did all this?” he asked. “For me?”

“For us,” Wayne said. “Everyone wanted to help, so I outsourced the food with our friends. I got a deejay so we could have some music, and Stan got certified so he’s going to officiate.”

“We’re really getting married?” Dooley asked, his voice trembling. He closed his eyes, and then opened them. He felt an intense warmth filling him. A reserve of strength came bursting forth within him. He suddenly felt more alive than he had in weeks.

Stroking Wayne’s cheek, he said, “Let’s get this party started.”

The strains of Santa Baby began to play and laughter rang out. Some of it was the deep baritone of Dooley, feeling very loved and sounding very happy.

Homemade Sausage

10 lbs. of cubed pork about 20 to 30% fat. A couple of fresh, uncured a couple of medium sized pork shoulders work quite well.

3 oz. salt

1 oz. ground black pepper

½ oz. dry rugged sage

1 tbsp grated fresh ginger

1 tsp cayenne or paprika

Cut up pork into 1-inch cubes. This is easier when the meat is very cold so put in the freezer for a few minutes to firm up. Toss the seasonings in the with meat cubes and mix. Place in refrigerator for a couple of hours to marinate and for the meat to get quite cold again.

Using a small die, put the meat through the meat grinder. Let sit at room temperature for about an hour for the seasonings to set. Then refrigerate until using.

Roll into balls and bake at 350 degrees Fahrenheit for 10 to 15 minutes until brown and thoroughly cooked. These are good by themselves or with a light cream or tomato sauce.

Serve with toothpicks and plenty of napkins.