Werewolf Sweat In The Pie

It was a hot and humid day. A day where the air condition just cannot keep up. Being inside only provided mild relief from the scorching sun. This was Summer in Muddy River, Kentucky. A place that I , Morgan Jacobson, has called home for the last few weeks. It is also the place that I have had many fond memories of my childhood at visiting my grandmother through the years. I remember catching lightning bugs in mason jars. I remember swimming down in the river that actually was muddy. I remember my grandmother brushing my hair and she told me stories when I was ready for bed.

   My grandmother was a firecracker of a woman. She would love you fiercely and scold you in another breath. She always did everything 110%. That’s why I think her heart just gave out one day. She gave the world everything she had. She had lots of friends and seemed like very few enemies if any at all. Her funeral was attended probably by the majority of the residents in Muddy River. It made me feel really proud that she was my grandmother. She lived a happy and full life here and it was evident by the people who came to show their respects.

    With my grandmother gone, I was left with her beautiful picturesque country home in Muddy River. I haven’t decided if I’m staying or going. I was living a few hours away doing the typical 9-5 job when I got the news. I happen to work for an angel of a boss who is letting me work remotely for the time being. If I stay or go back home either way the house needed a lot of TLC and my job was flexible. The house needed some paint, an attic that needed organizing, and among other things a whole room full of stacks and stacks of books. It seemed like it would take quite awhile to get everything done.

    That is where Floyd Banks comes into the picture and why I’m standing in front of my grandmothers recipe box. The least I could do on a day like this is cook the handiest of handyman’s a home cooked meal. I know he lives alone and from experience I know that cooking for one isn’t as fun. It’s easier to snack or heat something up. I might have selfish motives for me making Floyd dinner tonight. As I flip through the recipes I’m flooded with memories of my grandmothers scrumptious food. I’m sure like most grandmothers mine was absolutely amazing in the kitchen. The things she would make were professional level chef skills. The food was miles and miles above anything I ever had back home with my parents.

   However, thinking back I do not actually remember helping out or even reading these recipes. Thinking about it now I’m overcome with a bit of sadness at never being taught by someone as good as her. I definitely should have taken advantage of that! In fact, I definitely would have remembered because all the recipes have something beyond silly included in them. Did my grandmother pull some kind of elaborate blank before her death by rewriting all of her recipe cards? Some of the strange ingredients are grated mermaid ear in spaghetti sauce, dragon tears in the vegetable soup, and werewolf sweat in the Shepard’s pie. I decided on Shepard’s pie to make for me and Floyd. I think I’ll skip the werewolf sweat I thought to myself chucking.

    With the Shepard’s pie prepared and in the oven I look out the kitchen window at Floyd painting the porch railing with a new coat of white paint. Floyd does handyman services as a side job. He says he enjoys and admitted that the extra income is very nice. I haven’t asked but I think we are about the same age. That would be late twenties or early thirties. Just old enough for gray hair to start peaking through.

    Floyd really has been a life saver with all the work needed to be done here. Grandmother was in her eighties when she passed and it looks like she had better things to do in the last bit of her life than upkeep her home.

    My thoughts are interrupted by the oven beeping letting me know that dinner is finally ready. I look out and see Floyd making his way inside. That is perfect timing if I’ve ever seen it. I set the table as he washes his hands in the bathroom. Handyman services aside it just is nice to eat dinner with someone since I’ve basically been alone since living in Muddy River.

    With out plates piled how with steaming hot Shepard’s pie Floyd says “than you for dinner, Morgan. You did not have to but I appreciate it a lot.”, as he takes another big bite.

   “It’s no problem. It really is the least I can do. You have helped me so much and there’s still so much to be done!” I said back to Floyd.

   “This Shepard’s pie is great!” Floyd says.

   “Thanks! It’s my grandmothers recipe. I can’t quite put my finger on it but it feels like I missed an ingredient dent. Doesn’t taste exactly like my grandmother made it.” I let out a chuckle.

   “Funny enough there is actually an ingredient missing when you read the recipe card” I said still laughing a little.

   “What is missing and why is it so funny?” Floyd said back.

   “It’s a joke my grandmother must have played on me knowing I’d be the one here looking at all her stuff. It actually said werewolf sweat! Can you believe that? She was a riot. Definitely playing the long con on this one!” I answered.

   After a long pause Floyd leaned forward a little over the table with a strange look on his face and said “I know where you can get some of that...for next time.” The look on his face was the opposite of my face. He was dead serious. My big smile on my face thinking werewolf sweat was a joke played by my grandmother turned into a confused scrunched up face. 

   It was in this moment I realized that I did not know my grandmother as well as I thought I did.