you say tomato, i say tomata

I'm walking in downtown Austin with my dad Friday evening, on our way to a culinary class at a market which shall remain nameless until they put Cielo water back in their coolers.

"I love my city! Don't you just love this city?" I say to him. "Whaddya mean?" he says, "this is not your city - Kyle is your city!"

"Oh please," I say, "Kyle is not my city. Kyle is my respite in the country." To which he makes some noise and rolls his eyes. He thinks I'm somewhat delusional. Probably so, but what female who reads Jane Austen doesn't believe they need a respite in the country?

I love hanging out with my dad, we are taking this class together to celebrate his birthday. He's no slouch in the kitchen and can make a mean pastitio when he wants to.

We start the class, and everyone is paired up. There is an older woman who has no one to partner with, so we invite her to join us. As the chef demonstrates secrets of cooking polenta, my dad is engaged in what he is learning, poised to take notes if need be. He's always been a good student. Me, I'm busy checking out my classmates. I'm looking to see who could be dangerous with a knife.

Turns out it's our partner, as she slices the tip of her finger while cutting onions. I think it's a small wound, until I see the sizable blood stain on her apron and cutting board. Soon she is whisked out of the room. My dad is busy making panna cotta and somewhat oblivious to the scene unfolding before us. As I prepare the marinara sauce, I say to him in a low voice, "Maybe it's just me, but I really don't want her blood in our sauce." I'm thinking she won't be back.

Moments later, she is back; her finger bandaged and her hand in a plastic glove. She is cheerful as I ask if she's okay. The sous chef comes over to demonstrate safe knife cutting techniques to her. (A little late, I'm thinking.) While the woman concentrates on this, I notice her slowly hunch over and it hits me she is fainting. The chef catches her just as she is about to hit the cutting board and they go to the ground together. I'm standing over them, yelling to my dad, "This woman is in trouble!" If you have ever heard me yell, it's not loud. My dad is moving on to the creamy polenta, having not heard me. "DAD, this woman is in trouble!" He jerks his head up and drops his whisk and comes running over. "Feet higher than the head!" he says to the chef. Someone else is phoning for help as she comes to in the female chef's arms. I'm feeling badly for her.

She recovers nicely, thank the Lord, and I'm thinking at this point, she really will be done with tonight's class. But minutes later she is back to chopping onions and I'm liking her will of steel. We chat, I find out she works with the disabled and we talk for a few moments about our jobs as my dad goes back to the creamy polenta, which I have to say is a hit.

Then we move on to the main dish of scallopini, and fainting lady tells me this would be a good dish to try with wild hog. "I just killed a wild hog, I'll have to make this with some of the meat." I look at her for a long moment.

"Wait - you faint at the sight of your own blood, but just killed a wild hog?" To which she begins to laugh, really laugh.

"I know we just met but you really need to talk to someone who can help you with that." I'm serious. She continues to laugh the kind of laughter that brings tears to your eyes. "Yes, it's true," she says, "I can gut a deer and butcher a hog but faint when I cut my own finger." Then she asks my dad if she can assist him with what he is doing, and he mumbles something about being okay. I know he's thinking what I'm thinking...keep her away from the sharp utensils.

Where is Christine McLean when you need her? She would have known what to do when this lady went down, pretty sure. And would have enjoyed once again being involved in the drama that seems to only occur in cooking classes.

The class ends with all the participants sharing a pleasant dinner of our own making with a glass of red wine. My dad and I leave afterwards, wishing the woman well, but not before taking some pictures of the two of us in the cooking kitchen with his iPhone. That's right, J.S., I just namedropped my dad's iPhone. Top that.

A very memorable evening. I love my city.