Dinner at Poppy's(Emerald Gowers) My grandfather Poppy was renowned throughout the family for his unusual way of cooking. His meals usually consisted of burnt microwave dinners, soups reminiscent of Lake Erie (dark and murky, and contents that you would suppose came out of a dumpster), and Crystal Light lemonade made undrinkable by the generous quantities of lemon juice added 'for that special zing' to put it in his words.

Poppy was about 69 years old then (and too old to do anything about it). He had been caring for my grandmother Kitty who had had a stroke 20 years prior that left her physically and mentally handicapped. At the time this story took place I was about 14 years old and getting ready for a Christmas choral concert given by my middle school, that was going to take place that evening. Poppy had invited me over for a special crab cake dinner that he was going to make before the performance. I went over knowing what was in store for me, but not knowing quite what to expect. When I arrived he was already busy in the kitchen, and my offer to help was declined, so I settled in with my grandmother who was watching Lawrence Welk.

Poppy was glad to see me and promptly brought me in a glass of soda. I thanked him and declined his offer for stale pretzels and year old corn chips. He whisked away back into the kitchen where pots were bubbling idly on the stove.

I sat back and turned my gaze toward the television, where senior citizens were prancing around in styles dating back to the mid twenties. I took a sip of soda and noticed that it had a strange pungent taste to it. Holding the glass to the light and looking through the bottom of the glass, I noticed white blobs floating on the bottom of the drink. On closer inspection these turned out to be chopped onions. I shuddered and took the glass into the kitchen where Poppy was bustling around putting bread in the toaster.

'Poppy,' I said, handing him the glass.

He peered into the glass and laughed. 'I was looking for these. Saves me the time of cutting another one.' From out of nowhere he produced a strainer and a second glass, and to my horror, strained the onions out of the soda and tossed them in a random bubbling pan. 'Here you go dear.' He handed me the glass of onion soda and continued with his work.

'I can't drink this.'

He took the glass from me and took a swig. "Tastes ok to me Em. Pour yourself another and go sit with Gram, Lawrence is going to put on a hell of a show tonight.'

'Okay Poppy.' I took a clean glass, poured another glass of soda, returned to the living room and started to chat with Grandma about Lawrence Welk. Poppy brought out the plates and a big bowl of steamed carrots and soda-tainted onions. 'The crab cakes will be out in a few minutes.'

I began to fill a plate for my grandmother, when the smoke alarm began beeping madly from the kitchen. 'Oh hell,' Poppy exclaimed as he ran back into the kitchen.

I laughed and turned to my Grandmother. 'He's a great cook, gotta love him.'

She smiled and nodded. 'He makes wonderful food. I love Al.'

I was reaching for the spoon to continue fixing her plate, when the odor of burnt breading and smoldering plastic approached. 'Em?' I turned around to see Poppy, standing in the doorway with a huge grin on his face, holding a flaming pan. 'It looks like I forgot to take them out of the plastic,' he said laughingly as the flames leapt towards the ceiling and threatened to catch the curtains on fire.

I sprung to action, grabbed the pan from him, threw open the front door, and chucked everything into the freshly fallen snow. Going back into the house I found the phone book and placed an order for pizza, wondering why his house was still standing.

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