yet.
The latest house, where the Heisers had lived for the last ten years, was in University Heights, a section of Iowa City that was just south of the University campus. I turned onto Melrose Avenue and passed the Finkbine Golf Course where three or four sets of golfers were taking advantage of the warm November sunshine. When I turned off Melrose into the heart of University Heights, I noticed the difference in architecture from where I lived, just a few miles north in Oak Grove.
Here, while the homes were still modest in size, the styles had the flavor of the Victorian era, with several brick two and three story homes in evidence. Some of the wooden Victorians had the big wraparound porches I was used to seeing back in Pittsburgh and had so rarely spotted in Iowa. There were some wood-sided Cape Cods scattered about among the larger houses, as well as the ever present one-story homes. The Capes had the required gingerbread trim and neat little porches or archways attached. All the homes were well maintained and the yards were well kept. Landscaping here was simple but attractive. Large trees shaded the front and side yards, an unusual sight just a few miles north where the town of Oak Grove had sprung up around treeless cornfields.
Maxine had chosen a two-story brick and stone Tudor style home that was built around 1940. There was a huge maple tree in the front yard and a wide side porch that she'd shaded with green and white awnings, easily dropped down to block the afternoon sun. She'd told me it would remind me of our aunt's home back in Pittsburgh and it did. They say that buying a home is an emotional decision and this one probably was. It was a great house, though. Max had always had taste for classy looks in houses and decorating, if not in her choices of hair color. I parked in the wide driveway and rang the bell on the side porch
"Come in," Max called from somewhere in the recesses of the house. I could smell the rich aromas of tomato sauce, hot sausage and garlic, overlaying the more subtle smell of the eggplant. Suddenly I was hungry. I went in, kissed my sister hello as she lifted a pan from the oven to the stovetop, and pulled up a chair to the kitchen table.
The eggplant was the best I'd ever eaten and I wondered why I never tried making that type of meal myself. I quickly realized that now I didn't have to, with Maxine so near.
"What's in this stuff again?" I mumbled through a mouthful of rich flavors.
"A lot of the usual ingredients for eggplant parmesan. I fried the eggplant then layered it with sauce I had in the freezer, parmesan cheese, and hot sausage. I added sliced elephant garlic cloves that I'd caramelized in olive oil. It really doesn't take long at all. Flouring and frying the eggplant is the hardest part of the recipe."
Of course, Max always had jars of homemade tomato sauce stashed in her freezer, which cut a few hours off the cooking time right there. I helped myself to a second square of the dish and dug in like a starving man.
"Slow down, Rudy. You'll get sick, “my sister admonished me as she'd done all of my life.
"If I slow down, I'll realize I'm probably already full and then I won't want to eat any more. Now what good could that possibly do?" I timed my words so I never missed a forkful of eggplant and sausage.
When I was really full, I sat back and accepted a cup of coffee and one small cookie to top off the meal. Max had remembered that I never felt like I'd been fully fed unless I had something sweet at the end of the meal. That was her own fault. When I was a kid at home, she'd always had some kind of dessert ready for after dinner, even if it was Jell-O or canned fruit. So now I
The latest house, where the Heisers had lived for the last ten years, was in University Heights, a section of Iowa City that was just south of the University campus. I turned onto Melrose Avenue and passed the Finkbine Golf Course where three or four sets of golfers were taking advantage of the warm November sunshine. When I turned off Melrose into the heart of University Heights, I noticed the difference in architecture from where I lived, just a few miles north in Oak Grove.
Here, while the homes were still modest in size, the styles had the flavor of the Victorian era, with several brick two and three story homes in evidence. Some of the wooden Victorians had the big wraparound porches I was used to seeing back in Pittsburgh and had so rarely spotted in Iowa. There were some wood-sided Cape Cods scattered about among the larger houses, as well as the ever present one-story homes. The Capes had the required gingerbread trim and neat little porches or archways attached. All the homes were well maintained and the yards were well kept. Landscaping here was simple but attractive. Large trees shaded the front and side yards, an unusual sight just a few miles north where the town of Oak Grove had sprung up around treeless cornfields.
Maxine had chosen a two-story brick and stone Tudor style home that was built around 1940. There was a huge maple tree in the front yard and a wide side porch that she'd shaded with green and white awnings, easily dropped down to block the afternoon sun. She'd told me it would remind me of our aunt's home back in Pittsburgh and it did. They say that buying a home is an emotional decision and this one probably was. It was a great house, though. Max had always had taste for classy looks in houses and decorating, if not in her choices of hair color. I parked in the wide driveway and rang the bell on the side porch
"Come in," Max called from somewhere in the recesses of the house. I could smell the rich aromas of tomato sauce, hot sausage and garlic, overlaying the more subtle smell of the eggplant. Suddenly I was hungry. I went in, kissed my sister hello as she lifted a pan from the oven to the stovetop, and pulled up a chair to the kitchen table.
The eggplant was the best I'd ever eaten and I wondered why I never tried making that type of meal myself. I quickly realized that now I didn't have to, with Maxine so near.
"What's in this stuff again?" I mumbled through a mouthful of rich flavors.
"A lot of the usual ingredients for eggplant parmesan. I fried the eggplant then layered it with sauce I had in the freezer, parmesan cheese, and hot sausage. I added sliced elephant garlic cloves that I'd caramelized in olive oil. It really doesn't take long at all. Flouring and frying the eggplant is the hardest part of the recipe."
Of course, Max always had jars of homemade tomato sauce stashed in her freezer, which cut a few hours off the cooking time right there. I helped myself to a second square of the dish and dug in like a starving man.
"Slow down, Rudy. You'll get sick, “my sister admonished me as she'd done all of my life.
"If I slow down, I'll realize I'm probably already full and then I won't want to eat any more. Now what good could that possibly do?" I timed my words so I never missed a forkful of eggplant and sausage.
When I was really full, I sat back and accepted a cup of coffee and one small cookie to top off the meal. Max had remembered that I never felt like I'd been fully fed unless I had something sweet at the end of the meal. That was her own fault. When I was a kid at home, she'd always had some kind of dessert ready for after dinner, even if it was Jell-O or canned fruit. So now I
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