Chapter Two -- The Best of Friends
As I left my apartment and approached Dobrila's door, I felt a distinct pang of hunger and realized I was famished. I had eaten very little at all that day while expending a tremendous amount of energy unpacking and attending to Dolly.
I could hear music emanating from her apartment, leaning my ear close to her door I could clearly hear the chorus of 'Viva Las Vegas', by Elvis Presley. I smiled and knocked, wondering if she would even be able to hear me over the music.
Dobrila opened the door surprisingly quickly with a bright smile as she bobbed her head and moved her prodigious hips to the rhythm of the song. She took my arm as I entered and leaned in to quickly kiss my cheek.
"Please to come in," she said, "Dinner is almost ready."
The friendly familiarity of her greeting kiss brought a smile to my lips as I followed her into her living room. She quickly turned the volume down on her sound system and turned to me with a broad smile.
"Is Elvis Presley, yes?" she beamed, indicating the shelf where she kept a surprising amount of Elvis memorabilia, photos, bobbleheads, and music CDs. "For me, he is the best. You like him?"
I had certainly heard of Elvis Presley and was even familiar with some of his music. On the other hand, Dobrila was apparently very much a fan, so I just nodded and smiled. I had no feelings about him one way or another, he was just not of my era musically.
It was then that the cooking aroma from her kitchen surrounded me and completely inundated my sense of smell and I nearly groaned aloud with pleasure.
"Oh...My...God, Dobrila!" I gasped, "Your dinner smells absolutely heavenly."
"Oh, Jimmy, I hope you like it. Is gołąbki and pierogi (stuffed cabbage rolls and pierogies) and is my babcia's (grandmother's) recipe. She led me into the kitchen area where the table was immaculately set, complete with candles. As I sat, she poured me a very generous amount of wine into a large goblet and placed it in front of me.
She turned to the stove where a large pot was on the burner. She lifted the lid and stirred the contents, sending another wave of incredible smells into the air.
"Dinner is ready very soon," she smiled as she opened the oven door and took out a large tray and set it on the counter. She carried on with small talk as she prepared the food and sipped her wine, telling me how she had followed her grandmother's recipe to the letter.
"Look, I show you," she said.
She took a small hard-bound notebook from a drawer beside the stove and handed it to me. Opening it I was surprised to see everything written in Polish script by her grandmother's hand. It looked very old, the pages browned with age, and everything seemed very fragile, and I handled it carefully.
Dobrila went on to explain how she had just recently come upon this particular recipe book after a recent trip to San Diego where she happened to look through several boxes of her family's heirlooms that were kept in her sister's basement. Whenever she spoke of her grandmother, mother, and sister, she always used the Polish terminology of babcia, matka, and siostra, respectively. I was a little surprised to see how emotional she became when speaking about her mother and grandmother, her voice broke, and tears welled in her eyes.
It told me a lot about the genuinely warm and loving woman she was, and it warmed my heart.
She served up the food onto warmed plates and set a plate before me piled high with food. I waited patiently while she served up her own plate and joined me at the table. She raised her wine glass to me.
"To good friends, yes?"
I held my glass up to her, repeating the toast, and we each sipped. I did my very best to be the soul of decorum as I began to eat. For as much as I wanted to just shovel the food into my mouth like a starving homeless person, I followed Dobrila's example and took my time. My God, her dinner was not just good, it was incredible. I have eaten pierogies and cabbage rolls many times in my life but never in my life have they ever tasted so astonishingly good.
I complimented her several times during the meal, which seemed to please her greatly. "I love to cook, Jimmy. My babcia taught me cooking when I was very young, and I always try to use her old original recipes. Is not so much fun to cook for just myself though. Is very nice having a guest for dinner, yes?"
She spoke of her youth in Poland and how at twenty years of age, her family had arranged for her to marry a much older man who brought her to the US, along with her younger sister, Beata. She partnered with her husband in his thriving investment and real estate business. When he died a few years later from cancer, she brought Beata into the business, and together they managed to make the business even more successful. Then, when Beata married, her husband was brought into the business as well.
They had several business investment properties to manage here in Las Vegas, so Dobrila decided to move here while Beata and her husband remained to handle the southern California accounts from the home office in San Diego. She grimaced slightly, "I did not like the weather in San Diego," she said, "I was always cold."
When I asked about her husband, she sighed and shrugged. "He was a nice and kind man," she offered. "Many years older than me, yes? My family arranged the marriage for me. Was not so much for love...more for convenience."
I nodded, wondering what convenience might mean. After relating about her husband, Dobrila seemed a little down and distracted. Thinking to enliven the mood I patted my stomach and smiled.
"I have to say, Dobrila, that was the best meal I have had in a very long time. Thank you for inviting me."
She smiled brightly and her disposition brightened almost immediately. "Thank you so much, Jimmy, and you are more than welcome. Was my pleasure to cook dinner for you. I will make up a special plate of leftover food for you, you can reheat tomorrow for your dinner, yes?"
"Wow, Dobrila, that would be amazing," I responded, already enjoying tomorrow night's dinner in my mind.
She paused, placing a fingertip on her lips as her eyes widened. "Wait..." she said thoughtfully, "Oh, Jimmy, I think I might have even better idea."
She stood and smiled, moving to her refrigerator, and opening the freezer compartment to retrieve her bottle of vodka. She scooped up two glasses on the way back and smiled at me. "Come," she said, "we go to the living room to relax a little, yes?"
Taking seats on her sofa, she poured generous amounts of vodka into each of our glasses. I quickly raised mine to her and said, "Here's to you, Dobrila. Thank you VERY much for dinner. Without a word of a lie, it was one of the best meals I've ever had."
