And He Was
Immensely Popular In The Neighbourhood, No Doubt Because He Was The
Father Of Four Rather Good-Looking, Marriageable Girls; And As He Kept
Open House His Kitchen Was Always Full Of Visitors, Mostly Young Men,
Who Sipped Mate By The Hour, And Made Themselves Agreeable To The
Girls.
One of Don Ventura's most delightful traits - that is, to us young
people - was his loud voice.
I think it was a convention in those days
for estancieros or cattlemen to raise their voices according to their
importance in the community. When several gauchos are galloping over
the plain, chasing horses, hunting or marking cattle, the one who is
head of the gang shouts his directions at the top of his voice.
Probably in this way the habit of shouting at all times by landowners
and persons in authority had been acquired. And so it pleased us very
much when Don Ventura came one evening to see my father and consented
to sit down to partake of supper with us. We loved to listen to his
shouted conversation.
My parents apologized for having nothing but cold meats to put before
him - cold shoulder of mutton, a bird, and pickles, cold pie and so on.
True, he replied, cold meat is never or rarely eaten by man on the
plains. People do have cold meat in the house, but that as a rule is
where there are children, for when a child is hungry, and cries for
food, his mother gives him a bone of cold meat, just as in other
countries where bread is common you give a child a piece of bread.
However, he would try cold meat for once. It looked to him as if there
were other things to eat on the table. "And what is this?" he shouted,
pointing dramatically at a dish of large, very green-looking pickled
peaches. Peaches - peaches in winter! This is strange indeed!
It was explained to him that they were pickled peaches, and that it
was the custom of the house to have them on the table at supper. He
tried one with his cold mutton, and was presently assuring my parents
that never in his life had he partaken of anything so good - so tasty,
so appetizing, and whether or not it was because of the pickled
peaches, or some quality in our mutton which made it unlike all other
mutton, he had never enjoyed a meal as much. What he wanted to know
was how the thing was done. He was told that large, sound fruit, just
ripening, must be selected for pickling; when the finger dents a peach
it is too ripe. The selected peaches are washed and dried and put into
a cask, then boiling vinegar, with a handful of cloves is poured in
till it covers the fruit, the cask closed and left for a couple of
months, by which time the fruit would be properly pickled. Two or
three casks-full were prepared in this way each season and served us
for the entire year.
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