Tonight's dinner was relatively simple: bacon rendered, then set aside; then brussels sprouts, halved, browned in the fat; then cooked down in a mix of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. All reassembled, and served.
His bowl looked nice.
"I need to show your bowl, not mine. Mine has too much schmutz on it."
I admit: I may have been mispronouncing the word, and I may be miswriting it now. The most interesting part is that he'd never heard the word. And his parents were of Germanic parentage! His grandfather drove for the Kaiser!
That led to a silly but funny discussion of Yiddish / Germanic words he didn't know. It all started with schmutz. I just hadn't dished out my bowl beautifully enough for a good photo.
Schmutz. He didn't know the word.
That led to "schmaltz" and "smarm" or "smarmy".
Our dinner conversations range far and wide.
