By Ina Louise
The platter was completely empty. Great Auntie Alma and I stared at the remaining oil spots, my dreams of a peaceful pre-Thanksgiving dinner draining down the garbage disposal.
“They’re all gone?” Great Auntie Alma asked incredulously. “We haven’t even had dinner yet!”
“I can’t believe it!” My Uncle Bobby’s clam cakes were the one thing that I looked forward to all year.
Both of us looked suspiciously at our family members as they placed various Cape Verdean dishes for the potluck on the table. We slowly turned around to scan the room.
“Who could’ve done this?” Auntie Alma whispered.
It could’ve been anyone. The family potluck was our favorite time of year: the day before Thanksgiving when we have our fill of Cape Verdean and New England cuisine. One of those being Uncle Bobby’s clam cakes with clam chowder. Nana came out of the kitchen with the pot we’d all been anticipating: cachupa. The stew was a staple on the islands and a tradition continued among the diaspora.
But my favorite was still the clam cakes.
“Ok, everybody,” Nana called, and everyone in the living room and dining room quieted. “Food’s ready!”
A cheer rose up from the crowd.
“Wait a minute!” I yelled above the noise. “It seems that someone ate all of the clam cakes!” Disgruntled sounds filled the air.
In solidarity, Great Auntie Alma put her arm around me and asked, “Who ate them? It was very rude to do so.”
She glared around the room and stopped on her eighty-year-old brother, Roger.
“You.” She pointed directly at him.
“Me?” he answered innocently. “I wouldn’t eat them all before anyone else got the chance.”
“And you are a compulsive liar. Hold up your hands.”
He did as he was told.
“Proof of your lies, right there! Half of your middle finger is missing, but every time you tell someone how you lost it, the story is completely different!”
“I tell cautionary tales for their own good!”
“The real story is a cautionary tale! The truth,” she said to the room, “is that he lost it cleaning out the snowblower while it was still running.”
The room gasped.
“You told me someone cut it off in a fight!” called Cousin Fernando from the dining room.
“That’s because you were using your finger in an offensive way.”
Sitting next to him was Cousin Jorge, who poked him in the chest and said, “You told me that you lost it setting off fireworks!”
“Enough about me, what about the twins? They eat everyone out of house and home!” Uncle Roger pointed across the living room to the two teenage boys dressed like they were playing in the World Cup.
“It wasn’t us!” they whined simultaneously.
They were my age, but I still had trouble telling them apart.
“We were outside playing soccer and came in ‘cuz Nana said the food was ready,” said Twin Number One.
“Yeah,” agreed Twin Number Two as he pointed to the dining area. “What about Cousin Nina?”
“It couldn’t be Nina,” chimed in Nina’s mother Luisa. “She’s counting calories and isn’t eating bread.”
“Mother!” Nina hid her face in horror.
“I think it was Grampy,” I cut in. Everyone looked at the elderly man snoring in his recliner. Forty sets of doubtful eyes turned to look at me. “He’s asleep because he’s stuffed. A full stomach will do that to you.”
“So will a few too many,” someone called from the back.
The room broke out into an uproar. Snippets reached my ears as accusations flew across the room: Auntie Claudia told Auntie Marcela that she was always selfish, Cousin Marco called round Cousin Vicente a glutton, and someone had the audacity to bring up the Stuffing Incident of 2017. Instead of a joyful family reunion dinner, everyone was yelling at each other like a bunch of wild turkeys. This was going to give me indigestion.
Three loud raps on the table brought silence to the room. Nana held a ladle high in her hand like a gavel ready to bring down judgment.
“I don’t care who ate the last clam cake. We are a family. Sometimes we do things to each other that are inconsiderate. Sometimes we do things that are stupid. But we support each other no matter what. Now”—she took a deep breath—“whoever ate the clam cakes before the rest of us got any, shame on you! I forgive you, but I hope you get a stomachache. Now, let’s eat!” She dropped the ladle, and her court was adjourned.
Everyone lined up to get their fill of Uncle Bobby’s clam chowder, Nana’s cachupa, Cape Verdean fried dough, gufong, and mini donuts.
As for me, I sat down next to an empty chair with my small bowl of cachupa, though I wasn’t terribly hungry. Not anymore, at least.
Nana sat next to me and whispered, “I saw you, ya know.”
I sighed and brushed crumbs off my shirt. “I really did mean to eat just one.”
Nana gave me a stern look. “You know what you have to do.”
I was too full to eat much more than the cachupa, so I finished in no time. Walking over to the food laden table, I picked up the empty platter.
“Uncle Bobby, do you think you could teach me how to make your clam cakes so we can make more for everybody?”
“Of course, dahling!” He answered in his thick New England accent. “I have just enough quahogs!”
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