Censored Fireworks

Ahh, Censored Fireworks......name of my new band.

Come with me, through the tunnels of my strange memory, at least two decades ago. I belong to a middle ages re-enactment group, and we love any excuse for a party (gather) to, well, party! We'd do funky crafts, and eat and drink an unusual potluck of food and beverage - half of them modern foods, half of them period dishes we'd reconstruct from a few surviving cookbooks.

This happened in Hershey, PA, at a farm house that one of our members was renting in the middle of downtown. Hershey is very much a tourist town, centered around the amusement park and, of course, chocolate. I think it's an unspoken rule that every establishment must sell some form of chocolate, and I once joked at the Philly flower show that if you're a resident you must be able to recognize a cacao tree on sight. (I did, but much to the dismay of a person in the crowd who also happened to be from Hershey, she did not. There's a small grove in the center of Chocolate World, which is how I know. I think it's also a requirement that you must ride the ride at least twenty times, and Beware the Singing Cows. But I digress.)

The amusement park always does a fireworks show on July 4, and the park is packed. We're locals, technically, and we don't want to endure the tourist crowds, so why not have a party in the back yard, where we can do our own thing and watch the fireworks from the comfort of our own chairs?

Our local group's members have known each other for a long time, and after a while, we all know who's bringing what. One would bring sweet corn, another would grill burgers, another would insist on all-beef kielbasa as the superior grilled meat and bring a pack to compare to the burgers. On the period food side, one would make sekanjabin (a refreshing mint drink that's similar to period Gatorade), one was known for her fresh baked bread loaves, another would always bring a kicking Tart for Ember Day (cheese, onion, and parsley pie). Cheesy Goo was a perennial favorite (brie, butter, white pepper, cream cheese, gently simmer, slather on a brick and we'd eat it). The actual name is Digby's Savory Toasted Cheese, if you'd like to look up the recipe. Killer Pears was another ...um, favorite? Pears in light sugar syrup, but when it says "add pepper," please be very very careful exactly which species of pepper you add, long pepper packs an extra kick that will have you diving for the sekanjabin by the second bite.

For all that I'm Pennsylvania Dutch, born and bred, I can't cook to save my life. I've been kicked out of seven kitchens and counting. So I went with something simple - good old macaroni salad. To this day, for me it's the quintessential food of summer, and reminds me of those hazy days in downtown Hershey.

We cook for a crowd. Cook up two boxes of elbow macaroni, drain. Add enough "mayonnaise" to moisten with a tiny bit extra to give a decent coating without drowning the pasta. (We use Miracle Whip. I know, I know, but I like the extra kick the paprika gives it. It's a family thing; I grew up with it. I know your mileage will vary - de gustibus non est disputandum.) Now, here's where it diverges from most recipes: add two cans (or more) of tiny shrimp after draining, a half package of frozen peas (heated in the microwave, we use the steam-fresh bags, then cool it down again in water and add), a healthy dose of grated Parmesan cheese, two 8-ounce packages of co-jack cheese cubed into small bites, and 6 to 8 hard boiled eggs chopped up. Add some garlic powder, some shakes of powdered mustard, a shake or two of onion powder, mix it well, and serve it forth, and it will be good!

(That last phrase shows up again and again in a period cookbook written by Rupert de Nola in Italian in 1529, and it's become a tagline for experimental food. Especially if I've had a hand in making it. It's more a fervent wish to the cooking gods that I continue my lifelong streak of not killing anyone with my cooking. Yet.)

Notice that there's no celery. My husband loathes the stuff - the taste, the crunch, the rawness. So it's a no go. If you want to add it, go ahead, but please don't invite us. My husband has been known to make embarrassing retching noises near anyone who forces him to eat raw celery or anything in the cucumber family.

It was always a big hit, and notice that we made it in a double batch, because we'd have to top it off often and repeatedly at the July 4 party.

The main activity that we'd do at this particular party, before sundown and the fireworks, was cross-country croquet. Each person or couple or group would come up with one of the obstacles, and set up that stake's worth. You could bring your own props for it, or use the host's stuff (always a scrap lumber pile somewhere, tool shed, leather, low-quality polyester fabric bolts...) We were an eclectic crew.

The early winner, and repeated every year, was the water hazard.

The hosts had two younger kids, and a slip and slide was stashed in the garage. One of the college age girls found it, and squealing, brought forth her prize. They set it up, put a trickle of water to travel down the slope.....and then the girl herself chose to be the hazard! As you shot your croquet ball, she'd dive head first down the slip and slide, and try to catch the ball without using her hands. You can figure out how that worked, wink nudge. She got quite good at it over the years! You were given three shots to try to get it past her, and if you couldn't, there was a penalty and you had to play it where it was dropped - and the bottom of the slope. And work your way back up. By the time everyone had a go, there was a pile of colorful balls nesting forlornly out of bounds.

Good times.

Day over, activities and crafts put away, we would wind down. The fireworks were about to start, so we grabbed our chairs and moved to the meadow aside of the house. We had an excellent view of the fireworks from there, framed by two huge trees at the edge of the property. It had been hot and muggy all day, so we weren't surprised when sundown didn't bring much relief.

The fireworks sounded their open with resounding booms, and we, silly jokers that we were, started ooh-ing and aah-ing. Hershey always tried to put on a good show, so there was always something new each year - a new shape (stars were cool), a new color (half globes of one color above, another color below), that sort of thing. We looked forward to figuring out what the new pattern or design would be...

Until this year. We noticed something was going wrong. It looked as if a narrow band of dark clouds was creeping across our field of vision. At first, we were alarmed that there might be a nasty storm coming with the most unfortunate timing, but then we realized - it was the smoke from the fireworks! The muggy weather must have created a temperature inversion right through the firework display, and the smoke couldn't move. It jut got darker and darker, a thin band of black across the sky.

See the top third of the fireworks? No problem. Bottom third? Yep. Middle third? Not even close. That smoke was so thick it blocked the light entirely from the central band, obscuring the area where most of the fireworks were exploding.

Cue the jokes. "What, didn't we pay our electric bill?" "Who brought the curtain?" "Down in front!" "Aww, come on, I paid good money for this....seat...in a meadow....off campus..."

And, of course, me: "Gee, I didn't know we'd have censored fireworks!"

And because it was that kind of day, with good food and good company, it set off a wave of giggling that we couldn't get under control for the rest of the night. So we sat back and enjoyed what we could see, and made up stories about the part we were missing, and had a blast.

And went inside when it was over, and had giant bowls of ice cream.

Happy Summer, everyone.