The Wyandotte herald. (Wyandotte, Mich.) 1879-1943, 1942-05-22
Bonne-Bouche
By GERTRUDE BERNUTH
Mcclure syndieate-wNU service.)


Az at the tiny hotel table opposite
her enormous husband Mrs. Hoops
was perched on the edge of her
chair, with both forearms on the
table, and her head well over her
plate. There was something tense
about her attitude. 1t almost
seemed as if she were guarding her
plate from invasion.
AS indeed, she was. And as, in
deed, she had reason to. The
marauder that she feared was Mr..
Hoops
For twenty-five years Mrs. Hoops
had been guarding the food on her
plate from her husband A vora-
cious eater, nothing struck Mr..
Hoops funnier than, after having
made away with all of his own food,
to reach across and steal titbits
from his wife. Look" he would
say, gazing out of the window, Its
beginning to rain" And Mrs. Hoops
would look, and when she looked
back at her plate again there would
be roar of laughter from Mr..
Hoops, and she would find some
precious mOrsel had disappeared
"Oh, Herbert" she would cry in
dlsmay, you ate my last mush-
room!" And Mr.. Hoops would roar
louder than ever. He thought it just
too funny for anything. The more
indignant she became, the funnier
he thought it, Sometimes his huge
body almost rolled off his chair,
laughing
Mrs. Hoops did wish that she could
learn from experience She had
learned that no food was really hers
until it got inside of her mouth, but
she couldn't seem to remember that
when Mr.. Hoops told her to look
somewhere, an attack was immi-
nent. Invariably she looked But
she realized that she played right
into his hands, not only by looking,
but also by her childish habit of
saving the most tOothsOme morSels
until the last, to be eaten slowly,
with full enjoyment of their delec-
liability. For Mrs. Hoops was no
i4iNol4 PAN OAC
She remembered one time in Ra-
PABLO, on the Italian Riviera, when
she had saved a delectable scrap
of breast Of guinea chicken, cooked
with white wine and truffles, sous
cloche. Mr. Hoops had pointed out
to her Sarah Bernhard across the
room. Of course, she didn't see
Bernhard when she looked, nor did
she ever see her titbit of guinea
chicken again. But she heard Mr..
Hoops roars Of laughter.
She remembered a soupcon of
Wiener-schnitZel in Vienna, innu-
merable bits of hors d'oeuvres in
Sweden (the Hoopses were great
travelers), some bouillabaisse in
MarseilleS, creme brulee with
spiced cherries in California, some
tripe at the Parker House in Bos-
ton, some broiled lakefsh at the
Hotel Blackstone in Chicago. Pretty
nearly every place she had ever
gone to with Mr.. Hoops, he had
played this same joke on her. If
one could call it joke. 1t was
much more than a joke to her now.
1t was a serious matter which had
so gotten on her nerves that they
were on edge every time she sat
down to a meal.
And now the Hoopses, on a motor
trip, were having breakfast at a
little country hotel in Vermont. Mr..
Hoops, looking over the menu, had
ordered a double order of calves
liver and bacon; Mrs. Hoops had
ordered country sausage. Country
sausage in these little inns was al
ways homemade and savory.
THAT calves liver looks good"
Mrs. Hoops said to her husband,
watching him take great mouthfuls
of it and swallow them almost
whole. 1T is" declared Mr.. Hoops
between mouthfuls. 1T melts down
ones throat" In no time he had
eaten nearly all of it; just one sue
culent bonne-bouche remained.
Mrs. Hoops looked longingly at the
bit that was left. She would love a
taste of that. Her own order of
country sausage was wonderfully
good, but she had a special fond
ness for calves liver, and now, see
ing it on Mr. Hoops plate and real
izing how tender and delicate it was,
she wished she had ordered it her
self. Suddenly dazzling idea &C.
Cured to her.
For goodness sake!" she ex-
claimed, gazing hard across the
room, over Mr. Hoops shoulder, Il
believe that's the Nesbits over there
by the window"
Couldn't be-" said Mr.. Hoops,
taking a great bite out of corn
muffin, and talking with his mouth
half full. THE Nesbits were sailing
for Europe the first of August"
Il don't care if they were, I'm
sure that's the Nesbits," she de-
clared stoutly. do look, Herbert"
she urged. I'm so near-sighted l
can't tell.
Mr.. Hoops put down his muffin
and twisted himself around in his
chair. "Where?" he said. Il don't
see the Nesbits, nor anybody who
looks at all like them"
There was a crow of triumph
from Mrs. Hoops. Mr.. Hoops turned