GOOD FRIDAY
My first time "celebrating" Good Friday.
I was raised Buddhist*, so Christian denominational holidays are a foreign concept to me. And although I live in a Catholic canton, most Swiss people aren't actively religious. Like, I don't know anyone who attends church and all that. Families will celebrate the major holidays though (probably an excuse to eat together), and for the first time since I've known Daniel, his mother invited us over for lunch on Good Friday.
* Fun fact: I went to a private Christian school from kindergarten to third grade, because my (classist, racist) mother thought it would be "safer" than going to public school in East LA. We stopped going there because it was too expensive.
"We're having fish," she said.
I had only learned earlier this year through my German teacher, that Catholics don't eat meat on Fridays. They eat fish instead, which isn't considered meat. I just googled it, and it's because in many religious cultures, they separated fish from warm-blooded animals, since they're cold-blooded. Also, according to other search results, they're not mammals, which further separates them from humans. (I can't find that source anymore, but here's another similar one.)
ANYWAY. I digress.
His mother lives in the canton of Aargau. There's pretty much one route to get there: from Luzern to Zürich HB, take the train going towards Bern but get off at Baden to transfer to the much smaller, local train.
I woke up early, showered, and wore my Tuesday of California diner dress in cornflower blue†. It was a really nice day outside, but I've been tricked by sunny weather into thinking that it's warm, so I brought my red and purple scarf that I bought in Bali 10 years ago. The material is thin so it's not too warm, but you can wrap it up around your head and neck for added warmth if necessary.
† I bought a deadstock version about a year ago, so I got it for way cheaper than the current price.
We arrived in Zürich shortly after 12:30, still on track. We stopped by Bakery Bakery where Daniel bought a blueberry matcha lemonade for himself and a matcha crookie to share. Then, we found our train and settled in some vacant seats.
It's been a while since I've made this journey to ██████████████. It's only one stop on this train, but I didn't remember this. I trusted Daniel to know when to alight as he makes this journey at least once a month.
We were halfway to Bern before Daniel noticed that something was off.
We pulled into Brugg, where we could've gotten off and taken the bus from there. But he only noticed as the train was pulling away. Whoops. I told Daniel to call his mom telling her that we'll be late. She laughed when he explained why.
I should visit Aarau one day and see what it's all about.
In most parts of Switzerland, there isn't a ticket barrier to pass through. You buy your ticket beforehand and then wait for the ticket conductor to stop by your seat to check your ticket. You're less likely to be checked on the bus, but there's a 95% chance you will get checked on the train. We could've not paid for the extra ticket, but if we did this, it's a hefty fine. So, we spent another CHF 9 from Aarau to ██████████████.
Fish for lunch
After what felt like the whole fucking day on the train, we finally arrived at Daniel's mom's home. We were surprised to see her boyfriend there. I've only met him three times. The last time was at our wedding, 7 years ago. He's a friendly man, a Sicilian who grew up in Switzerland, so he speaks German, Italian, and Swiss German. Previously, we had only exchanged smiles, because we couldn't communicate with each other at all.
Daniel's mom is Polish and quite traditional. "I'm plating the food," she announced from the kitchen. I wondered if it was her cue to have me help out, being the other "woman‡." Normally, when it's just the three of us having dinner, if I offer to help, she'll say it's fine, but this time, she nodded vigorously when I asked if she needed help. So I took it that I understood her cue correctly and congratulated myself for not disappointing her.
‡ I'm not out to Daniel's mom and I'm fine with that.
We had a heaping plate of mashed potatoes, three pieces of European sea bass each, and two kinds of salad. There was a red beet and onion salad that I really enjoyed. For dessert, we had store-bought strawberry cake.
The fish is hidden beneath the salad.
Strawberry cake! My favorite.
We talked about whatever stuff during lunch. I understood 60% of the conversation. When I didn't understand something, I just smiled and laughed. Even phrasing the question, "What do you mean?" feels too complicated sometimes. I only asked Daniel to explain sparingly, because I didn't want to draw too much attention to myself that I still don't understand. However, Daniel's mom said she wanted to give me a compliment, that we can finally understand each other! His mom isn't great at giving compliments§, so I thought that was nice of her.
§ I made dinner for the three of us one time, and the only thing she said was, "The spring onions are nice." She had chopped them.
Some games
After lunch and a break, we told his mom that we brought a game to play together. Her boyfriend watched Italian TV while we played Team 3. As soon as we started playing, I knew his mom didn't like the game. We played one round. I asked her what she thought of it.
"Bullshit!" she exclaimed.
His mom barely knows any English, so it felt like a real statement to say that in English. We laughed.
"I know something we can play," she said. She left the room and returned with a triangular shaped bag.
Earlier on the train, I had asked Daniel if his mom liked games.
"Oh, she loves them," he said, which was a shock to me, because for all these years I've known her, he never mentioned this to me before, nor had we ever played a single board game with her. (I would say that Daniel has a decent relationship with his mother, but at the same time, they're not emotionally close at all.)
The game was called Triominos Pocket, which they had played all the time during Daniel's childhood. It had been a while, so Daniel looked up the instructions on YouTube. "We've been playing it wrong," he said. "You're supposed to calculate points. We never did that."
His mother rolled her eyes. "That's complicated. Let's just play it how we used to. Easy."
So I can't tell you how you're supposed to play the game, but this is how we played it:
There are triangular tiles, each corner with varying numbers. Each player receives 7 tiles to start, and the goal was to match the tiles with corresponding numbers. If you didn't have a match, you would draw an additional tile from the bag. The first person to lose all their tiles wins.
It felt like a brain-off game, which I greatly appreciated. Sometimes, I just don't want to think. However, it made me really sleepy, and I needed two coffees to get through it.
The lost email
After two rounds, we made some matcha lattes (his mom bought a whole kit). "Shall we play another round?" she asked.
"How about I help you with your email stuff?" Daniel suggested. From the living room, his mom's boyfriend was now doomscrolling on Instagram. The sound was very loud. (Boomers, they're just like us! Except the volume is much higher.)
"You can come with us into the office, if you want," Daniel suggested. He probably thought I'd feel awkward being left alone with her boyfriend. He was right. "I'll join you!" I said happily.
We entered the office, which used to be Daniel's room. I started looking around, and noticed a pair of thick, woollen socks with a rose pattern. "Do you want that?" his mother asked.
"Sure!" I exclaimed. They were brand new. I put them in Daniel's backpack. Whenever I go over, his mom always gives me random things. Sometimes I decline, but most of the time, I accept. Last time, she gave me a bag full of used (but clean) socks. I accepted them all.
Earlier in the afternoon, she had given me a new bar of soap with a washcloth. I was happy, because I had just run out of body wash, and my washcloths were getting worn out.
Meanwhile, Daniel was busy searching for a "lost" email. I helped them look.
It was all boring stuff, but because I'm deprived of these types of familial interactions, I gladly participate when I get the chance.
No spaghetti
After the email was found, we retreated to the living room. Daniel's mom's boyfriend was now watching an Italian cooking show. His mom narrated what was happening, tried to guess all the ingredients, and what the chef was making.
"It's all fish!" Daniel noticed, "Because it's Karfreitag¶."
¶ That's Good Friday in German.
The show switched to another chef, who was cooking at a market. He was making some sort of fish stew. Later, he made pasta from scratch.
"Mm, that makes me hungry," said Daniel's mom. "If you want any food, just say the word. I can make spaghetti."
My eyes lit up. I looked at Daniel.
"I think we'll leave soon," he said.
"But spaghetti," I whispered.
"It'll be fast," said his mom's boyfriend. "The pasta cooks quickly and you can whip up sugo in no time."
Daniel's mom looked at me. I looked at Daniel.
"It'll be 9 by the time we get home," he explained. His eyes were droopy. "Plus, we haven't fed Boba yet."
"Ah yes, the cat," said his mom. "They have to feed the cat," she explained to her boyfriend.
She looked slightly disappointed. What I know about traditional moms is that they feel fulfilled when they take care of their children.
"We should get going soon," said Daniel. We said our goodbyes and left the apartment with the sun still out. By the time we returned to Luzern, it was dark.
"I'm glad you said to leave when we did," I said.
Even though Daniel's mom lives far away, I don't mind visiting her from time to time. I enjoy the simple meals and conversations. I no longer have contact with my family in that way, and I miss it. So when I'm given the opportunity to have a home-cooked meal while feeling taken care of, I will seize it.