Not a sentence you hear everyday. But I did. Why? Because Mr Woog's Nagyi (Grandmother) lives there. She is 95, as strong as an ox and can wolf down Pörkölt like it's nobodies business. This is her.
If you are intrigued about what goes on at an Hungarian Nursing home's annual Fete in Blacktown during a heat wave, please read on.
Blacktown is situated about an hour west of Sydney. It is sometimes cruelly refereed to as the Ass End of the World. It is simply not true. It should be called Hell's Oven because the heat is stifling. Flies have been known to fall from the sky, alight. And today was no exception. We arrived to go get Nagyi and take her out to the fete, and she refused to leave her air-conditioned room.
Cease bonding time.
Now you know you are a Hungarian Nursing Home when all the buildings look like this.
First port of call should always be the Hungarian Arts and Crafts Stall, because there may be something lovely to buy.
So, you decided to save your money. And a rumour has started to sweep the room that the Dobostorte stock is depleting rapidly at the cake stall. So you are swept along with the concerned crowd towards the cakes.
Now the cake stall is an extremely big deal. And it does not bring out the best in the elderly Hungarians, who will shove you aside as sure as look at you. Or tread on your toes, push in or swear at you in Hungarian (at least it sounded like a swear word....) And everyone is stocking up on these.
And because it is cake, Mr Woog decides to take no shit and wrangles himself to the front of the line. Get in there Honey!
Marrying into the Hungarian culture automatically has benefits. It is mainly based on food. You are required to eat. and eat. And Mr Woog proudly tells me that Hungary has the highest rate of heart disease in the world, as he smacks back a cabbage roll with sour cream with a fried bread chaser. Lunch is served just when the temperature goes from feral to hell.
I sit under a scrappy gum tree on a wonderful bindy patch while the extended Woog Clan make like little piggies. Then I notice a group of superbly overweight old men chugg-a-lugging something that sparks my attention.
Aha! I treat myself to a half litre bottle of Dreher, a most under-rated pilsner. I get my Hungarian Buzz on which ultimately saves my mood.
So I sit and sip and watch old Hungarian's eat with gusto. I note very unique fashions are common and almost squealed with delight when a saw a rockin 80 year old dude sporting dazzling white leather loafers, dazzling white pants, a red shirt undone just enough to show off a handsome gold medallion, and topped off with a white fedora! T'was sublime. White is VERY popular with Hungarians living in sweltering conditions. And I have NEVER seen a white crocheted suit before.........
With everyone fed and sufficiently fed up, I asked the family what we were doing next.......
And whether everyone had had enough.........
So we staggered back to our car which had been baking like a total bitch in the sun and came home. And now I have sent Mr Woog out on a mission to find a bottle shop that sells Dreher.
