“Mummy, Mummy, Mummy!” wailed Rosa as she flew into her parents’ bedroom and then with a loud affected sigh, collapsed backwards on the bed spreading her wings wide open. “My life is over,” she continued to the amusement of her father who found it difficult to contain a laugh, while Sybil rolled her eyes and shook her head.

“What is it now young lady?” Sybil asked. Rosa repeated her last sentence adding a groan at the end of the last word. “We heard you,” continued Sybil while digging her husband in the ribs because she could see out of the corner of her eye that he was about to burst into laughter.

“Mummy, Mummy! Julia said she’s making Tur Chick for Chanukah breakfast.”

“Tur Chick?” both parents repeated together not knowing what Rosa was talking about. “What’s that?” asked George who had now wiped the smile from his face.

“You have to ask Julia,” Rosa groaned some more.

“If you don’t know what it is, then how do you know it’s bad?”

“Because, because, I don’t know what it is.” Both parents shook their heads in disbelief at their daughter’s insane logic.

“So let me understand what you are saying, I think,” replied Sybil. “If you don’t know what it is then its bad., is that correct?”

“Yes,” replied rosa trying to sit up but failing each time she tried to lift her body. Her father leaned over and helped her up.

“That’s insane, Rosa. Just because you don’t know what something is, doesn’t mean it’s bad.”

“Well, I know everything in the world and I’ve never heard of a Tur Chick before so it must be bad. My unicorns would tell me about it if it was good.”

Then it dawned on George what Rosa might be alluding to, he smiled. He remembered the conservation of a few days ago when Rosa asked what a Turducken was and when Julia informed her, she was rather taken back. So, he believed that Julia was having Rosa on and decided to pursue that line. “Is it something like the Turducken without the duck?” He asked in all seriousness. Sybil looked at him as if he was nuts.

“I don’t know. All I know is that Julia said that it was a Tur Chick.”

George hadn’t had his coffee yet and was never completely awake until he had had a least three mugs of the strongest Starbucks coffee known to the world. Julia usually got him his coffee as she took great pride in being the only cook in the house and objected profusely when someone tried to barge into the kitchen. So, anything that was baked, boiled, steamed, grilled, stewed or brewed, was her purview and that was that.

George was about to call his eldest daughter but before he did, Julia appeared at the doorway with a mug of steaming coffee. Sybil didn’t need coffee. She felt that life should be approached and dealt with on life’s terms, which was her way of saying no thank you to coffee.

George sat up and held out his wing, “thank you my dear,” he said as she put the mug on the bedside table. She was about to leave when her father asked her the question he had asked Rosa. “What is a Tur chick?”

Julia was unaware that that was the reason why Rosa was sitting on her parents’ bed. Once she did, she let out one of her distinct laughs. “Dad, all it is, is turkey bacon and breast of chicken chopped up in a sausage gravy.”

“To go on top of the Challah French Toast?” asked George thinking he had missed something.

“No dad. I was going to make some more Challah bread but found out that we are out of bread flour and I can’t get to the store.”

“Can’t you get some flown in from King Arthur or from Amazon?”

“Dad, we’ve had this conversation before. Unless we have a permanent address, no one will deliver to us.”

“That’s not true!” Sybil sat up in bed, “remember we got those knishes flown to us by that….” and here Sybil’s words trailed off as she remembered her gym loving vulture with the big nose.

George understood what was happening and shut down the thought. “Yes, Sybil. Why don’t you call your vulture friend and see if he and his wife can bring us some flour?” Sybil was snapped back to reality. “He was married to that adorable looking young vulture wearing nothing but….”

“All right, all right,” interrupted Sybil, “you’ve made your point.”

“Dad,” continued Julia, “knishes are made from potatoes and not from flour.” George hadn’t got a clue. “Anyway,” continued Julia, “it’s too late to make Challah, because it has to prove for hours in the fridge.” No, George wasn’t going to challenge his chef daughter and instead picked up his mug of coffee gingerly, hoping Rosa would stay right there and not start jumping up and down on the bed as she usually did. The coffee was very good. Just what George need to get his blood flowing. “So,” he began, “the turkey bacon with the chicken will be in a sausage gravy over what?”

“Biscuits,” replied Julia.

“Did you make the biscuits?”

“I did dad,” and then pre-empting her father, she knew exactly what he was going to say, “but dad the biscuits came in a mix.” George took another sip of his coffee and leaned back on his pillows.

“Sounds wonderful. I assume the sausages are beef,” and then realising that there had been an argument about chicken, because his dear darling wife depending upon the day and the mood she was in, either thought about eating chicken as being murder or delicious.

“Little pieces of chicken,” replied Julia and Sybil smiled.

“So that’s where you got the term Tur Chick from young lady.”

“But I’m right, aren’t I daddy?” she replied now sounding like a victim.

“Not really Rosa. Turkey bacon doesn’t really taste like turkey and I’m sure when Julia has finished with the chicken that won’t look like chicken either. So really once it’s all done you can call it whatever you want, just don’t call it Tur Chick.”

Rosa slid off the bed and with her head hung low walked out of the bedroom. Julia followed her not knowing where she was heading. George sipped some more of his coffee and Sybil lay back down and turned on her side facing away from her husband.

“Do you remember our wedding reception?” she asked and George was surprised by the question.

“Just like it was yesterday,” he answered, but he knew he was lying it was many years ago. Sybil thought he was being truthful.

“And do you remember what we had as the main meal?”

George panicked. No, he didn’t remember, but now he was expected to. “Turkey?” he replied more as a question than an answer.

“No you fool!” Sybil turned and faced him. “Sausages. Don’t you remember that.”

Of course he didn’t remember that. “Vaguely,” he replied. “What about it?”

“I just can’t remember what was served with it though.”

“Tur Chick?” asked George.

Sybil shook her head, “why me? You’re just as bad as your youngest daughter,” and with that she pulled the bed clothes over her head.

George smiled. Yes, he now remembered the wedding reception, but he remembered the night much better. He put the coffee mug on the bedside table and was about to join his wife when a distraught sounding Rosa came back in, “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy,” she wined, “Timmy says they have to be Hebrew National hot dogs and not sausages, because sausages aren’t kosher.”

Time to get up thought George as he slid into his slippers.