Chapter 9

Chapter nine There are only two words that could describe the mood in our apartment that night: Dark gray cloud. Okay, that's three words, but you get the idea. The dark gray cloud, also known as Judith Ann Zipzer, was in a major bad mood. From the way she was acting, you would have thought she had lost the cooking competition. "Cheer up, Judy," I said to her as she sat at the kitchen table polishing her vegetables. "You're one of the two finalists." "First of all, Henry," she snapped, "it's not Judy, it's Judith Ann. We've gone over that before. And second of all, my victory means

nothing when the other finalist is you—and your peanut butter mess." Ouch. That girl had one sharp tongue. I was never so glad to hear the doorbell ring. I raced out of the kitchen with my ears still burning. It was my grandfather, Papa Pete, at the door. He was wearing the red running suit he always wears on the weekends. Comfort first is his motto. Papa Pete's face was so happy that the mood in the house changed immediately. "Hey, Hankie," he shouted as he came in the door. "Give your grandpa a big hug." Papa Pete is so tall that when he hugs you, he lifts you right off your feet.

"I hear you're a champion cook," he said. "Just like me." Papa Pete ran the Crunchy Pickle, which is a deli on Broadway, a block away from our apartment. My mom runs it now. She's into health food and is trying to make luncheon meats good for you. Her specialty is soylami— which is a combination of gray soy stuff and other non-salami type things. It's got everything in it but taste. Papa Pete still works at the sandwich counter at lunchtime and slips real salami into the sandwiches. You always know when someone's eating a Papa Pete sandwich because they're smiling while they're chewing. "Papa Pete, you won't believe what I did," I told him. "My winning dish came to me in a flash." "Your mother told me," he said with a grin. "Lunch in a glass. I love the sound of that." "And if it wins, I could become really famous. First, I'll demonstrate it on TV. And then, every restaurant in New York will have it on the menu. We could even put a sign in front

of the Crunchy Pickle that says 'Home of Hank Zipzer's Famous Lunch in a Glass.' We'll have lines around the block. We'll have to hire our own security guard." "Slow down there, Hankie," Papa Pete said. "You haven't won yet." "Don't tell Judith Ann," I whispered in his ear, "but I really hope I do!" "It'll be our secret," he whispered back. We hooked our pinkie fingers together then pulled them apart. It was our code for keeping a secret. Holding up a brown paper bag he had brought, Papa Pete said a loud voice, "Attention, Zipzer family. I brought dinner.

Pickles, potato salad, and sandwiches. Half pastrami, half soylami." "And guess which ones are going to be left over," I said. "I like soylami," Emily said, coming into the room wearing her iguana around her neck like a scarf. "That's because all five of your taste buds are asleep on your tongue," I said. "For your information, the human tongue has between two thousand and eight thousand taste buds," Emily said. "And all of mine are wide awake, thank you very much." "Really? Because I thought I heard them snoring."

Papa Pete let out one of his great big laughs, the kind that make his whole body shake. "Don't encourage him, Pete," my father said, looking up from his crossword puzzle. "Reward Hank when his grades improve, not for his wisecracks." Papa Pete and my mom took the sandwiches and pickles out of the bag. "Come have dinner with us," my mom called to Judith Ann. "We have a delicious deli sandwich waiting for you." The kitchen door swung open, and Judith Ann stuck her head out. "Congratulations to you!" Papa Pete said to her, reaching out to shake her hand. "I heard you wowed the judges, too. I love a good meatball myself. My secret is lots of garlic. What's yours?" "No meat," she told him. "Oh," Papa Pete said. "I never would have thought of that. Meatless, huh? So I bet you'll pick one of these soylami sandwiches, right?"