Manning The Family Secret

“What I left behind was,” a man on his last rope confessed, before halting the dramatic monologue then expressed carefully thought-out words, “the thing I was metaling with when my world flooded from an unexpected financial tidal wave overturning boring well-done entrees.”

Putting down grocery bags containing canned bean products and Italian prepared microwavable dishes, Lucas’ wife stood stunned watching the family dinner plan crumble.

“I was drowning,” he continued the explanation, “trying to keep myself above water,”

“What are you talking about?” She interrupted.

“Reality visited me at the door today, honey,” Lucas continued, “it performed its service, very professionally.”

Taking the conversation in stride she ventured finding the bedroom where the bureau had resided, since they got married, over fifty years ago. Comforted, the antique still answered questions through reflective exercises reminding Mrs. Frankfurt she loved Lucas’ hot dog personality accepting the grade ‘A’ lean porker for what he was worth.

Using the mirror’s power, she noticed perfectly positioned, three baby pictures featuring off springs who all ended up wearing military uniforms. When their country defending commitment ended, they returned home, receiving honorable medals, acknowledging a finished job. When things settled down Mother Frankfurt never had to turn any grill on instead, they respectively accepted their parent handed down assignments inside the self-run condiment business bearing the clan’s name. After a deep breath she rejected any wiener roasting and saw the man who she exchanged vows with, ‘Mr. Frankfurt, CEO of Frankfurt Seasoning And Oil’. With her composure under control she presented an inquiry, “what did you mettle with that made you feel in over your head?”

Pointing down to the paper stack, “its all there, in a historical journalistic manuscript a local reporter conceived, and it has,”

“It has what?”

“The ingredients to the explosive sauce,” Lucas admitted ready to throw in the towel.

“I nearly left when you accused me that I spilt the concoction potion recipe needed to unleash Frankfurter gas,”

“And I am glad you didn’t,” Lucas Frankfurt fulfilled a occasionally rising societal obligation, stretching his legs, “but what are we going to do? Our most prized tempting taste is no longer a mystery!”

Phone calls were quickly dialed, and the sibling trio all made their daily pilgrimage to the mansion where Mother Frankfurt greeted them, “My three sons, my dear children, I know you sacrificed your beloved committed wives when they came too close, lurking around our healthy addition to the all-American attitude, but a book is coming out, clearly stating our step-by-step process for indestructible profit ability.”

“You mean what we throw together, developing something so astounding people pull it off the shelves creating mass hysteria?” The eldest named Ketchup wanted confirmation.

“Or was it the brandy shot slipped into the dressing, giving it that feel good moment?” second coming middle one Mayonnaise asked.

“Mom,” Relish the youngest interrupted, “they cannot steal the true reason behind our ‘you need a fan post smelling’ fortune.”

“Why is that?” Mother Frankfurt watched the three guard their cuisine crest.

“It’s your tender loving care seasoning production, and the ‘tiny bubbles’ jingle, we all sung in the pool during the commercial, promoting Daddy’s festive creation, minus this electrical sparking spice idea, there would be no reason to hold our tradition invitation closest friends only, who see nothing barbeque,” the kids all proclaimed.

Realizing everything intact, Mrs. Frankfurt proceeded back into the kitchen where her husband, armed with a spoon and bowl mixed anything he could find, stirring the unique marketable product. “Lucas you were not metaling,” she concluded, “you were experimenting.”

“And look what we got,” Lucas Frankfurt smiled showing the new menu flavor, ready to join the other number selections, “our boys, loving trusting individuals who will continue this happy meal mission into the future.”

“And spread tiny pool bubbles worldwide,” Mrs. Frankfurt figured, satisfied her cooking was bun.