Aachoo Voo, Private Eye
Episode 22
Tom B.Ozo's Ham Ball Haven
(These events happened before Aachoo Voo's
unfortunate incarceration FYI)
Tom was excited. His mom was excited. I was excited. (Perhaps all for different reasons) I'll get to that later. Or maybe not. New York City was holding it's collective breath. A new eatery was opening up down the street from Clapsaddles'. Harold Clapsaddle was not excited. He was chewing nails and spitting unprintable words. Tom B. had worked for him for a few years as a dishwasher and fly killer and had been brilliant at both jobs but what he'd really been brilliant at was creating brain twisting recipes and exotic menus that sometimes required a translator from the UN. Luckily for Tom B. Ozo, his boss would occasionally have some sort of emergency (such as rescuing his grandmother out of a tree who'd been attempting to rescue her cat Roscoe out of a tree on a bi-monthly basis or some other hair-brained exasperating Clapsaddle family drama. No wonder Harold was so grumpy and prone to pull pranks. A kind of revenge, I suppose.
The Fire Department guys had been called out so often to that tree that they'd finally refused to come anymore and told the family that it was their problem but that they'd be happy to come back if the house was on fire. Besides, they were tired of being hissed at and ripped to shreds by that mean little critter. (And by that, I mean the grandmother.)
On these occasions when Harold was forced to leave the city and take care of Clapsaddle Clan problems, he would leave Tom B. in charge of the always full coffee shop/sandwich shop/fine dining (in his dreams) well known, slightly illegal establishment. An occasion for which Tom B. was always ready and he'd proudly whip on his starched white apron and a tall pristine chef's hat and begin taking orders and creating cuisine that would rival that of the most creative and insane French and Norwegian chefs anywhere on the planet. When word got out that Tom B. was cooking at Clapsaddles', people would line up for blocks to see and hopefully taste some of his concoctions. Extra policemen had to be sent out to direct traffic on our street and to keep order while the customers gave their, you know...orders. Once, twelve people were arrested (I forget why) and once, a member of the royal family of England was smuggled by incognito for a bit of Drunken Shepherd's Pie but left deeply disappointed when Tom informed the valet that they were "all out of shepherds."
Have you ever heard of a Bloody Mary Pie or Quack Quack Quiche or (so help me, God) Rabbit Foot Rarebit? I didn't think so. Ever had an edible necklace made of fresh asparagus and new potatoes? A soup that was so thick that you had to eat it with a knife and fork? I think he called it Shoe Leather Soup. (It was delicious.) I have no idea what was in it but it was delicious. And you didn't have to eat anything else for at least ten days, you were that full.
Tom could make a Cracker Jack Sandwich that would make you cry. (And break a tooth.) He'd whip up a Cactus and Cauliflower Casserole that you'd never forget no matter how badly you wanted to and his ever popular Beef-less Wellingtons....well... would make you slap your mama as MiMi Voo would say. In fact, Tom liked that so much that he created a mysterious and savory dish called The Slap Your Mama in her honor. I don't exactly know what all the ingredients were but I know some of them came from MiMi's freezer all the way from Voo Bayou in Louisiana. Coo-ee!
When Tom was in charge, sometimes he'd call MiMi and she'd come rushing over with boxes full of things and work as his "sous- chef." She loved it and Poppi loved getting her out of his hair for a while. He'd rub his hands together and pull out his stamp collection and smile a little Mona Lisa smile (which is about the extent of a proper English gentleman's expression of excitement.) Anyway, it kept her out of trouble and the customers adored her. She usually went home with her pockets jangling and her eyes twinkling. When MiMi was around, Mr. D'Sal ate there every hour on the hour and had to starve himself the rest of the month to lose the weight. He was smitten with MiMi and her roux. (She called it Voo Roux) and boy, was it good! He even put it on his doughnuts.
If Harold ever suspected anything out of the ordinary going on while he was away he never said but his beady little German/Navajo eyes would fill with tears when he saw all the money in the till. (By the way, Clapsaddle is an Americanized spelling of the German word Klebsattel which is a nickname for a horseback rider.) I know because I asked Harold where he got that name after spending many sleepless nights wondering where he got that name. And I'm pretty sure you've been wondering the same thing so now we both know.
After giving it much thought and at the urging of myself and others who dared him to do it, Tom had at last, after years of plumbing, cooking, landscaping, fixing broken things, part-time clowning and investigating cases that I couldn't personally do, decided to open his very own restaurant. Tom had come up with a recipe for something he called Ham Balls and they started selling like hot cakes. Sometimes he ran a special deal on a Ham Balls and Hot Cakes twofer which sold like....well, you know. He made and sold them when Harold was away and he was filling in and even when Harold was there on the premises, Tom would meet customers truly addicted to the things out in the parking lot and sell them covertly out of his brother's truck. I'm telling ya, people would do anything to get their hands on those......balls. And that would be his slogan when he began to do radio commercials. (They wouldn't allow him to say it on television.)
They were made of ham, of course and God knows what else but they were very tasty and could be used in all sorts of recipes that called for balls. It was a no-brainer. Tom would open Tom B.'s Ham Ball Haven and fulfill his destiny. Harold would cry bitter tears when that day came but he never lost any of his customers aka dirty old men and soon came to realize that New York City was big enough for the both of them. His cash register would never be that full again but it was alright. MiMi would still drop by occasionally and cook up a mess of somethin' for him and "the boys" and everyone would be happy.
The King of Things, T-Wayne Elliottt, Mr. D'Sal, Man Nee Joe and I would all invest in Tom B.'s new business and would make ourselves a small fortune. The decade of the 1940s was obviously the appointed time for Ham Balls and fulfilling destinies for a lot of us and I was thrilled for my friend Tom even though he was born without a last name and would remain last-nameless for many years until he met a gumshoe named Aachoo Voo (boy, that's a story in and of itself!) who would thoughtfully make him up one that seemed perfect, never dreaming that one day B Ozo would become the name of one of the most famous clowns in the history of clownship! Who would ever have foreseen and imagined that?! It was downright prophetic. (In a non-biblical way.) But it was a magical thing too and eventually, Tom started decorating his smaller ham balls like tiny clown heads and mothers would hire him to cater their kids' birthday parties where the man and his clownish balls were always a big hit. Tom was living the dream.
Tom B. Ozo
