One of my favorite meals

Fish stew.

And this story of a lost Hungarian-speaking parrot reminds me of a story Kati, my wife’s mother, tells. The family gets a parrot. Raised by a teenage boy, the parrot becomes known for its profanity. One day, the parrot flies away. Fliers are put on telephone polls. Grocers (the cisco routers of village life) are consulted. Kati sleeps on the porch, hoping the parrot will return. Finally, word comes that someone two villages over has found a parrot. Kati puts the parrot’s cage on the back of her bike and rides to the village. “How will I know it is your parrot?” asks the savior.