Sometimes living with small children feels like living with miniature Amelia Bedelias. If you aren’t familiar with the kids’ book character, Amelia Bedelia is a sweet and hardworking housekeeper created by her author in the 1960s. Fortunately, she’s fictitious, otherwise reading about her antics would make me far too anxious and uncomfortable; though always well-meaning, she takes every instruction literally.

Often in the collection of books the employers leave a list of simple instructions for Amelia Bedelia, that she completes in her own style. “Dust the furniture. Did you ever hear tell of such a silly thing? At my house we undust the furniture. But to each his own way.” Hence she obediently tosses dust everywhere, coating the couch in a fine layer.

Being directed to “dress the chicken” for dinner generates a home-sewn outfit for the still-raw whole poultry. “Drawing the drapes” doesn’t reduce light in the room, but it does result in a nice still-life sketch of the window. “Weeding the garden” causes Amelia Bedelia to add a whole bunch of fresh weeds to the ones still out there.

Her saving grace is that while she might not be able to bake what the Rogers wanted her to (take your guess at what kind of sponge cake she made), she always averts getting into trouble by how delicious her own recipes are: lemon meringue, butterscotch cake, strawberry tarts.

My kids have not yet mastered that part of the equation, but there’s still hope.

To be fair, the English language, as with any vernacular, is rife with words and phrases that don’t always make sense. Things that you never used to give a second thought suddenly require more explanation when talking to a two-year-old: “Oh hey, no, having a stomach bug doesn’t mean they have an actual bug in their stomach!” “No, sweetie, my eyes aren’t actually burning like with fire, the onion is just making them sting.” “Sorry, there are no cats and dogs coming down with this rain.”

Sometimes I like trying to come up with culinary literalisms. Popcorn shrimp/chicken is one of my favorites — wouldn’t popcorn-crusted chicken be tasty? — mostly because I love popcorn in all forms. Egg creams as literal egg creams instead of chocolate milk seltzer would just be custard I suppose, and Welsh rabbit could be delicious even as cooked rabbit from Wales. Expecting a variety of desserty breads and a special type of oyster, however, to get served actual sweetbreads and rocky mountain oysters would likely be disappointing.

Some lazy gardening offered me the chance to create Amelia Bedelia food for ourselves this week. When I say I picked some baby cucumbers, I literally mean the size of my baby … which in turn yielded us cucumber slices bigger than slices of the mini-loaf bread I bake for the kids. I couldn’t miss the opportunity to make cucumber sandwiches! These were not, however, the dainty, upper-class sandwiches of British high tea, oh no; while we kept the spread, instead of crustless white bread, we sandwiched it between slices of giant cucumber. Perfect.

Well, not perfect exactly, since the cukes were so big the slices had a hole in the center (it’s hard to spread when there is nothing upon which to spread) and the firmness of the cucumber upon taking a bite caused the filling to be a squishing-outing.

But my kids never questioned it, and I know Amelia Bedelia would be proud.

Literal Cucumber Sandwiches

British cucumber sandwiches reached their peak of popularity in the early 1900s, and were regarded as such fancy fare for teatime because at that time cucumbers had to be imported from their native Asia. (Also, I think there is a lot of potential for Amelia Bedelia recipes for “high tea sandwiches”!) Fortunately, cucumbers are now grown globally, and are often anything but scarce during Kansas summers. This is the first year in as long as I can remember that we are actually able to grow our own without being decimated by squash bugs!

Prep tips: baby (meaning “small” this time) cucumbers would technically work better here, although our massive cucumbers were surprisingly still tasty, characteristic of this variety, which comes with its own theological joke: they are Armenian, not Calvinist. (I know it’s Arminian, but laugh with me anyway.)

• 4 oz cream cheese, room temp; or whipped ricotta, cold
• 1 T mayo
• a few fronds of fresh dill, finely chopped
• a couple chives, finely chopped
• ¼ t garlic powder
• salt and black pepper, to taste
• slices of giant cucumber

Whip cream cheese and mayo until smooth, and stir in remaining ingredients but cucumber. Spread between two giant cucumber slices like a sandwich…or just serve as a dip alongside the cucumbers.

Lettuce Eat Local is a weekly local foods column by Amanda Miller, who lives in rural Reno County on the family dairy farm with her husband and three small children. She seeks to help build connections through food with her community, the earth, and the God who created it all. Send feedback and recipe ideas to hyperpeanutbutter@gmail.com.