John K. Peck Jaap Straydog The smell of mushroom soup filled the small house. Mother carried the large black pot to the table, and Father brought out the small bowl of crisp fried bits to sprinkle into it. “What did you say these were again?” asked Mother. “Pfifferlings,” replied Father. “They go well,” said Mother, sipping her soup. “I agree,” said Father, sipping. “Toothsome.” As if to prove his point, he chewed slightly. “I always liked that word,” said Mother. Several mom