Photo by Steve Tsang on Unsplash
I promised mummy I would make the stew. She always thinks her stews are better. We should have a cook-off!
They say I was born with a spoon in my other hand. I love interiors, anything to make the home, well, more homely, that’s where you’ll find me. I feel more myself indoors, really, I do. But what I absolutely love, is cooking. Mouth-watering aromas filling the house, fresh leafy vegetables, root vegetables, grains, anything I can lay my hands on. Today, I look forward to experimenting some more. Even though I hadn’t started cooking, I could envision the stew bubbling and smell the hunger-pangs-inducing aromas.
There was no meat in the house thanks to my brother! He finished the last stew mummy made, like he was the only one at home. It takes forever to cook then it’s all gone in a minute by the time he’s done!
He was always in a hurry and did not give much thought to the future. Except, perhaps when he was hunting game, then he could stay out for days with only one thing on his mind. That is the reason I promised I would cook this stew today. I go about gathering what I need. I see some lentils in a bowl. “Hmmmm”, I wonder what I can make with those. Those would work well in a stew. It will be the first time I try, but I could see it working. I get to work.
I gaze out of the tent for a few minutes. Daddy’s movements in the field catch my eye. He was going for his regular walks. I can recall mummy telling me that daddy loved going for walks. In fact, the first time she met him, he was coming back from a walk. I smile, I love spending time with mummy, hearing stories of our family and our people, the promises God gave our family through our much loved and respected grandfather to be passed from father to son and on and on. The mouth-watering aroma brings me back to the present.
It smells glorious, the colour is rich red. I smile again, I can imagine the twinkle in my mother’s eyes as she tastes the stew. We have some fresh bread that would go well with that. I am undoubtedly the MasterChef in this house!
I smell his sweat before I see him, my brother’s large frame filling the doorway before he flings himself in a tired exhausted heap on the floor. “Quick” he says, without as much as a hello “give me some of that red stew”. Without missing a beat, I answer “Sell me your birthright!”
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