'No', I screamed. 'Don't lift the cover.' Judging his look I had just said something incomprehensible. His sleepy eyes looked startled, his fingers were tapping on the pot.
'I'm a bit much curious what you are preparing honey'. His mouth showed a glamourous smile.
'You can't open the pot now, it'll destroy the dish'.
In two seconds I went from loveable to madwoman.
'Come on, only to see what's cooking.'
'I think you'll have to leave this kitchen now'. I noticed my voice getting slightly upset. Actually, my whole body was shaking.
He was stunned, didn't believe me saying these words.
I couldn't help it. These veggies had to be alone now. It was cosy in the pot, no doubt. I felt pieces of butternut squash melting, chunks of carrot sweetening, onions caramelizing and quarters of rutabaga communicating to the burdock on the side. Warm friendships started and life stories were told. No curious human being should interfere.
A door slammed. I was again alone in the kitchen.
Thirty minutes later I went to the library. He was waiting for me, but stubbornly kept staring at his page. Finally he took his plate and slowly started to chew. Only a few bites later he looked up at me with a happy face.
Posts
3 comments:
... bijzonder bijzonder... je verhalen brengen je dicht bij me... zoals vroeger toen we samen schommelden in Leuven... toen we dansten in de regen... and we had time and space to talk forever... living only a block apart... ik lees je passie... that is more than one could ask to share... thanx for being in the world, cooking and writing your way through it...
i deeply understand both of them! my only comment is that i think there is no kitchen door to shut :)
ik zat aan men monitor geklusterd en kreeg goesting in men mond bij het lezen van je teksten, warm en inspirerend en mooi om te zien dat verschillende kanten van jouw speurbaar werden door verschillende schrijfstijlen
liefs han
Post a Comment