Home-made stories

Turns out Marshall's Cat is male. Sigh. I don't get it, but nevermind. His name is Kiddo, but we still refer to him as "Marshall's Cat" half the time. ;)

He drops by our house almost every night now, but is only occasionally friendly. We took lots of pictures last night, so I played around with Picasa's collage function. I think he hung around because we had fish for dinner. Hur hur.

***

X came over to watch TV yesterday (don't ask), and as we sat down at the dinner table, she marvelled at the variety of home-cooked food. Meat, check. Fish, check. Vegetables, check. Fruit, check.

Since the semester started, I've been eating out a lot, mostly because of the full days and late lessons spent in school, and I've come to appreciate the simplicity and warmth of dinner at home; there really is nothing quite like it.

"Mmm," X muttered as she chewed on her food. "I haven't had home-cooked food in so long. This tastes so good! Quick, you have to learn how to cook from your mom, so you can teach me!"

"Uh-huh, okay. Tomorrow," I said, not taking my eyes of the TV screen.

"You liar!"

***

Later in the night, as I sat with Mom, I asked where she'd learn to cook -- she's a pretty good cook; you need only to look at the size of my dad's tummy before and after marriage.

"From Grandma, of course," she replied.

"So you grew up learning how to cook from her, huh."

She thought for a while, and then laughed. "Nah, I only learned to cook when the two of you (my sister and I) were born, and I stayed at home to look after you."

She paused again, and gave an even louder chuckle. "You know what? The first few months I cooked dinner, we had to eat burnt food every night!"

And then it was my turn to burst out laughing.

***

I must've been too young to remember eating charred globules. Or perhaps my tastebuds had an affinity of their own back then. On hindsight, I wonder if I should be concerned about this at all. Maybe I need to get my carbon levels checked.

But it was a nice lesson for me; a reminder that sometimes when things don't look (or taste) so good, they're merely in preparation for something better.

Stories like these? They're the bonus that comes with home-cooked meals.