Everyone knew about her thing for babies. How living things in miniature form made her stomach dance and her pupils dilate and her voice rise an octave. He, more than anyone, knew how to recognize the symptoms.
The first thing he noticed when she came bounding toward him was the glint in her eyes. Then came the voice.
“Look”, she cooed with her hand outstretched, “a baby watermelon”.
“Cool…how does it taste?”
“I don’t know. Let’s find out.”
“Here”, she said, offering him the small hemisphere “…you first.”
“What about the skin?”
“It’s OK…it’s edible.”
“…and the seeds?”
She watched the unraveling through his eyes. The synaptic storm that waged behind them. She put a hand to her mouth to cover her smile as his face contorted.
“Uhm…it’s not watermelon.”
“Not sure…something familiar…not watermelon.”
“Does it taste of summer? and sunshine? and fruit ripened on the vine?”
“Yes…all of those things…but not watermelon.”
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I am sure you love food. Otherwise, you won’t be here. As a full-time and a part-time chef at a local restaurant, I know my way around food. Ever since I was a young girl, I enjoyed helping my mom in the kitchen.
We would often experiment with the spices, ingredients, and flavors and create great meals for my brothers and dad. Since cocking was my first passion, I decided to go in that direction. I finished culinary school, got my first job, and started developing my skills.
Later when kids came, I had all the liberty in the kitchen to combine some of the unique flavors. A lot of them were a success, but now and there I would make a couple of mistakes.