“By the way, I’m making Bisibelabath today” My eyes opened wide open. The foodie in me dragged me into the kitchen, rubbing my eyes and staggering here and there. I yawned for the fifth time,”Ma! I’ll cook today” I announced with yet another yawn. Within seconds, “Bisibelabath recipe” Search on Google. While the results were loading, I zoomed to get the apron. My mother’s glare prickled my neck, I turned around sheepishly. “Brush. Coffee. Bath. Enter” That’s right, I was home.
I walked in fresh and clean per mom’s standards and got on to business. It was a pleasant feeling to not rush to the store and buy ingredients for having decided something on a whim, but all I had to do was search for them. I put my Sherlock on. I kept my phone on the counter from where I could see. My mom walked in beaming, “Family’s heirloom” she announced as gave me a book. A leather-bound book. It was her recipe book. I looked at it more closely. It had a story to tell. I flipped the book open and my mother’s tidy scrawl was all over. She always dated her entry. I realized what Harry Potter must have felt when he was using the Potion’s book. My potion’s book also had stories for when the recipe was shared. A few pages had spill marks on them, I smelt, should be some juice or just water I could not tell; sometimes the flappable ends were marked with a tinge of turmeric or even chili powder, these pages had recipe running over the other side, yet all the pages were turning slightly patched, aging. They just didn’t contain the recipes but bore witness to scores of stories, delicious aromas, and a few hits too. Some pages towards the end were still empty, it looked lighter color from the side showing signs of suffering from the reality of nothingness. Mom stepped in with an apron “When you share a ladle you forge a stronger relationship” and started to narrate stories that surrounded the book.
“When you share a ladle you forge a stronger relationship”