The balikbayan and relatives crowded the white marbled room in Villa Firenze. The screeching noises of the utensils being assembled in place competed with the burst of excitement repressed for twenty years.
The resilient brown boxes sat proud at the center of the room waiting to be tickled free by little children, young and old. But that has to be put on hold for the boss just marched into the room with fat silver pots. Its fumes turned the air damp and some stomachs grumbling. This dish didn’t seem to have ever been served before. It was black and muddy yet intriguing to the palate.
The boss trained the kids well. They sat there playfully and properly observed the grown-ups and their loud ways. It’s this side of the family that didn’t bother with decibels, which was comforting for some reason. When it was time to eat, they easily invited themselves over to the table without questioning the hot mud soup. They weren’t finicky eaters. The boss’s technique to serve them bland food when they were babies worked wonders. They grew up eating anything, even bitter gourd, lentil, or broccoli, even soup that looked like mud.
“Let’s pray,” the boss said. “Lead the prayer, Cha,” referring to the youngest in the family – the prayer leader by tradition. So she whispers, “Bless us, O, Lord and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ, our Lord...” And the crowd, in anticipation, cheers, “Amen! Let’s eat!”
Glide the spoon outwards, blow gently, and slurp quietly. Sit up straight… Hey, this is pretty good! What is this!
“How’s the black beans?” the boss asked. She simply got a wave of hmmm’s, nods, and slurps; yet she was pleased.
When everyone had gone, everything back to normal, and the cold marble turned noticeable again, only one thing was there left hanging. Little children surrounded the box for the big reveal. The boss positioned herself to spar with the rough edges and ripped it open. A heap of bags, shoes, shirts, dresses, shades, perfume bottles for the ladies, and four items for the men (girls get more, guys get less, but sum it up and they spent same amount). That called it a night, a pleasant one.
Fifteen years later, he came home again still with his resilient brown box. After forty years of living alien to his birthplace, he’s finally here to stay for good and among his first requests was the hot mud soup. Some things don’t change, some do, but we all find satisfaction in reliving good old memories. So the beans were stewed.
The resilient brown boxes sat proud at the center of the room waiting to be tickled free by little children, young and old. But that has to be put on hold for the boss just marched into the room with fat silver pots. Its fumes turned the air damp and some stomachs grumbling. This dish didn’t seem to have ever been served before. It was black and muddy yet intriguing to the palate.
The boss trained the kids well. They sat there playfully and properly observed the grown-ups and their loud ways. It’s this side of the family that didn’t bother with decibels, which was comforting for some reason. When it was time to eat, they easily invited themselves over to the table without questioning the hot mud soup. They weren’t finicky eaters. The boss’s technique to serve them bland food when they were babies worked wonders. They grew up eating anything, even bitter gourd, lentil, or broccoli, even soup that looked like mud.
“Let’s pray,” the boss said. “Lead the prayer, Cha,” referring to the youngest in the family – the prayer leader by tradition. So she whispers, “Bless us, O, Lord and these thy gifts, which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ, our Lord...” And the crowd, in anticipation, cheers, “Amen! Let’s eat!”
Glide the spoon outwards, blow gently, and slurp quietly. Sit up straight… Hey, this is pretty good! What is this!
“How’s the black beans?” the boss asked. She simply got a wave of hmmm’s, nods, and slurps; yet she was pleased.
When everyone had gone, everything back to normal, and the cold marble turned noticeable again, only one thing was there left hanging. Little children surrounded the box for the big reveal. The boss positioned herself to spar with the rough edges and ripped it open. A heap of bags, shoes, shirts, dresses, shades, perfume bottles for the ladies, and four items for the men (girls get more, guys get less, but sum it up and they spent same amount). That called it a night, a pleasant one.
Fifteen years later, he came home again still with his resilient brown box. After forty years of living alien to his birthplace, he’s finally here to stay for good and among his first requests was the hot mud soup. Some things don’t change, some do, but we all find satisfaction in reliving good old memories. So the beans were stewed.
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