From today, dear mother of my husband, you won’t be eating any of my dishes,” my daughter-in-law said to me. “Do whatever you want—reserve yourself a shelf in the fridge, cook before I wake up or after I leave for work, but you’ll be cooking for yourself from now on.”
“But I was only joking! Everything you make is so delicious. Besides, you cook so fast, and you can make something incredible out of almost nothing,” I tried to explain.
“Oh, you’ve already said enough. I heard you with my own ears, saying that my pilaf tasted like grass,” she muttered and shut herself in her room.
Two days have passed since then, and Lesya has stuck to her word.
Today, for instance, she made fish soup with red fish. She knew perfectly well that I love it, and even used my recipe, but didn’t offer me a single spoonful.
I should have bitten my tongue at that moment. I tell you, I’ve gotten myself into a mess that words can’t even describe.
That day, I had rushed out of the house early in the morning. I was working on transferring the ownership of our house in the village—taking it from my mom and putting it in my name. I spent the whole day running around and was starving. Sure, I had a snack in town, but what is one pastry from Silpo?
I got home around six in the evening, and the moment I walked in, I smelled something absolutely delicious.
“Oh, my daughter-in-law has cooked something tasty again. In that sense, she’s amazing. Lesya can make something out of nothing.”
I rubbed my hands in anticipation of the meal.
After freshening up, I put on my floral housecoat.
In the kitchen, my daughter-in-law had already set out portions of pilaf and pickled tomatoes—perfectly made using her recipe.
Our grandson was at karate practice, so it was just the three of us.
“Enjoy,” I said, and silence settled as we all began eating.
But then, my son spoke up.
“Lesya, this isn’t pilaf at all!”
“What do you mean it’s not pilaf, Lyubomyr? What is it then?”
“Why did you add dill? It completely drowned out the taste of the rice and garlic. Don’t do that again!”
“I like it,” Lesya defended herself.
At that moment, a dark cloud seemed to hang between them.
I couldn’t allow anyone to talk to Lyubomyr like that, so I jumped in to support him.
“Yes, Lesya, this pilaf isn’t right. You messed up this time,” I said, hoping my son would appreciate me standing by him.
In silence, my daughter-in-law washed all the dishes and put the leftover tomatoes in the fridge.
The day ended with all of us going to bed without speaking.
I noticed that Lesya was upset, but I didn’t pay much attention, figuring it would blow over by morning. We’ve had similar moments before and got through them.
But what surprised me was that early the next morning, I was woken by the sound of my son and daughter-in-law chatting. They were sitting in the kitchen, drinking coffee, eating sandwiches with cheese and sausage, and talking as if nothing had happened…
“Well, well,” I thought to myself.
It turns out they had made up during the night, and I ended up being the one in the wrong.
That’s why Lesya laid down the law and banned me from eating her food.
I paid the price for my sharp tongue.
Did I really need to criticize that pilaf? Tell me, did I?
Lyubomyr is walking around like nothing happened, but I’m the one who’s been feeling the consequences of Lesya’s anger.
Now, how do I make things right? I don’t particularly enjoy cooking, and I can’t survive on oatmeal alone for too long…
Author: Karamelka
