Then I had to tell Simone that children’s palates were very uncivilized. They certainly could not be expected to appreciate lime and chili mousses, or mango infused Crêpe Suzettes.
Simone had since learned to cook simple dishes for us, but I could see that it pained her to have to cook pasta instead of one of her fragrant couscous recipes. Sunday lunches though, tended to be more traditional affairs with roasted chicken or beef with potatoes. Simone usually snuck in a surprise dish, for her and myself, as a dessert or a starter.
As soon as we arrived at the house, Zoë ran inside to greet her grandmother while I had a look at the place to see if anything needed fixing up. After my father left, my mother had rented out the top floor for a few years to bring in extra money. Simone and I had to share a room downstairs and my mother slept in what used to be the dining room. As soon as I could, I offered to get her a better place, but she wanted to stay. I helped her with the upkeep and paid for the utilities.
From the kitchen, I could smell mouth-watering aromas wafting from my mother’s old stove. I found Simone in the kitchen, an apron tied around her waist, sweat on her brow. She looked stressed but I knew that was when she was happiest. She thrived under pressure. I probably did too. Family weakness.
“Taste this,” she said, shoving a plate filled with what looked like small cookies at me.
“What is this?” I asked suspiciously.
“You tell me, go on! Eat one!”
I delicately bit into one of them. My taste buds went ballistic, deliciousness flooding my senses.
“Oh, my God! What is this?”
“What do you taste?” she was eyeing me closely, like an FBI agent interrogating a suspect. She had to know exactly what I was thinking.
“Nuts and cinnamon, raw cacao and something sweet, is it fig?”
She shook her head, irritably.
“But you don’t like the way it looks, right?
I would have to give some negative feedback too otherwise she wouldn’t accept my opinion.
“Maybe… they’re a bit flat?”
“It’s because they’re gluten-free!” she exploded. “I’m trying to do a cookie without any rising agent but I’m struggling with the way they look.”
“What if you made them smaller?” I suggested. “Because the taste is wonderful, can’t think of a single thing to change there.”
“Smaller….” She mused, like a scientist in a lab. “Might work…”
Zoë and my mother were setting the table and when Simone called us for lunch, we carried the roasted pork, along with some golden fried potatoes, string beans and fragrant pumpkin. Simone had baked little bread rolls that were soft and fluffy, especially for Zoë, with a fine dusting of flour on top.
After lunch, while I was helping Simone wash up, she quizzed me on Nikki.
“How’s it working out with Nikki?”
“Good, yeah.”
“I heard she passed her finals.”
“Yup, that’s great news.”
“And she could have taken that job in Colorado but for some reason, she decided to stay on with you guys?”
“Why is that so strange?”
Nikki put down the dishtowel and gave me a long stare.
“Ok, what is going on with you two? Are you banging or what?”
I should have been better prepared. Unfortunately, my sister knew me too well. Five years of sharing the same room did that to people.
She saw the expression on my face.