Genre: slice of life
Savor: taste (good food or drink) and enjoy it to the full.
Deep, red strawberries. Pure white cream. Beautifully golden body. The cheesecake was picture worthy just as it was.
The fork dug easily into the cake all the way through the biscuit base. One bite, and it was gone. The cheese melted easily on the tongue, refreshingly sour from the lemon but also light from the cream, topped with the crunch from the delightfully creamy base.
The next mouthful had the strawberry. Its sweet-sourness mingled with the rest of the cake for a flavour party in the mouth.
A third scoop picked up the rest of the little piece of heaven. It disappeared way too quickly, like frost in the sun, leaving only its sweet-sour memory behind.
The now empty plate joined the stack of three others.
Genre: family, slice of life
As one, the two brothers stabbed the same cake with their fork. The sister quietly reached for the other cake and cut it with her fork.
“Mine,” the brothers snarled. Invisible sparks flew between their eyes, both unwilling to back down.
Unnoticed, the sister pulled their forks out of the poor, mangled cake and dug in with her own. Once done, she distributed the cakes, each sliced into three portions, evenly among them.
“Let’s eat,” she said.
The brothers snapped out of their wordless fight. Only then did they notice what had happened to the cakes.
“That’s why I like you best,” the older brother said.
“Hey! That’s my line.”
The sister ignored them and ate her cake.
It was just another day with her brothers.
Genre: slice of life
“Does it look a little pink to you?”
“Looks perfectly fine to me.”
“Then you eat it.”
“No way! I mean… she made it for you. You eat it.”
“You can have it.”
“I don’t want to die.”
A third voice cut in. “What’s wrong?”
They looked at the chef.
“N… nothing’s wrong.”
“Is it because there’s only one? I’ll fix that.”
She cut the steak in half with one slice.
“Problem solved.” She sent them a deadly smile. “Anything else?”
Fearing for their lives, they frantically dug into the practically raw meat.
My response to the prompt mope.
Genre: slice of life, general, family
~Triple Dose of Moping~
Her son moped in the corner of the sofa, her daughter moped at the foot of the stairs, her husband moped at the table.
She was only gone for two days. What happened?
All three gave the same response.
“We dropped your macaroons.”
“I’ll make another batch. Help me and it’ll be done sooner.”
They jumped to their feet and rushed into the kitchen.
It was only macaroons, but if it made them happy, she could put off her rest a for bit.
My response to the prompt ‘radical‘.
The restaurant they were in, though hidden in between two factories, was packed full of people. Some even had to wait in line for almost half an hour before getting a seat.
Why the popularity?
The answer was in their one-of-a-kind menu, which presented patrons with choices like inside-out sandwich, meatball smoothie, and roast beef ice-cream.
His friend called it ‘radical food’, he thought it was just a gimmick. At the end of the day, food was food, no matter how ‘radical’ it looked.
“Ready to order?” the waitress asked.
His friend ordered salted chocolate lamb with a side of grape chips. He got the chicken in stuffing and potato thickshake.
“This better be good,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I tested every single recipe before putting it on the menu. Everything’s awesome,” his friend said.
“You know me. Everything I make tastes great. Don’t pretend it tastes bad just so you can win the bet.”
“It’s only ten dollars.”
“Ten dollars was big back in college.”
“We’re not in college anymore. But if it helps.” He placed the ten dollar bill on the table. “There it is.”
His friend pocketed the money.
“Hey. You haven’t won yet,” he reminded his friend.
“Don’t worry. I will.”
And his friend did. He, on the other hand, craved for potato thickshakes for weeks.
My response to the prompt ‘plop‘.
Genre: slice of life
~The Brown Thing in the Kitchen~
There was a brown thing in the kitchen. It looked like wet poop, but it was in a bowl on the kitchen table, so it was probably edible.
She prodded the thing with a spoon. The thing wobbled. Maybe it was just a very ugly, wet jelly.
Poke. Poke. Wobble.
“What are you doing?”
She jumped. The spoon sheared the top of the brown thing off. The tip slipped off the spoon and fell with a plop into the half-filled mixing bowl in the sink.
A strangled cry jumped out of her throat.
“What’s wrong?” her mother asked.
“What’s this?” she pointed at the thing with her spoon.
“Your brother left it for you. I don’t know what he was trying to make, but it tastes better than it looks.”
Oh. That was good news. She dug into the thing and took a bite. The texture was weird, but it was tasty. She demolished the rest of the brown thing in a few bites.
She looked at the last bit at the bottom of the mixing bowl.
How much did she want it?
Not that much.