Saturday, February 25, 2012

Theme 3 - Cooking

From @TheFuzzFace : Non-stick pan no longer gleaming black, Syrupy pancakes in a stack. Eggs are frying, the juice a-squeezin’, Through this breakfast I am a-breezin’. But then I stop, because something isn’t right, And then, at that instant, I see the light. Because the only thing for which my heart is achin’Is juicy, golden, deep-fried bacon.

From @Freelosopher : Circling the house stealthily, the aroma assaulted his nostrils. In that instant, he chose the door over the window. "Ma'am, a piece of your pancake for this weary traveler?" "Why come in, son! Been cooking 'em since I was 13!", beamed the 76-year old lady proudly. Food emerged victorious over material greed that night.

From @themodestninja : A little stirring. He waits for the sizzle. There it is. He pours the stew in three bowls neatly. Admiring the plating for just a moment, he drops in the key ingredient. Perfect. A waiter picks up the tray on cue and heads out. Three heads fall on the table, dead. They had been served.

From @vivekisms : For now he followed directions. As they were given at the back of the packet. Another night when he had to cook all by himself. They cooked together earlier, and now he was clueless. How much flour? How much sugar and icing? The cake had to be baked. It didn’t taste the same without her.

From @ChoteyDilWallah : On their anniversary, he cut himself twice while cooking a surprise dinner for her. Tortelli di zucca. He knew her weakness for all things Italiano. She came as night fell and he brought in the ravioli. "We've to talk." The love affair ended when she left him for the neighbour. The neighbour was an Italian.

From @TextuallyHorny: The flames swayed higher and higher from the open grill. I cried. They were always there. Latent, sparking & sometimes serpentine. Tears dripped from the fresh flesh. Reformed. The feeling has been same since last summer. She left. Flames died. Feeling tasteless within I reluctantly flipped a ready-to-cook packet. “Add salt to taste”, it read.

From @floydianbrahman : The pot was still simmering on the stove. The gravy watery than most days. She wanted to pick some spices from the riverside market but Gauri's fee was due next week. Burning her hand once again as she baked chapatis on the open fire, a rooster cackled dawn in the vicinity. It's time for school.

From @Kantaap : She’d been burned most often while cooking the dishes she loved the most. Each burn left a scar, too painful a reminder, yet she never gave up. In search of that one simmering, tantalizing perfect taste. This time, she was sure she had it. She turned and there he was. “Hey. What’s cooking?” he asked.

From @gauravjagwani : We made the perfect team. She cooked. I cleaned. Everyone around us knew that as well. However, we noticed that the so-called everyone was becoming very thin. Our parents were worried. With our friends fading, they had reason to be. We made the perfect team. She cooked up stories. I cleaned the mess up. Always.


  1. Killer end to the story @ChoteyDilWallah - Top stuff. Also such a myriad of compositions. Yay! to you people. *pats-all-backs* :)

    1. Just saw your comment. :) thanks, loved your story too!