No Cognitive Defect - Part II


No Cognitive Defect - Part II

By James M. O'Meara, © 2007

Spices

Anita set her groceries on the counter and began making herself familiar with the kitchen. Wilson sat at the table in the breakfast nook drinking an iced tea, one eyebrow arched high as he appraised the food arrayed across the counter.

“What is all that crap?” he asked. He didn’t see much he recognized, other than what appeared to be fresh spinach and a couple of onions. Everything else was in unfamiliar cans or packed in tiny brown paper bags.

“It’s all vegan. We’re having a treat tomorrow night: lentil and spinach stew, some of my famous stir fried tofu, and a spinach salad with homemade dressing…there’s some tofu in that, as well.”

“Joy. Who’s eating it?”

“We are. Fire up your appetite: the aroma will drive you insane.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” he shot back. “You and Evan can indulge yourselves; I’m having a meatloaf.”

“Bad for your heart,” she said over her shoulder. “Take a lesson from Evan, he eats a lot of vegan. Meat will kill you. You’ll really like my stew…I promise. I’ve bought so many good things. Fresh spices: coriander, cardamom, cinnamon, nutmeg, ginger, cumin…fresh organic spinach, some pulses, even a little frozen tempeh I’m leaving out to thaw, and all kinds of other treats. It’s quite the feast!”

“Open my fridge,” Wilson shot back. “Check out the second shelf. There’s a meatloaf mix: pork, beef and veal. Next to that: a dozen eggs. Open the cabinet. I’ve got spices, too: salt and pepper. I’m eating my meatloaf. I’m won’t be grazing.”

“You could learn a lot from Evan,” she said, looking again back over her shoulder. Wilson was stunned at just how engaging her smile was, despite the gold ring piercing her upper lip. Her eyes were hazel, with a liquid shimmering that drew Wilson into them. It put him off a moment, but he recovered quickly.

“You could learn a lot about Evan,” he retorted. “Lock him up with a medium-rare steak and you’ll see how vegan he is.” He thought of Evan sitting in front of the television the night before with a thick roast beef and ham sandwich swimming in horseradish sauce. Vegan? Evan? There hadn’t been so much as one leaf of lettuce, a single slice of tomato, or a sliver of red onion on his sandwich: just meat, cheese and sauce.

“I’m still reforming him,” she sighed, chuckling lightly. “Just promise me you’ll try the stew.”

“No.”

She stopped and turned, bottom lip curled down, eyebrows arched up.

She said: “You’re not very adventurous. Sometimes you’re not very charming, either.”

“It’s my house. I don’t have to eat that crap. And I don’t have to be charming unless I damned well feel like it.”

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