The moment I met you (Chapter 15)

 

By Nightengale Ben-Onyeukwu

She beamed proudly at her son who was often praised by his boss to be physically and mentally fit, had a solid knowledge of mechanic’s tools, service, and diagnostic equipment. He started the job two months ago and had been known as the best mechanic here in Abuja, the capital of Nigeria. Louisa wished he got a better job that would be stress free. Hopefully, someday, he would find a better job. Perhaps, a white collar-job or any lucrative work that will fit his profession as a mechanical engineering graduate or even own a big garage of his own.                                     

Chioma stared at the spaghetti in the plate. The spaghetti had egg toppings, a few beef slices and fresh fried fish. She had gotten a few cookbooks from Chisom and had learnt this particular way of cooking spaghetti and taught her mother.  In the end, her mother’s spaghetti cooking skills had exceeded hers.  Chioma knew that this simple dish, which smelled pleasing, was able to whet anyone’s appetite. She wasn’t that hungry but the dish before her was no doubt irresistible.                            

Without looking up, she took giant bites of her food, nodding with satisfaction. ‘You’re simply the best cook, mum. I’m sure you are better than those chefs who cook in hotels and mansions’, she praised her mother, raising her thumbs up.                                                                

Louisa waved a hand. ‘It’s no big deal. Anyone could do it even better’, she said, not wanting to take the credit. ‘Besides, you taught me how to cook spaghetti.'                                                                                      

‘Yea, I did but you cook it better now. I’m good with simple dishes’, Chioma pouted.                                                                                               

‘The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’, Andrew said, picking up his glass of water. ‘Rich men love good cooks’. He raised the glass to his lips. ‘You might be fortunate to bump into a rich guy’, he glanced at Chioma. ‘You ought to learn how to be a perfect cook, just like mum’. He sipped his water.                                                                    

Chioma chuckled, skillfully holding up the spaghetti with her fork. ‘I will try my best’, she said, stuffing her mouth with food in large portions.’ If my husband to-be hates my poor cooking skills, then I will invite mother over’, she joked, and they laughed.                                                        

‘What about table etiquette?’ Louisa asked, still laughing.                      

‘Who cares about table etiquette? For the poor, we should only care about our stomachs first. We’re not the rich that will mind those things. For the rich everything must be done in an aristocratic manner. But for me, if am very hungry I will be too lazy to bother about table etiquette and who is before me,’ she pouted.                                               

Andrew nodded. ‘Honestly, the etiquette of aristocrats is so boring’, he said, gobbling his food down.                                                             

‘The rich don’t know what it means to be poor and eat without minding table etiquette. Sometimes, am glad to be poor and free,’ Chioma said and they chuckled.