“Smells great.”
Dad turned to smile at me. His favorite apron, from a Chili cook off in the 90’s, was smeared with tomato sauce. He took fifth out of five entries.
Dad’s chili hadn’t been so God awful when he first started cooking Sunday dinner. Sean and Ian had taunted him into making the Chili hotter and hotter. A full bowl of the stuff would probably eat a hole right through my stomach.
Not to mention the other thing. The disgusting boy thing that went along with eating beans. My brothers spent the rest of the day trying to out-stink each other. Sometimes my mother sent them to their rooms. Most of the time, she and I just hid out. Sunday afternoons were the only time Mom willingly listened to me practice my drums. Dad joined us too when the stench escalated past his tolerance levels.
“I was in a fraternity,” Dad usually said. “I can take pretty much anything.”
For some reason, frat boys had never been a real turn on for me. Hmmm.
Before I could escape, I had to brave the chili.
“Sean! Ian!” My dad was rubbing his hands together like some maniacal villain.
“Must be really hot this time,” I whispered to my mother.
“Good thing I restocked the antacids,” she whispered back.
Sean came running in with Ian on his heels.
“Hope you brought you’re A-game, Dad,” Ian taunted.
Dad puffed up with male pride. “Don’t you worry, boy.”
Dad scooped us each a big bowl and passed around a basket of cornbread.
I managed to snag two giant squares like usual. Sean was already eating his chili, slurping it down like it didn’t have jalapeño peppers in it.
“Good, dad,” he grunted.
Ian dipped his bread into his chili and took a bite. “Mmgd.”
I took a bite and chased it with some soda. Then I started on the challenging task of pushing the chili around so it looked like I was eating it.
“Good, Dad,” I said after tearing off a piece of the buttery bread and sticking it in my mouth.
“Dude,” Ian said, then gulped his soda.
I couldn’t believe Alex actually thought Ian was the teensiest bit attractive. I’d known her forever. She used to have more sense than that.
Mom chewed her way through bite after bite with solid determination. “It’s a little too spicy, dear,” she said. Just like every week.
Sean laughed. “It’s not spicy at all,” he said. Then he took a big sip of his drink.
My dad’s face was red and he was sweating. I was pretty sure it was from the spices and not from standing over the hot stove since I hadn’t noticed anything strange about him when I came in. Plus, he had his Sunday uniform on, shorts and a ratty t-shirt. He couldn’t possibly be overheated from anything but the chili.
I had to take another bite so I carefully mixed a small amount of chili in with a hunk of bread.
Sean finished his bowl and got up for seconds. Ian grabbed another piece of bread and hopped up too. He hadn’t finished his first bowl, but he never let Sean beat him at anything. Even being an idiot apparently.
Over the years I’d found that chewing as little as possible and swallowing quickly helped.
Last year I’d tried to bribe my mom into telling Dad I had an ulcer and couldn’t eat the chili.
As she shifted in her seat and chugged some more soda, I felt some hope that she’d finally give in. Or maybe she’d claim her own ulcer.
If we genies hadn’t sworn not to use magic in the Treaty of the Bermuda Triangle, I could just make my chili and my mom’s bland. Or at least edible. Or I could make one of the boys throw up and this whole chili ordeal would end once and for all.
Mom jumped up to refill her glass. She topped off everyone’s and sat back down. We exchanged a look of misery, and she dove back into her bowl.
Mom really didn’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings. She basically ran the house, and they both had high powered jobs. Since she was the mom, me and my brothers tended to go to her more. She told me that Dad thought of cooking as his special
Dad turned to smile at me. His favorite apron, from a Chili cook off in the 90’s, was smeared with tomato sauce. He took fifth out of five entries.
Dad’s chili hadn’t been so God awful when he first started cooking Sunday dinner. Sean and Ian had taunted him into making the Chili hotter and hotter. A full bowl of the stuff would probably eat a hole right through my stomach.
Not to mention the other thing. The disgusting boy thing that went along with eating beans. My brothers spent the rest of the day trying to out-stink each other. Sometimes my mother sent them to their rooms. Most of the time, she and I just hid out. Sunday afternoons were the only time Mom willingly listened to me practice my drums. Dad joined us too when the stench escalated past his tolerance levels.
“I was in a fraternity,” Dad usually said. “I can take pretty much anything.”
For some reason, frat boys had never been a real turn on for me. Hmmm.
Before I could escape, I had to brave the chili.
“Sean! Ian!” My dad was rubbing his hands together like some maniacal villain.
“Must be really hot this time,” I whispered to my mother.
“Good thing I restocked the antacids,” she whispered back.
Sean came running in with Ian on his heels.
“Hope you brought you’re A-game, Dad,” Ian taunted.
Dad puffed up with male pride. “Don’t you worry, boy.”
Dad scooped us each a big bowl and passed around a basket of cornbread.
I managed to snag two giant squares like usual. Sean was already eating his chili, slurping it down like it didn’t have jalapeño peppers in it.
“Good, dad,” he grunted.
Ian dipped his bread into his chili and took a bite. “Mmgd.”
I took a bite and chased it with some soda. Then I started on the challenging task of pushing the chili around so it looked like I was eating it.
“Good, Dad,” I said after tearing off a piece of the buttery bread and sticking it in my mouth.
“Dude,” Ian said, then gulped his soda.
I couldn’t believe Alex actually thought Ian was the teensiest bit attractive. I’d known her forever. She used to have more sense than that.
Mom chewed her way through bite after bite with solid determination. “It’s a little too spicy, dear,” she said. Just like every week.
Sean laughed. “It’s not spicy at all,” he said. Then he took a big sip of his drink.
My dad’s face was red and he was sweating. I was pretty sure it was from the spices and not from standing over the hot stove since I hadn’t noticed anything strange about him when I came in. Plus, he had his Sunday uniform on, shorts and a ratty t-shirt. He couldn’t possibly be overheated from anything but the chili.
I had to take another bite so I carefully mixed a small amount of chili in with a hunk of bread.
Sean finished his bowl and got up for seconds. Ian grabbed another piece of bread and hopped up too. He hadn’t finished his first bowl, but he never let Sean beat him at anything. Even being an idiot apparently.
Over the years I’d found that chewing as little as possible and swallowing quickly helped.
Last year I’d tried to bribe my mom into telling Dad I had an ulcer and couldn’t eat the chili.
As she shifted in her seat and chugged some more soda, I felt some hope that she’d finally give in. Or maybe she’d claim her own ulcer.
If we genies hadn’t sworn not to use magic in the Treaty of the Bermuda Triangle, I could just make my chili and my mom’s bland. Or at least edible. Or I could make one of the boys throw up and this whole chili ordeal would end once and for all.
Mom jumped up to refill her glass. She topped off everyone’s and sat back down. We exchanged a look of misery, and she dove back into her bowl.
Mom really didn’t want to hurt Dad’s feelings. She basically ran the house, and they both had high powered jobs. Since she was the mom, me and my brothers tended to go to her more. She told me that Dad thought of cooking as his special
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