My Mom’s cooking. I’m probably saying this because I’m typing this on a biting stomach, but still, it doesn’t change the fact that I miss her cooking. That’s the number 1 thing that makes me look forward to going home. That’s the number 1 thing I forfeit when I choose not to go home.
Whenever I get home for a holiday, the first three things I usually do is this:
• Hug my Mummy tight
• Drop my bags in my room
• Enter the kitchen to check what’s in the pot while my Mom complains that I should have washed my hands. Whatever.
The way she doesn’t joke with pepper. The way she can make miracles with the fewest of ingredients. Its unparallel. That woman should have opened a restaurant. The funny thing is that despite how good she is, she claims she hates cooking.
She knows how much I love her cooking. That’s why she never misses a chance to call me while in school to tell me that they just killed another chicken, describing how good it tastes.
Dear Future Wife, don’t bother competing with Mrs. Agunbiade. Just collaborate. I don’t intend to forgo one pot for another. Why have one when you can have both?