I've been avoiding the kitchen. Every day when I come home from school the scents from the kitchen waft down the stairwell, most of them appetizing. But the echos of voices always manage to scare me off.
Today I decided I'd had enough with my self-imposed exile. Armed with only one pot and a plate-turned-pot-lid I walked into the kitchen. After trying to cook for five minutes on a broken burner and a few awkward phrases with a girl washing dishes, I finally added water and rice and waited to see what would happen.
The result was a mass of half-overcooked, half-undercooked rice. I topped this with some sweet and sour sauce I managed to find yesterday at E. Leclerc and the rice instantly became more appealing. I'm not going to lie, it wasn't very good. But it was mine and I had made it and I enjoyed it nonetheless.
Today I decided I'd had enough with my self-imposed exile. Armed with only one pot and a plate-turned-pot-lid I walked into the kitchen. After trying to cook for five minutes on a broken burner and a few awkward phrases with a girl washing dishes, I finally added water and rice and waited to see what would happen.
The result was a mass of half-overcooked, half-undercooked rice. I topped this with some sweet and sour sauce I managed to find yesterday at E. Leclerc and the rice instantly became more appealing. I'm not going to lie, it wasn't very good. But it was mine and I had made it and I enjoyed it nonetheless.
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