I insist that we scrape what we can off the top, then eat it. It tastes... spicy.
49 years later, we still eat lots of spicy food, but these days I do most of the cooking.
Gordon Lawrie |
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This is cheating – it isn't actually fiction. It's 1972, and it's a promising early date. Her parents are away from home, and she's cooking that seventies' retro classic, spaghetti bolognese. In the kitchen, she invites me to taste the ragu: we agree it needs a little cayenne. So she goes to shake the little pot... and the entire top comes off, depositing a mound of red powder into our evening meal.
I insist that we scrape what we can off the top, then eat it. It tastes... spicy. 49 years later, we still eat lots of spicy food, but these days I do most of the cooking. Comments are closed.
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Flash FictionFlash fiction is very, very short fiction indeed - short stories of any sort of length from a Haiku to ten minutes' reading. Good for when you're in a hurry. This series is a selection of contributions to Friday Flash Fiction, where there's a limit of 100 words. I try to make all mine exactly 100 words. Collections
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