Chapter 8: Early morning adventure
“It’s about the proper amount,” Nana said in broken English and smiled mysteriously at me.
She dipped a finger into the pungent spice bowl, then wiped her finger on my nose.
“Go, go, go.” She urged my finger to my nose.
I rubbed my finger across my nose and presented her with the results.
“Good, good.” She beamed. “Now tell me, what do you have on your finger?”
Wide-eyed and young, no more than seven or eight, I replied that I did not know.
Nana burst into laughter. “You must learn. Yes, you must. Your mother never wanted to understand.” She turned stern. “That is why my cookies are better.
“This,” she said cleaning the paste from my finger, “is what your mother throws away.” She wiped the spice off her finger and back into the bowl. “Too much, and cookies are no good. Too little, and cookies fit only for dog.” She broke into laughter.
Nana emptied the spices into the rice flour mixture. She reverently scraped the bowl clean, making sure all the paste made it into the mixture.
“See?” she asked when she held the clean bowl up. “If you have a recipe, follow it. Promise me, won’t you? Don’t think about shopping, or playing, or boys while you prepare your recipe. Respect what you make, and others will respect your cooking.
“If you can’t cook well, how will your mother ever find a suitable husband for you?” The old woman smiled knowingly, and then leaned over to hand me a cookie.