It is time to uncover a family secret kept for centuries by my ancestors and passed on to me. A universal taste. A taste that suits everyone, regardless of religion, gender, nationality and social affiliation.
It all started with my mother being sick. I was forced to go to the hospital and we two younger boys were left with my father alone. The elderly had more luck, they went to school, school, institut, married and married, and we and my brother were only nine and eight years old. My father spent the whole evening in the kitchen, spinning a five-liter pot.
“Eat, sit down and eat,” he finally said.
My brother and I grabbed the larger tablespoons and rushed to the table, cuddling each other. Food, and that was it, in other words, at the expense of my youth I probably would not pick, was unbearable.
This burdock cannot be eaten. What fucking thing is this? - I would say now, but then I just tried to pour a spoonful deeper into my throat so as not to sink. Vaska, and he was younger and privileged, just spit that shit back into his plate. And he had nothing for that. Yes, I forgot to say that my mother was Ukrainian. And how Ukrainian boars and soups... A fairy tale, just a fairy tale.
“Well,” scratched his forehead over his eyebrows, his father said, “I knew I lacked the ingredients.
Ingredients, the word I do not like, because of the difficulty of pronunciation, difficulty of writing and difficulty of obtaining. But then it interested us.
What is it, what? We were a little worried.
"I am a Siberian," said the father, as thoughtfully, "taiga supplies a lot of ingredients without which food is not delicious. So yes, all sleep now, and tomorrow in the woods, for the ingredients. I didn’t have time to get up at dawn, my dad played up. After checking our pockets for biscuits and candy, and at the same time a piece of sausage, he strictly said - we go to the taiga, and she will feed!
Thro the day, we wandered through some debris, from the pine to the cedar tree, from the berry to the oak. Daddy struck out some peel, smelled, rubbed in his fingers, looked at the light. I thought it wasn’t mature. And we wandered further and further. Taiga, fucking, did not rush to feed. Except for mosquitoes and mosquitoes, which have just eaten us. It darkened quickly.
-And why in the dark in such a distance to pass, here and overnight, - said the father and began to break the hammer. He forgot about us. We broke it ourselves. I wiped my teeth until morning and washed my teeth with rose. This is a straight rose on the grass. We continued to look for ingredients, whether they were cold. By the evening of the next day, the father still narrated, whether the swan or the urticaria, in the darkness was not to be disassembled. We went home proudly.
We didn't have time to get back, my dad got out of the refrigerator yesterday's soup, melted the oven, crushed the brought grass in pieces, ups, sorry - the ingredients, crushed them in a pot and then broke them into cups.
I ate a spoonful, it smoked in my hands. Vaska was a younger and in privileges, so he ate his mouth out of the plate and he had nothing for it.
How do you taste, guys? My father asked. Instead of answering, I gave him a plate for a supplement. Ingredients, a terrible force! Reporting to me, he said.
Daddy to Daddy! What are these ingredients called? After emptying the second plate, I wondered about the future.
They are called hunger. Just a hunger! It has the universal taste of all times and peoples.