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Recommended: Perception of self
The more we tried to change up the conversation, the more interesting it got. He asked me what were my plans for the day and off the top of my head, I couldn’t think of anything to say. I am gonna have some soup he said, some traditional haitian pumpkin soup. He was worried about me, he knew I might be alone for the rest of the day so asked if I was gonna have some soup at a friends’ house. I’ve been sitting in that position for the last hour but it’s only felt like 5 minutes. He hold my hand so tight that it warmed my sweating palm and sent the heat back into my body like a water flow. I stared into the blur behind him trying not to look at his perfectly shaped face. With no glasses and and tired eyes, his sparkling smile was the only image …show more content…
Many reasons behind my hesitation: 1- I didn’t really like soup that much | 2-It takes a while to cook and that would only take away in the time I would rather spend napping. | 3-I had no plans whatsoever of sharing it with anyone, so whether or not I drink that pumpkin soup was totally up to me. |4- I had way tastier food in my dorm My sister visited a few days earlier and she had bought me every single ingredient that I needed for the recipe. She said: “A real haitian woman never let her house be without the soup on the first day of a brand new year” I rolled my eyes at her and hided my …show more content…
My mom would wake up at 4am and a huge pot of soup would be ready by 6am. There was always surplus and we have to bring a bowl for our neighbors. I got so tired of it overtime; I remember begging my mom for a plate of rice and chicken and she said no every time. The fridge would be empty though except for soup. I would try paying my sisters in secret to get me some cookie or whatever treats they could find but I almost always got caught. When I refused to eat the soup and whine about it, my mom would make up these cool stories about how if I lived in the 1700s, I would be a wealthy beautiful woman with hundreds of dollars in my pockets. She said that that I would go to big fancy restaurants for that same soup and it would cost me a lot of my money. I used to love to hear her making me the star of the story everytime and that was all I needed to hear to start eating that pumpkin soup
...rned my head toward his,tucked my long brown hair behind my ear, took my face with both of his hands and told me that everything would be okay. Ben pulled my face to his a gently kissed my forehead and then pulled my head to his chest, which was warm, and strong.
Women volunteered to work in the soup kitchens that served their communities, improvising cheap recipes for soups that made use of any available local products. Vegetables, boiled together in water, made up the bulk of the soups and stews that were served. As the numbers of people arriving at the kitchens increased more water had to be added to the stews and their nutrition value declined. The soups and stews were cooked in large pots (american-historama.org).
a bowl of soup from the other end of the table. I quickly took this opportunity
I am warmed in the morning with the lingering spices from the kitchen as I begin to work up my appetite. I walk downstairs to the cornucopia baskets and thanksgiving wreaths that bring the lively autumn scene. Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday time together with my family because it is the one time out of the year in which my entire family from all over the country comes together, to giving a feeling of unity. I walk into the kitchen to a smile from my mom as she reminds me to wash my hands. It is not time to eat yet, but just as every other year, she hands me the fresh green beans to help her prepare the last dish, the green been casserole. The dish often does not hold significance to many but depicts a symbol of unity as I reflect on the times with my family. For some, a casserole can date back to mark a period of struggle in American history, but the idea of a
Even though it was many years ago, I vividly remember my first Thanksgiving dinner. I was a little kid, no older than the age of seven. I flew in that day from Ann Arbor, Michigan, where we had attended a special ceremony honoring my uncle. As a result of the hectic flight schedule, I did not have the opportunity to eat very much that day, and I was eagerly anticipating the Thanksgiving dinner. We arrived at my grandparent’s house around six thirty in the evening. As soon as I entered the house, the tremendous aroma of all the foods filled the air and my taste buds began salivating in anticipation for the meal. Normally at family meals the food came out in courses, appetizers followed by the entrée. However, this time all the food came out at once. I immediately reached for the turkey and proceeded to take a huge slab of meat for my plate. Coupled with gravy, the turkey seemed irresistible. It was a big piece of dark meat, roasted to perfection. The skin had some sort of spice on it. I don’t recall the name of the spice, but I can tell you that the spice was sharp. Yes sharp, I think that’s the best way to describe it. After my first bite I found myself reaching for the nearest cup of water. However, after I got used to the spice, I began to realize its incredible taste. In less than ten minutes, I proceeded to wolf down this massive chunk of turkey.
Usually, I'll come home to nothing to eat, but some peanuts on the kitchen table. It became a routine ever since I was born. My family didn’t have anything to spare, and we surely didn’t have enough to be able to afford food onto our plates during lunch or dinner. Ms. Caroline sure 'ought to understand the brutality of my kind, but nothing that could compare
The death of one has a ripple effects in that it can emotionally kill the fallen’s loved ones. The living is left with a blurred emotion between darkness and a desperate need to recapture what was once lost. In the play A Bowl of Soup by Eric Lane, brother Robbie mourn the death of his significant other. While Eddie attempts to reconnect his brother with reality. Ultimately, Lane utilizes the two’s relationship to symbolize the unrested turmoil within the gay community.
One day my mother told me that some of the tomatoes were ready to be picked. We went out back, snagged a few of the plumper offerings, and that evening had salads.
I remember on Thanksgiving my grandmother was god a feast for my family.So I go over to my granny to help her out and she said I can help her out with tasting the greens. I dove right into those greens and they taste amazing. So I’m going along just devouring those greens and ask for another bite and she said, “ go ahead baby” and no better words could have came out her
My mother was a simple cook. She prepared foods she'd been raised on, plain Southern fare-rice, gravy, sliced tomatoes, turnip greens, cornpone, grits, eggs, chicken and dumplings, pot roast, ham, field peas, lima beans, potato salad, stewed okra, pumpkin pie, salmon balls. We didn't have fancy casseroles or lasagnas or spaghetti, and nobody had ever heard of a burrito or an egg roll. I didn't know what an artichoke or a parsnip or kiwi or papaya was-certainly had never taste them. We drank sweet iced tea and sometimes lemonade.
Every year on St. Patrick’s Day after the parade my mother makes corn beef and cabbage and Irish soda bread for friends, family and neighbors. My grandmother used to make this for the family no matter if it was a holiday or just a normal Saturday, and ever since she passed we honor her and our Irish background with this dish every Saint Patrick’s Day. My Grandma was you...
...lorida and that he bought a house. He told me I could stay over when I go down there. I say, “okay” just to be polite. He gave me his number and he asked me for mine. I thought “ I do not want to give you my number, are you crazy?” So I told him I had to go to class, I’ll call him when I go to Florida.
I was afraid that he wouldn’t welcome this change in his routine that I was bringing, but he was extremely warm and polite; he had the amiable personality that makes anyone feel as though they could easily open up to him. As we start conversing, it is almost as if he wanted someone to come and talk with him.
Trying new and different foods over the years, from different restaurants, made me realize that there are many different kinds of flavors in all kinds of foods, of course some better than others. When I was raised they always fed me homemade food either from my mother or from my grandmother and as time went by everyone was very familiar with the different meals that they would cook everyday. Growing up we only had two meals per day, breakfast and dinner there was never a meal in between those but it never affected any of us because once it came down to dinner we ate well until we were full. Holidays and big events are always the best when it comes down to the food portion. On holidays my family always gets together at somebody 's house for