Backseat cooking

A few days ago, I went over to Erato’s family’s house, because she asked me to edit a document for her in English. Their house is on the northern end of Loja, in a gated community, with a private security guard and an electric fence.

As you walk through the front door, you find yourself in a spacious living room, with soft, suede couches and armchairs surrounding a hardwood coffee table. Walking further, passing the antique-looking table covered with a fine-woven, white cloth, in the dining room, one will find the kitchen. The kitchen has elaborate orange tiles and a counter that runs along the right-side wall with a giant fridge on on end and the sink on the other.

Since I had just finished working, I was quite hungry, so Erato and I decided to prepare some dinner: Tortiglioni pasta

with tomato sauce, and salad  on the side. As soon as Erato finished chopping the lettuce and moved onto the avocados, and I started busily sautéing the onions, Erato’s mother walked in the kitchen and was delighted to see us industriously cooking dinner.

“Could I try some?” she asked in Spanish, to which I responded with polite eloquence: “Si!”

After she left, Erato translated what I had said yes to and I knew the game was afoot. “This is your second impression and you better not f*ck this up!” I thought to myself.

In the Huffman family, one learns how to make pasta and tomato sauce around the age of twelve, when a senior member of the family explains to the youngling the process of what spices to ad when and how long to cook it, so I knew what I was doing.

About five-minutes later, Her Motherness returned and got out some spices from the cabinet, which I didn’t ask for, and Erato insisted on adding them to the sauce. Needless to say, I wasn’t happy. Not only were my cooking skills undermined, the Huffman sauce, which has proven itself throughout history,  had been spiked.

In the end the sauce turned out fine. Erato's mother approved and her father ate some as well, with a satisfied smile on his face, but as she glanced over, Erato knew that I was a bit disappointed.

A.D.