LatinosUSA

“Mom, this eggplant is fantastic. You should sell it.”

“Don’t talk with your mouth full. Here, wipe your chin.”

Michael slopped sauce down his chin onto his shirt.

“Should I get the bib, Michael? I’m gonna buy you one for Christmas.”

“This shirt is my eating shirt.” He laughed. “I always wear it when I come for dinner. I forget my manners and focus on the food.”

“Everyone always says my eggplant is so good. Believe me, there’s no secret to it. You could do it. You boys used to always help in the kitchen.

“Do you remember when your brother dropped a whole bowl of meatballs and sauce on the kitchen floor? We had sauce on the ceiling!” They both laughed.

“Your father had to repaint the kitchen. He was not happy.”

“Oh yeah. I remember, he made us help out. But we weren’t very helpful. We had paint all over us.”

They both looked up at the ceiling. “I swear you can still see the stains.” She said, smiling at the memory.

“You know, we could package this and sell it.”

“Like anybody would eat my eggplant.”

“Mom, come on.” Michael faced his mother. “Your name on each box. I visualize eggplant parmesan world domination.”

“Oh, come on, Michael. I like my current job…retirement!”

“You could call yourself a late bloomer. Maybe you are a little old. But not ready for a home just yet.”

“Watch it. I’ll take away your eggplant.” She joked. “Michael, to make a dish of eggplant parm is hard. How much would I have to make?”

“Look, I know people who know people. We could put together a whole business plan for you. Present it with samples, of course. The only thing you would have to do is cook. Once they get a load of this, they will want more. Mom. Trust me.”

“I see you really want this.”

“Yes! I’m serious. Hey, if this works out, think of it as a legacy. You could get rich, there’s that. All you have to say is yes, Mom.”

“I’m sensing you’re going to talk to your people whether I say yes or not.” She laughed.

“You could be right, but I plead the fifth. Do you have any leftovers? I could take a sample for my friend.”

“Here’s one for you and one container for your friend.”

Michael inhaled the smell of warm eggplant parmesan.

“I hope I can resist eating this on the way home.”

Giving him a love tap and a kiss goodbye, they said their goodnights.

~~

She sat on her couch, switching the channels on the TV, looking for her favorite show.

The Cooking Channel was making a chicken dish, but she didn’t pay much attention. Her mind wandered to the possibilities.

I’ve been cooking all my life. I was young when I helped Grandma in the kitchen. She taught me how to crack it on the edge of a bowl. My God, that was over sixty years ago!

The aromas drove my husband into the kitchen with a trade.

A hug for a taste test.

I gave in every time.

We weren’t fooling each other.

He always said, “Needs more garlic.”

For which he got his hand slapped as he dipped a piece of bread in the sauce.

His explanation was, “In his experience.” He never cooked a meal in his whole life.

I told him, “Tasting is not cooking.”

I wonder what he would think of Michael’s idea. He’d probably say only if you add plenty of garlic.

I never made money or sold anything. My only goal was not to break the bank. It’s time for my cooking to make me some dough. The green kind.

I could be like these TV stars. My pots and pans are older than they are. Hell, I refuse to be the old lady selling herself short.

Michael sees it, why am I reluctant? My eggplant is mighty good. Whenever I try someone else’s, I choke. The secret is to fry and not really give a shit how they’re stacked in the dish.

Maybe we could expand and make some of my other specialties. My brownies were always a hit. People think they’re from scratch. I will never confess to a box mix. Most other brownies can’t compare.

It’s nice when people rave about my cooking.

If anyone could make a success out of my eggplant, it’s Michael. I know I can trust him. He was a determined little kid, and it shines through as an adult. Pushy should have been his middle name.

She searched her junk drawer for a pen and pad. Every pen was dry. “I gotta break down and buy some pens for cryin out loud. Quick, before it slipped out of my head. These things come and go fast.”

She picked up her wedding photo and asked her husband, “What do you think, Charlie? Oh, did I hear you say go for it? Okay, I’ll go for it. Betty’s Better Eggplant, that’s what we’ll call it! Let me call Michael and tell him I’m in. I’d better start a grocery list, too.”