French fries served with a pinch of love
It’s a nice Saturday evening around twelve years ago. Me and my family just arrived at my grandma and grandpa’s front door. I can smell the French fries that she is cooking from the outside. I am not a big eater but my grandma’s French fries are like no others, so I’m always hungry for them. My grandma opens the door with that lovely smile of hers and welcomes us.
I go to the kitchen immediately, as there is where she keeps my toys.
I never miss taking a look at the cooking space and see that as always, she is cooking a main meal for everyone at the table, and French fries with some meat just for me.
Until dinner is ready, I go open the drawer with my toys and look for something to play with. Now, I’m done playing so I go and grab my painting supplies from the drawer in the corridor and find some space to sit and draw in the kitchen.
Sometimes, I also pretend that I interview my grandmother, holding a hairspray and asking her what it is like to travel on an airplane. Since I have never been but am so fascinated by this experience, I always like to hear her story over and over again. Other times, I dress up and pretend to be a dancer and put on a show from the living room, as the kitchen and living room are adjoined. This time I was painting a house on a big piece of paper. Whenever my grandma passes by, she takes a look at my painting, helps me draw something I cannot and tells me how great it is.
I get fed up with it shortly and I go to my grandma and stick my nose in what she is doing. Then I ask her if I can help her with the cooking. She always says yes. I love her for that, she lets me do anything I want and makes me feel like an adult. When my parents leave me with her and we go out, she always puts some hairspray on my hair and lets me put on lipstick. I feel like a lady around my grandma, we do both girly and serious things together. I peel off some more potatoes and chop them into slices, get them ready for the pan.
Finally, the food is ready and me, my mom, my grandma and my grandpa gather at the table. I start eating the French fries first, avoiding the meat. As I said, I’m not a big eater so I can never eat my entire meal. Once I feel that I’m not hungry anymore I ask my mom if I could get off the table and draw or play. She refuses, as always. However, my grandma always backs me up and convinces her to let me “take a break” which usually means to just let me play. I continue with my painting.
Now the painting is finished but they are still eating and chatting. So, next occupation of mine is recording myself on a radio cassette. I record my singing, my point of view about a topic I find interesting, like how possible it is to get hit by a lightening. As usual, I make everyone listen to me, since what I have to say or sing is very important and impressive. My grandma asks me questions and so I am now sure that what I’m doing right now is truly important.
After they are done eating, me and my grandma wash the dishes. I love washing dishes, especially because at home my mom doesn’t let me. The clock keeps ticking and it is time for us to go home. I don’t want to; however, my parents insist. I try to manipulate them with my favourite phrase “Please, 5 more minutes.” This usually turns into half an hour more, and as always, my practice scores me another 30 minutes play with my grandma. They’ve gotten tired of waiting for me and now they are offering if I would like to stay for the night. I refuse because I am terrified of sleeping anywhere else but in my own bed, close to my mom and dad.
Drifting through years and getting to today, 13th of November, 2018. I didn’t change all that much, I still like art, however, I don’t paint anymore. I am studying journalism, which I guess I knew I would even when I was little, recording myself on those radio cassettes. I still love French fries; the only food I cannot get tired of. I even have a favourite place in Skopje where they make the most delicious seasoning for French fries. I am not sure whether it is the taste or the association with my grandmother that makes them so special. However, I know that nobody will ever cook French fries as my grandmother used to, no seasoning is better than her plain French fries with just some salt.
Grandma, as you are no longer here to make French fries for me, if you could ever hear me, I would like to thank you for the French fries, for always making me feel special and appreciated, for believing in my abilities, when nobody else did, for teaching me how to be a lady, for being my role model. I would also like to tell you that I love you excessively and you and your French fries are one of the very best thing ever happened on earth for me.
