Mama Mie Novels & Stories

It contains only water. "Maybe I'll just eat outside," he said, laughing. When Migi was able to put on his jacket, he went to a nearby Carinderia. Aling Marta, the owner of Carinderia, cooked deliciously. Its cooking seems to be just like that of his mother. The cooked food will make people wow when they taste it. "Oh Migi! How are you? " said, with warm greetings from Aling Marta. Aside from the deliciousness of her cooking, he regards her as his second parent.

Yep, pretty sure its yuck. Madie blinked and her mind was back in the kitchen, surprised to see a plate full of mac n' cheese for her. There was some extra cheese, too. It was her favorite! Looking up, she saw her Daddy smiling down at her, immediately taking the seat beside her while holding a plate of his own. Madie smiled back and looked back at her plate. Her Daddy knew her favorite dinner. Dinner because she had her favorite breakfast and lunch too. It was so hard to pick just 'one' favorite food. There should be a chart.

Mom and Dad had put Mina and Mallory to work while we were gone. They’d decorated the backyard, and had a table set up with different dishes from the local Chinese restaurant, Kimia’s favorite place. They’d ordered large quantities of both white and fried rice, sweet and sour pork, both chow mein and lo mein, beef and broccoli, cashew chicken, and walnut shrimp. Then, because Kimia loves chocolate, a homemade chocolate cake. My stomach growled when I saw the spread.

"Unlike Mom. She always smells like cheap marinara sauce and bleach." Mia shot me a look of pure disgust. The scent she was complaining about was from the lasagna I had spent the afternoon preparing—her favorite dish. Sofia glanced at me, a victorious glint in her eyes, though her voice feigned modesty. "Mia, don't say that. Your mother works very hard taking care of you in this big, empty house."

Their fingers remain tangled for a beat too long before he finally lifts the fork to his mouth. The main course is sea bream, baked in a salt crust that cracks open to release a cloud of oregano-scented steam. It's clean, intense, and perfect. "Is it like this where you're from?" he asks, the heat of the meal now a comfortable hum in his blood. "In Milan?" "No," Mia shakes her head, her expression softening. "Milan is butter and cream. Elegant and cool. But my mother... she used to drive us south. I remember eating this by the sea and feeling like I'd stepped into a different world."

" what are we cooking today ma'am?" She stops from what she's doing and glares at me. " MAMA." I gulped and tries to smile," m-mama?" She then smiles and looks at the things she is washing from the sink. " his favorite dish... Omurice" I don't know what kind of this that was but having the name of rice made me think that it has rice on it.

**Haru (smiling):** “Easy. Pinch, don’t stab.” I show her the grip—thumb and forefinger on the top stick, middle finger guiding the bottom. She mirrors me, a little clumsy at first, but gets an onigiri to her mouth on the third try. **Mia (after the first bite, eyes closing):** “Oh my gods. This is so good. The rice is perfect. And the sour plum in the middle—” **Haru:** “Umeboshi. Mom’s specialty.” We eat in comfortable quiet for a minute, just the sound of chopsticks and the low roar of the cafeteria behind us.

They could always tell when I’d been crying. "It’s nothing important, Ma. What’s for snacks?" I asked excitedly. "I made your favorite maja," she said with a smile. "And I also baked a chocolate cake." Waaahhh!!! So happy! My mom’s maja is one of my favorites. To me, she’s the best cook in the world! I grabbed Jace’s hand. "Come on, let’s eat. I suddenly feel hungry." Jace just laughed. "Stay here for the night. There's no work tomorrow anyway," Mama said.

Mia. "Mum, I am hungry" I whine hugging her from behind and she chuckles. Rico's mother loves it when I address her as Mum. This also means she will give me a whole lot of food. I must be carrying two hungry men in my stomach. "I know, honey. I can tell" She stretches her hand to grab a plate and I pull away to give her space. This woman can cook. The sight of the fried chicken makes my mouth water. So brown and delicious. The aroma doesn't lie.

I know he's not the one sweating over the stove, yet every night something I once mentioned appears on our plates. We've had buttery Maine lobster, sizzling fajitas, andpelmeniexactly the way Mama made them. He's forever filing away my cravings and turning them into sweet ambushes. He's spoiling me so thoroughly I almost feel guilty for trying to sabotage the wedding. Almost.