Mesum Di Dapur Novels & Stories

I needed to focus. I began by organizing everything—mise en place. The French words, a mantra from a lifetime dedicated to the culinary arts, grounded me. I took out the ingredients, each one a small memory waiting to be unlocked. I set the proteins aside, the plump meats a reminder of cozy Sunday dinners. I arranged vegetables in neat rows, the vibrant colors a splash of cheer in the sterile kitchen. I laid out herbs across a wooden board, their fragrant aroma a promise of the feast to come. I opened drawers until I found the knives, feeling their weight in my hand, the familiar balance a comfort. I tested the edge on a tomato skin, the clean slice a small victory.

Stepping inside, she found a warm living room adorned with a cozy sofa, family pictures gracing the fireplace, and soft sunlight streaming through the windows. Exploring further, she encountered a well-used kitchen, displaying an assortment of dishes, and a dining table that bore witness to shared meals. She remembered Melissa's meals she had made in here during happier times. Her dad's personal touch was evident with a potted plant and a cherished recipe proudly displayed on the fridge, the recipe they made for Kaia together.

I asked and she nodded as footsteps sounded, her gaze moving over to an approaching Destiny. "I thought you were lost," Mesi announced as I began falling into my sea of thoughts. "I couldn't find my charger," Destiny explained moving over to us. "What are we eating?" "Jamaican food," Mesi voiced and she nodded moving over to the refrigerator a few steps away. "You still upset?" Mesi asked as my mind continued to run wild. "I was never upset," She replied placing the jug of juice on the counter before closing the refrigerator door. . . . . . . .

Her shocked expression soon dissolved into a warm smile and she made a sign to thank me with her hands. I dropped the plate on the nearby counter and turned to the head chef. The kitchen was massive, the size of three royal quarters, divided into different sections: five workstations where ingredients were prepared, four cooking stations, a mega bakery, the serving section and a rest area. There were also two doors attached to the eastern and southern part of the walls, leading to the pantry and fresh food storage respectively. Another part cordoned off by a dwarf wall was the section where plates were washed and stored. This looked truly massive and surreal. Cooking here was a pleasure beca

So I nodded with a small smile before we headed to the kitchen where we saw Mrs Butter the chef making breakfast and we both said good morning to her and she answered back with a simple nod. Mrs Butter is a neat freak, so she never says a word whenever she's making a meal, believing her saliva could get into the food she's making. The kitchen had two segment one on the left and the other at the side of the kitchen entrance. Each of the segments had its own stove and a table, although the one by the door has a larger stove and table and that's the one Mrs butter was making breakfast for mom and the rest of the workers. I went to sit on one of the big stools beside the kitchen table on the lef

The kitchen, once a mere space for cooking, transforms into a vessel of shared history and culinary wisdom. The rhythmic sounds of chopping, simmering, and laughter create a symphony of domesticity. Mrs. Dan and I move with an unspoken understanding, our shared goal weaving us into a culinary dance. The simmering sauce bubbles with anticipation, each ingredient contributing to the melody of flavors. The kitchen becomes a canvas where we paint memories with strokes of ingredients and dashes of shared laughter. Mrs. Dan’s hands move with a grace that only comes from years of perfecting a craft, and I, the eager apprentice, absorb the lessons with each passing moment.

Collins announce into his microphone. I can feel my heart pounding, I soak the pot I use to make the Semo with water and quickly, I take out the iron sponge from my bag and scrub the living daylight out of the burnt semo pot. Then, I wash the pot I use to make the soup. I rinse the breakable plate and arrange it on my annex table which is covered with a white and Pink flower pattern table cloth. The larger table is more like our kitchen and the annex table is more like a dining table.

I look back over my shoulder at the new faces. I smile worriedly. They smile back. I feel a tear roll down my cheek. That is when I notice how big Jeremiah's mansion truly is. As we walk I see more rooms than I ever imagined a mansion could have. I pass through hallways and across foyers. "This is my kitchen," Jeremiah says, showing me around the room. It is finished in blue and white tile. There is a huge island that looks like it came straight from Italy. It is covered in glass accents and marble.