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Sep 22, 2015 18:03
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The Singing Falafel 1,025 words Alif was happy. He was happy because it was the last Thursday of the month, and that meant one thing: Falafels. He eagerly waited for physics to be over, his foot anxiously tapping the floor. As soon as the bell rang Alif bounced out of his seat and through the door. He zigzagged his way through the other students in the hall, until he finally made his way into the cafeteria. Luckily the line was relatively short today, not many students shared Alif’s love for falafel day. As he waited in line Alif could smell the fried chickpeas and fava beans, rolled into delicious balls. His mouth started to water and his stomach gave a growl. “There’s a beast in your belly”, his grandpa would tease, a smile on his face, “We should feed him”. He thought of his grandfather then and how his house always smelled of pickled vegetables and olive oil. Once a week since he could remember, Alif would visit his grandfather. He would always find him in the kitchen, with a plate of falafel on the table. They would sit at the table for hours eating and talking. Alif would tell his grandpa how his schooling was going, and what books he’d been reading. He would ask his grandpa to share stories of his youth and growing up in Egypt. His favorite was the tale of how grandpa met his grandmother. “Again habibi?” his grandpa would say, “Very well, I shall tell you how I won your grandmother’s heart, but almost lost my life.” Your grandmother was the daughter of the village butcher, who was also the biggest and cruelest man I had ever met. He wanted her to marry the spice merchant’s son, for they were the wealthiest family in the village. When we met I was a young and very foolish traveling food vendor, selling falafel in the village square. I was about to close my cart for the day and head to the next village, when I saw her, the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. She was leading a pig through the town square when it suddenly spooked, and refused to move. Your grandmother tried to move the animal along, but it would not budge. I saw the distress she was in, so I took a few falafels and headed towards her. “Let me help you “, I said. I fed the pig falafel and quietly sang to it, and then grabbed the rope from her hand and started to walk the pig along the road. Your grandmother walked beside me, mesmerized. When we arrived at the pen, the pig obediently walked inside.” How did you do that?” she asked. I told her that no one could resist my cooking, or my singing. “Well I’ve heard you sing, but I must taste your food to judge for myself” she said, smiling. We walked back to my cart and I fried for her my famous falafel. After she had eaten every bite she said “I see that you are a man your true to your word”, and kissed me on the check. I knew then that I would ask for her hand in marriage. The next day I went to the butcher and pleaded to marry his daughter. He laughed at me and said that if he ever saw me near his daughter, he would turn me into sausages. As I left the store, your grandmother beckoned to me from the alleyway. She said that she had heard me ask for her hand, and her father’s rejection. “I do not want to marry the merchant’s son”, she said “I wish to marry the man who can charm animals and people alike with his voice and cooking”. So we made a plan to runaway together and elope that very night. Little did we know that her father suspected our plan and gathered a group of men to catch us in the act. As we snuck through the village square in the dead of night, we were suddenly surrounded! “So you thought you could sneak away did you?” her father said. “Well falafel boy, prepare to die!”, and he pulled out a long carving knife and pressed it to my throat. “Wait!!” your grandmother shouted. “Let him prove himself! If his food impresses you, then you let him go unharmed, and I promise to marry the merchant’s son.” “Very well” he said, “let us all try the little boy’s ‘famous’ falafels.” And so we went to my food cart that I had kept in the village square and I prepared the most important meal of my life. When I was finished, I gave each of the men a falafel, fresh from the oil. One by one each of the men ate until nothing there was nothing left. “That was a tasty treat”, said her father, “I will give you that, but I can’t take the chance of you interfering with my daughter again.” With that he pulled out his knife and advanced toward me. Suddenly, he stopped and started to cough, and then gag. The rest of the men began to vomit violently. They sunk to their knees, unable to quell the stream of sick gushing from their mouths. Seizing our chance, your grandmother and I locked hands and fled into the night. Within the week we were on a ship bound for America. “How did you make them sick so sick?” Alif asked. “I knew that her father was a cruel man that would not let me live either way, so when I prepared the falafels I sprinkled them with a special spice” he said. ”I like to think that old goat never ate another falafel ever again”. Alif was finally at the head of the line; he grabbed his lunch tray and sat at an empty table. As he bit into his falafel he remembered his grandfather who passed away last summer. His parents gave him a framed picture of his grandpa and grandmother together. The photo showed a smiling younger version of the couple standing in front of their newly opened restaurant called “The Singing Falafel”.
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Sep 28, 2015 03:27
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Oct 20, 2015 12:41
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“A Sprinkle of Love” Words 1,029 New York 1941 Two detectives pull up in front of a building. The sign reads “Sprinkles on Top Bakery”. The older cop puts his hand on his partner’s shoulder, as he starts to get out of the car. “Listen, you gotta be careful with this dame. She’s a sly one.” “I’m sure I can handle one feisty broad,” says the rookie. They exit the car and enter the bakery. A sweet sugary smells hits them as they enter. The bakery is small; a glass display case filled with various desserts takes up most of the space. Behind the counter, a woman bent over a tray of cupcakes, carefully icing them with yellow frosting. She looks up as the bell above the door rings, announcing the detectives’ entrance. “Detective Stark, what a pleasant surprise! I didn’t peg you as a man with a sweet tooth.” Her voice is slightly husky, but playful. She ceases icing the cupcakes, and moves out from behind the counter. She takes off her black apron that is streaked with flour. Her floral dress hugs an hourglass figure, with long shapely legs in red high heels. “Good afternoon, Miss Belmont. This is my partner Detective Powell. We came here to ask you a few questions about a string of robberies that have occurred in the city recently,” says Stark. “Robberies? I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong lady detective. You see, I’ve reformed my immoral tendencies,” says Miss Belmont. She tucks a loose blond curl back into the scarf that’s tied around her head. She smiles slyly, “well, most of them anyways.” “So you know nothing about the 12 jewelry stores that were robbed on Valentine’s Day?” says Powell, trying to sound authoritative, “Your history of stealing diamonds makes you highly suspect.” “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten when you and your boyfriend, a Mr. Tom Hicks, stole half a million dollars worth of diamonds?” says Stark. “Oh, I remember quite well,” says Belmont. “And you couldn’t have forgotten either, Detective, that my beloved Tom ran off with said diamonds and left me high and dry. You know they say you can’t put a price on love, but I find a half million works about right.” “Have you heard from him recently? Word on the street was that he flew the coop to Acapulco.” “No, he never did write to me when I was locked away in Bedford. Three long years I was in that dump, not one lousy postcard.” she said. “Tell me then, how does a convicted felon afford to buy herself a bakery?”Powell asked. “This was my pop’s shop. He even named it after me in a way, when I was a kid he would give me whatever I asked for, long as I’d said ‘with sprinkles on top’.” Her eyes darken sadly. “My pop died while I was in prison. He left me the bakery in his will.” “Let’s cut to the chase Miss Belmont. Twelve different jewelry stores reported a theft of a diamond ring. All the stores were very busy that day, and in the confusion of helping multiple customers, the theft occurred. Now, a woman who fits your physical description was seen leaving several of the stores,” says Stark. “Can you account for your whereabouts on Valentine’s Day?” asks Powell. “Hmm let me think, that was last Thursday correct? Yes, I remember now. I was here in bakery making a cake for a friend’s wedding. Beastly thing, six layers with tons of decoration.” “Was anyone else here to vouch for you?” asks Stark. “No, I was by myself. Valentines doesn’t appeal to me as much anymore, you may guess why of course. First time I’ve ever not had a fella on the day actually.” She eyes Powell suggestively. “Maybe next year my luck may change,” she says. “Well then you won’t mind if we take a look around then?” “Help yourself, I live in the apartment upstairs. Try not to make too big of a mess, and mind my delicates hanging to dry in the bathroom,” she winks at Powell who blushes slightly. The two detectives head up the stairs. Belmont goes back behind the counter and continues to ice the cupcakes. A short time later Stark and Powell return and begin to search the downstairs bakery. They open drawers and cabinets in the kitchen. Belmont hums to herself as the men rummage through bags of flour and sugar. Coming up empty handed they return to the entrance of the bakery. “Sorry for any inconvenience miss,” says Stark “we’ll be on our way now.” “Anytime Detective. It’s always nice to have two handsome men of the law give me a visit, under any circumstance,” says Belmont. Powell watches her place the cupcakes in a box. “Those are some mighty good looking cupcakes ma’am. Mind if I grab one for the road?” asks Powell, watching Belmont’s face carefully. “Of course Detective, I hope you like lemon flavor.” She opens the box of cupcakes and offers it to Powell. “I love to see a man with a healthy appetite.” She glances at Powell’s slightly paunchy stomach and smiles sweetly. Powell looks at her for a long hard second. “On second thought, maybe some other time Miss, don’t want to spoil my dinner.” The two men leave the bakery. Belmont lets out a long relived sigh. When the door bell rings again, she looks worriedly to the door. A lone man enters the shop. “Oh, Burnie it’s just you,” the sound of panic leaving her voice. The man walks up to the counter saying nothing. He’s a giant of man with a long scar slashed across half his face. He places his hands on the counter, the size of oven mitts. “Here are your dozen cupcakes, just like you ordered. Each with a little extra sugar baked right in.” she says. She hands the box of cupcakes to the monstrous man. “I hope you enjoy them before your trip to Acapulco.” She says. “Any special message you want me to deliver, when I get there?” he asks “Yes, make sure to tell him that his little cupcake sends her love.”
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Oct 25, 2015 00:45
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Nov 25, 2015 17:01
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