Belle Melange

In the usual hullabaloo of the cutlery conversations, he ran from one corner to another attending to the heating oil and slicing apples. The sweat on his brow trickled down on the side, the plaid apron absorbed every drop of excitement, and he seemed pleased with this entire treatment. Twenty-seven years had passed since the last time he had laboured so much in the kitchen. Today, he carefully chose his ingredients, sharpened his knife, and braced up his talent.

That loaf of French bread looked so dry, and under his skilled care, they were soon chopped into little cubes. On the other end, there were three large Granny Smith apples, peeled and sliced under watchful eyes with extra care. The cuckoo-clock interrupted making her grand announcement of the fleeting time, and he realised that it was about time to begin the ceremony of cooking.

He took out the saucepan and dropped in some butter slices into it, having waited for a few minutes, he threw some bread cubes into the pan to partially melt along. Marveling on the harmonious blend of the butter and bread, he took in the aroma, and quickly spread the cubes on a baking sheet. While the cubes were turning crisp and brown in the oven, he moved to making the sugar syrup, after all, he knew that his guest always had a sweet-tooth. In a large mixing bowl, he began combining the apples, walnuts, dried cranberries, cream cheese and toasted bread cubes. As enticing as the mixing was, he wasn't satisfied with this little magnanimity. He added more, the mixture now experienced light drizzles of the sugar syrup. His rough and experienced hands gently buttered the casserole dish, and soon all the ingredients were evenly spread in it and was set to bake.

The top of the dish slowly turned golden brown and crusty, draining all the liquid inside it. The entire spectacle was so mesmerising, and he was completely lost in this amusement. The doorbell disturbed his musing, but it didn't irk him, rather, he was too excited as he ran to the door.

There she was, a little old now, with some grey hair. Those aged lines added charm to her face, and her eyes gleamed with euphoria. Holding her hand, and taking her to the table, he gently sat her down. Her beauty was so captivating that the oven's clicking tone had to bring him back from that magical spell. He ran to the kitchen, took out the dish, cautiously sliced it into little pieces, and decoratively placed it on the plates. To top it all, he had set aside some whipped cream to serve along.

As he was setting the plates on the table, she took in the aroma, and a smile spread across her face. It was the same dish which she had tried to make twenty-seven years ago. Callously cooking and not knowing what she was going to make, she had created fire. It was an accident, but he took it upon himself and gave the chaotic dish a shape and a taste. She wanted to know what this new dish would be called, and he simply looked in to her eyes and smiled. She could sense his smile but could not see it. He had held her hand and had given the dish a label.

Yes, it was the same food! "Lovely Mess" or what he in his baritone voice called, "Belle Melange".