A terrifying discovery in the motherinlaws pot
The motherinlaw glanced into the pot and let out a horrified scream
MarieNoëlle woke at dawn and, as usual, headed for the kitchen of her house on the outskirts of Lyon. To her surprise, her daughterinlaw was already busy at the stove.
Good morning, Anastasie said with a smile, stirring something in the pot.
Morning, MarieNoëlle grunted, scrunching her nose. What are you making?
A pistou soup, the daughterinlaw replied without looking up. Olivier loves it.
A pistou soup? the motherinlaw sniffed, wary. Does it always smell like that?
What else should it smell like? Anastasie shrugged, covered the pot and left the kitchen.
Without missing a beat, MarieNoëlle rushed to the stove, lifted the lid, and peered inside. What she saw made her scream in terror.
What on earth is that mixture? she whispered, stepping back as if facing poison.
Anastasie returned with plates and, noticing her motherinlaws reaction, calmly explained,
Its a pistou soup, MarieNoëlle. The vegetables are from our gardenfresh, just picked. Cooking with your own produce feels like a celebration.
A celebration? the motherinlaw snorted, crossing her arms. That garden is a chore! Why waste time digging when you can buy everything at the supermarket? I just dont get it.
I love it, Anastasie answered softly while ladling the soup. The scent of basil, beans and tomatoes filled the kitchen. The earth gives so much energy when you work with it.
Energy? MarieNoëlle rolled her eyes. Its a hobby for people who have nothing better to do. Normal people She stopped when she saw Anastasie still smiling, as if oblivious to the barbs. And for whom did you make all this?
For us, the daughterinlaw said. Just for a few days. Olivier keeps asking for more.
MarieNoëlle stepped back dramatically, as if the aroma were making her sick.
I wont eat that! she declared emphatically. Just the smell makes me nauseous! What did you put in it?
Anastasie sighed, avoiding her motherinlaws gaze. From the corner of her eye she spotted Olivier entering the kitchen, watching silently.
MarieNoëlle couldnt understand what had happened to her son. Two years ago, Olivier had been a promising citydwelling IT professional. They attended exhibitions together, talked about new restaurants, dreamed about his career. Now he lived in the countryside, tended a garden, and married a simple girl named Anastasiejust saying her name gave MarieNoëlle a chill of irritation.
Olivier had always been an enviable catchtall, smart, charming. Many welltodo girls had sighed over him. Why had he chosen a country girl and a tiny, hidden house? MarieNoëlle hoped he would tire of it and return to the city. But months passed, and he sank deeper into this rural idyll.
She decided to act. Anastasies invitation was the perfect opportunity. The motherinlaw devised a plan: remind her son of who he really was and pull him out of the countryside before it was too late.
Olivier entered the kitchen, took his wife in his arms, and turned to his mother:
Mom, try the soup. Anastasie makes it perfectly!
Olivier, you know your father and I have never eaten those peasant soups, MarieNoëlle retorted. I remember you making faces at pistou as a child, calling it oldpeoples food.
Anastasie forced a smile, imagining a young Olivier refusing his bowl. Yet now he was a man, and his tastes had changed.
Mom, times have changed, he laughed. Anastasies soup is a masterpiece. Try it, youll see.
A masterpiece? the motherinlaw gasped, indignant. Olivier, you call a pot of beans a masterpiece? Real masterpieces belong in theatres and museums, not in this kitchen concoction!
A Terrifying Discovery in the Mother-in-Law’s Cauldron
