Updated: May 10, 2022
I decided to do a writing prompt I say, and this one actually made me giggle.
Writing Prompt of the day: Write about the one time you made a meal your mom used to make as a child.
Derek was quite certain he would get it this time. Pulling out the cookbook his mom used when he was a little boy, he carefully traced the spine. All of her famous recipes had been written within the worn and brittle book. Her cursive handwriting was clear and crisp, as you could tell she gave it all of her love into the page. With a soft hand, Derek traced the page with a sweet smile. Since her passing, Derek had missed her greatly. When he was clearing out the attic of his childhood home, he found the cookbook within a small box of her things. His mouth began to water at the memories of savoury flavours he craved. Heading into the kitchen, he flipped through the pages debating which one he should try this time.
Between stir fry, stew and a meat pie, he pondered which one would be feasible. He placed the book down on the stand before looking at his catch of the day as it hung to bleed out. He had taken special care to make sure the meat wouldn’t spoil in the cold room, pulling it down to begin cutting it. Stripping off the outer layer, he hacked and stripped the meat off the bone with precision. With talented handling, he managed to get decent cuts while discarding useless parts. Upon inspection of the cuts, he began to separate and pack several bits for different occasions. Holding a fatty bit, he decided to make a meat pie. The texture seemed right, and the amount he managed to carve would make for several other meals included. Taking the meat, he placed it into his meat mincer and turned the machine on. While he waited for it to process, he cleaned up the mess, making sure to keep the head of his trophy.
Once the meat was minced, he scaled and packaged the rest in which he would use later. With enough to make a few pies, he nodded with satisfaction. Derek headed to the kitchen with his bowl of meat in one arm and his mother’s cookbook in the other. First, he needed to cook the meat and boil potatoes. Starting up the skillet, he seasoned and spiced the meat to his mother’s instructions. Covering the meat, he began to peel potatoes and waited for the pot of water to boil. Standing back, he quickly tapped the book to read. Somehow he felt like he was missing something. Right, he snapped his fingers with a hand gunshot, the recipe called for some corn.
Brushing his hands on his chest, he headed to the panty. Usually, he kept a good stock of canned veggies and soups for this occasion, so having a small can of corn wouldn’t be a problem. He shuffled a few cans around, eventually finding one as he cheered with a happy grunt. It was cream of corn, which in his mind was a better option. Can’t always follow the recipe to a T, he thought with a chuckle. Returning to the oven, he checked the process of the meat before grabbing the can opener. After opening the can, he placed it down and turned the oven on. With a spoon, he mixed both the meat and the potatoes, making sure they were well on their way. The meat was partially ready as he pulled it off the stovetop. No point in over-cooking it when he was going to bake it all.
Derek pulled out a glass bakeware bowl, pouring three-quarters of the meat into it. Next, he took the cream of corn and created a small layer of it across the top of the meat. He took a small silver spoon to help smooth it all out, making sure it was covered entirely. Lastly, he checked the potatoes. They were the perfect cook to mash as he pulled it off the stovetop and drained the water. With a good mash, milk and butter, he whipped it up something fierce before globbing it up with a wooden spoon. Craftily, he plopped it on top of the layers in the glassware, covering the corn and meat without spilling it over the edge. With a fork, he fluffed the layer about, giving it a good texture to bake. With a small smile of delight, Derek was excited to see the potato crisp into a lovely golden texture. Placing it into the oven, he stood with his fists on his hip in triumph.
Now all he had to do was wait. Blowing as raspberry, he looked around at the dishes. Well, he had some time to waste. With that, he began to clean up his mess, then set the table. He had just finished lighting candles when the timer ran for the pie. Licking his lips at the delicious smell, he opened the oven to take a peek first. His expectation of the crispy potato design on the top was spot on. There it was, the beautiful masterpiece from his mother’s recipe. Pulling it out, he hardly could wait as he skipped to the table, placing it down on a cork trivet. Before sitting down, Derek quickly ran to the kitchen to grab a wine class and his finest red.
Oh, how he waited for this moment, rubbing his hands together he anxiously poured himself a glass before cutting into the meat pie. With a big scoop, he dished it to his plate and delicately picked up his fork. The moment of truth to see how well he was able to cook his own killed game. With trembling fingers, he loaded his fork with a bit of each layer and took a bite. The flavour swirled his taste buds. The tenderness of the meat, the creamy corn and potato perfectly mingling the juices and spices. The more he chewed, however, the more that there was something missing. It was everything he was hoping for but it wasn’t like his mother’s. He took a few more bites, his euphoria dissipating quickly as he frowned into his meat pie. What was he missing? Was it the cream corn? Maybe the meat was too fresh since she always just made it with store-bought products.
With a heavy sigh, he finished his plate using a bit of bread to scoop up the juices running amuck on his plate from the meat. Sitting back he smacked his lips, grabbing his glass of wine as he stared at the head of his prized kill sitting on the other side of the table. With a narrow glare, he took a sip as he stared into the eyes of the blue eyes of the man whose body he cut up. Maybe it was the meat, Derek thought as he swished the wine within his mouth to clear his pallet. With a crooked smile, he continued to stare darkly. Next time, I will get it right.