As though the phone reception at my mums house wasn’t bad enough, I tried to hear what she was saying on top of the interrupting sounds of her banging, chopping, opening, frying… and so I asked her what she was cooking.
“Vospov shorba”, which from Armenian, directly translates to “lentil soup.”
Oh yum. It sounded perfect on this cold winter, Melbourne afternoon. That was the thing about living out of home. Your mother is not around to make you all those traditional home cooked delicacies that you grew up with.
I asked for the recipe, grabbing the nearest pen and paper I could find.
“Give it to me properly, not in drips and drabs.”
“Okay okay.” She took in a deep breath as she got ready to share her wisdom…properly.
I made the soup. It was...well perfect!
I changed around the recipe a little, adding a little more chicken stock.
I called mum to tell her how well it went.
“How is it?”
“To be honest, better than yours.”
“Oh its like that now is it?”
“Yeah sorry to bust your bubble.”
“That’s okay, just be careful, its addictive, you will probably end up going for a lot of re-fills.”
I was filling up my third plate as she was warning me. I put down the ladle, grabbed my bowl, sat on the dinner table, smirked and continued on sipping (loudly).
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