“Well…here goes nothing,”
I sighed, scooping the mixture and hearing the occasional sizzle it makes on the pan. There are no signs of bubbles- hinting that there’s definitely something wrong with them. I take spatula and turn it over. I notice the golden colour of the pancake as it starts to simmer. Mum comes in to check on me, as she always does.
“Darling, orders need to start piling up now…” She says, before looking at me suspiciously. She walks over, seeing no reaction from me behind. I stare at it, mouth hanging wide open.
I sighed, scooping the mixture and hearing the occasional sizzle it makes on the pan. There are no signs of bubbles- hinting that there’s definitely something wrong with them. I take spatula and turn it over. I notice the golden colour of the pancake as it starts to simmer. Mum comes in to check on me, as she always does.
“Darling, orders need to start piling up now…” She says, before looking at me suspiciously. She walks over, seeing no reaction from me behind. I stare at it, mouth hanging wide open.
“How did that happen?” She asks, looking at the pancake, too with eyes shocked to the core. We stand there for a few seconds, looking at the creation.
“I mixed some flour with egg whites, milk and vanilla essence like I normally do…” I repeated, “But somehow, I left it in the mixer for too long, and tried to fry it. And now- it looks…
“I mixed some flour with egg whites, milk and vanilla essence like I normally do…” I repeated, “But somehow, I left it in the mixer for too long, and tried to fry it. And now- it looks…
Mum spaded the pancake with the spatula and she looks at it side to side before picking a piece of it from the side, stuffing it into her mouth. She chews, concentrating on the taste.
“Mmm!” She squelches with delight, “This is delicious!”
“Really?”
I pick a piece to try too. The sweetness unravels in my mouth and the texture, soft and bread like. I pick another piece to see if it’s real. I plop it into my mouth again.
“Mmm!” She squelches with delight, “This is delicious!”
“Really?”
I pick a piece to try too. The sweetness unravels in my mouth and the texture, soft and bread like. I pick another piece to see if it’s real. I plop it into my mouth again.
“Wow- this is really good!”
“I did well this time didn’t I mum? Didn’t I?!”
“Yes!”
“Yes!”
Dad comes in, having heard all the screaming.
“Please don’t tell me there are rats in the kitchen…”
“No- look, come over here!” Mum gestures.
“What?”
“Try this,” she offers. He takes a bite.
“No- look, come over here!” Mum gestures.
“What?”
“Try this,” she offers. He takes a bite.
“What do you think?”
“Did you make this…or is this from the shops?”
“Raina made it,”
“From what?”
“That messed up mixture,”
“Incredible,”
“Raina- try frying the rest of that and serving it up to the customers as a special on the house, and see what they think,”
“Okay,”
***
“Raina made it,”
“From what?”
“That messed up mixture,”
“Incredible,”
“Raina- try frying the rest of that and serving it up to the customers as a special on the house, and see what they think,”
“Okay,”
***
“Wow- this is quite incredible,” Dad says, as he counts all the orders hanging on the line, “341…342 sell outs today,” he breathed.
This dream of getting into the KIC industry began when Dad took me to his workplace when I was little- around 8 years of age. He used to work there as a sous chef, running errands for other people sometimes- but that did not stop him from learning a few recipes and methods to cook foods.
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