Grandma raised the alarm. Grandpa lowered the heat.
Lunch Is Nearly Ready
Grandma Elsie had just arranged the tomatoes in a bowl when the pot began to climb out of itself.
“George!” she called.
Grandpa looked up from the table, where he was folding napkins. A cap of white foam had risen above the rim and was sliding down the side of the pot.
“It’s escaping,” Grandma said.
Grandpa crossed the kitchen and turned down the heat. The foam trembled for a moment, then settled.
“There,” he said.
Another bubble rose through the middle and popped.
Grandma pointed at it. “That one looked determined.”
Their family was coming for lunch, and the soup had been behaving perfectly until they started discussing whether there were enough chairs.
A Pot With Other Plans
Grandpa peered into the pot. “How much did we lose?”
“Some soup, most of my peace, and possibly the napkin you put too close to the stove.”
He retrieved the napkin from the counter. It had one small spot on the corner.
“Only a casualty,” he said.
Grandma took a clean spoon and tasted the soup. “It’s still good, but it needs a little more stock.”
“I can get some.”
“There’s a jar in the cupboard. Not the one with the red lid. That’s the sauce for tonight.”
Grandpa opened the cupboard and studied two jars.
“Does the orange lid count as red?”
Grandma came to look. “In this kitchen, yes.”
He handed her the other jar. While she stirred in the stock, he moved the pot to a cool burner. They left the spill around the hot burner until the surface had cooled enough to clean.
Saving the Soup
Grandma added a pinch of herbs and tasted the soup again.
“Better,” she said. “Now it can wait quietly.”
Grandpa looked at the pot. “Do you think it heard you?”
“It heard me the first time. It simply disagreed.”
The kitchen smelled of tomatoes and herbs. Once the stove had cooled, Grandpa wiped up the spill while Grandma sliced bread. When he finished, he held up the cloth.
“I’ve rescued the cooker.”
“Excellent. Would you also rescue the spoons? They’re still in the drawer.”
He brought them to the table and counted aloud. Halfway through, the doorbell rang.
Their daughter Anna arrived with Lily and Ben. Lily came in carrying a drawing, while Ben stopped just inside the kitchen.
“What happened here?” he asked.
“Lunch tried to leave early,” Grandpa said.
Grandma lifted the pot lid to check the soup. Ben leaned forward, keeping a careful distance.
“Did you catch it?”
“Most of it,” she said.
The Noisiest Guest
They sat down together, and Grandpa ladled soup into the bowls. There was enough for everyone, with a little left in the pot.
Lily dipped a piece of bread into hers. “It tastes nice.”
“Thank you,” Grandma said. “It had a great deal to say while we were making it.”
Ben looked towards the stove. “What did it say?”
“I couldn’t hear the words,” Grandpa told him. “Your grandmother raised the alarm at the same time.”
Grandma gave him a look. “The soup was halfway across the cooker.”
“It was only boiling.”
“It was travelling.”
A soft rattle came from the stove.
Everyone turned. The lid had shifted as a little steam escaped from the pot.
Grandpa rose, lifted the lid carefully, and set it slightly aside.
“There,” he said. “Our noisiest guest would like some air.”
Ben picked up his spoon. “Can it have its own chair next time?”
“Only if it promises to stay in it,” Grandma said.
Livora Gracely ♥
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