A Week of Sausage: When My MotherinLaw Monitors Our Servings
The sausage for the week or how my motherinlaw learns to count our bites
It was midsummer in July when Hélène Lucienne was scrubbing the windows, shaking the cushions, and reminding her daughter that it was time to head out to the countrythe garlic was ready for harvest. Élodie tried to explain herself: work, obligations, the kids Yet her mother, as unyielding as ever, would not give an inch.
The summer is almost over, and youre still cooped up in your Paris flat! she barked over the phone, irritated. The strawberries will spoil, the potatoes will turn green, and youll keep staring at your phones!
In the end they settled on a weekend visit, partly to help in the garden and partly to enjoy a quiet evening.
Alexandre had no desire to travel. Their last trip had ended badly, leaving him with a sour taste. He had simply asked for a few slices of sausage to go with the couscousbut his motherinlaw had flatly refused. The rebuff left him speechless.
On Saturday they left early. They worked efficiently: the garlic was pulled, sorted, and stored. The evening, dinner, and family chatter remained. Alexandre took a shower, then slipped into the kitchen. Élodie and her mother were setting the table while the aroma of couscous filled the room. To kill time, he opened the fridge, grabbed a couple of sausage slices for a sandwichwhen suddenly
Dont touch that! Hélène Luciennes voice cracked like a gunshot.
The sausage was thrust back into the refrigerator. Alexandre stood frozen, stunned.
Whats happening, Mom? Élodie asked, puzzled.
The sausage is for breakfast, with bread! Not now. And dont ruin your appetite! snapped the motherinlaw.
Alexandre tasted the couscous, but found no meat in it. He asked again for a bit of sausage. Another refusal.
Why this obsession? Hélène Lucienne exploded. Youve already eaten half of it! Do you know how much it costs? Its supposed to last the whole week!
He pushed his plate away, his appetite vanished, and he drifted out to the garden couch, staring at the ceiling. Élodie joined him later.
Im going back inside. I cant stand this atmosphere. Every move is watched, as if I were a thief. Im even afraid to butter my toast too much, lest it be ripped from my hands.
There isnt even a grocery store around, Élodie whispered, embarrassed. Just the fruitsellers van on Wednesdays.
We should have brought food instead of cherries and apricots, Alexandre muttered. Im leaving tomorrow. Ill come back for you later. Without meat I wont last long.
Well leave together, Élodie declared firmly.
The next morning they drove back to Paris. Élodie lied to her mother, claiming a work emergency for Alexandre. Hélène Lucienne watched them go, her eyes dark.
A year passed without setting foot in Hélène Luciennes house. She, however, visited them regularly, and oddly enough she opened their fridge as if it were her own, taking whatever she wanted without asking. Alexandre even laughed at it:
Look at the sausage! Apparently it has full rights here
Come spring, the calls resumed:
So, when are you coming back? The garden wont tend itself.
Alexandre resisted until Élodie suggested a trick:
Lets bring supplies. That way Mom cant tally our portions.
He agreedon the condition they make a detour to the supermarket. Soon they were again in front of the country house, bags piled high.
Whats this now? Apricots? Hélène Lucienne asked, pursing her lips. As she rummaged through the sacks she uncovered cheese, meat, and sausage, then fell silent.
Now you wont have to calculate how many grams I eat, Alexandre joked.
Hélène Lucienne let out a faint scoff but said nothing. Later, in the kitchen, she whispered to Élodie:
It would be nice if you always brought provisions. Simpler for me, easier for you.
Élodie nodded, torn between irritation and amusement. The main point was clear: Alexandre was ready to return, armed with groceries, without fights or accusations. In the end, that turned out to be a sort of family happiness.
