A frightening find in motherinlaws pot
Motherinlaw glanced into the pot and let out a horrified scream
MarieNoëlle awoke at dawn and, as usual, headed for the kitchen of her suburban home near Lyon. To her surprise, her daughterinlaw was already bustling by the stove.
Good morning, Anastasie said with a smile, stirring something in the pot.
Morning, MarieNoëlle muttered, wrinkling her nose. What are you making?
A pistou soup, the daughterinlaw replied without looking up. Olivier loves it.
Pistou soup? the motherinlaw sniffed skeptically. Does it usually smell like that?
How should it smell, then? Anastasie shrugged, covered the pot and left the kitchen.
Without missing a beat, MarieNoëlle rushed to the stove, lifted the lid and peered inside. What she saw made her let out a gasp of terror.
What on earth is that mixture? she whispered, stepping back as if faced with poison.
Anastasie returned with plates and, noticing her motherinlaws reaction, calmly explained:
Its a pistou soup, MarieNoëlle. The vegetables are from our gardenfresh, just picked. Cooking with what you grow feels like a celebration.
A celebration? the motherinlaw scoffed, crossing her arms. That garden is a chore! Why waste time digging when everything can be bought at the supermarket? I just dont get it.
I enjoy it, Anastasie answered softly while ladling the soup. The scent of basil, beans and tomatoes filled the kitchen. Working the earth gives you so much energy.
Energy? MarieNoëlle rolled her eyes. Its a pastime for people who have nothing better to do. Normal folks She stopped herself when she saw Anastasie still smiling, as if the remarks didnt reach her. And for whom did you make all this?
For us, the daughterinlaw said. For a few days. Olivier keeps asking for more.
MarieNoëlle stepped back emphatically, as if the aroma made her ill.
I wont eat that! she declared loudly. The smell alone makes me nauseous! What did you put in it?
Anastasie sighed, avoiding her motherinlaws gaze. From the corner of her eye she saw Olivier slip into the kitchen, watching silently.
MarieNoëlle couldnt comprehend what had become of her son. Just two years ago, Olivier had been a promising citydwelling IT specialist. They attended exhibitions together, talked about new restaurants, dreamed about his career. Now, rural life, the garden, this simple Anastasiejust the name made her shiver with irritation.
Olivier had always been a coveted catchtall, smart, charming. Countless girls from respectable families had swooned over him! Why had he chosen a country girl and a tiny, hidden house? MarieNoëlle hoped he would tire of it and return to the city. Yet month after month, he sank deeper into this rural idyll.
She decided to act. Anastasies invitation was the perfect opening. The motherinlaw devised a plan: remind her son of who he really was and pull him out of the countryside before it was too late.
Olivier entered the kitchen, wrapped his wife in his arms and turned to his mother:
Mom, try the soup. Anastasie makes it perfectly!
Olivier, you know your father and I have never eaten those peasant soups, MarieNoëlle retorted. I remember you as a child making a face at pistou, calling it an oldpeoples dish.
Anastasie forced a smile, picturing a young Olivier refusing his bowl. But now he was an adult, and his tastes had changed.
Mom, times have changed, he laughed. Anastasies soup is a masterpiece. Try it, youll see.
A masterpiece? the motherinlaw sputtered, indignant. Olivier, you call a pot of beans a masterpiece? Real masterpieces belong in theatres, museums, not in this kitchen concoction!
A Chilling Discovery in the Mother-in-Law’s Cauldron
