My Neighbour Told Me to Stop Cooking Pongy FoodThen Things Got Personal
Id just moved into a new flat in a three-storey terraced house. Ive got two neighboursones a young couple with two little ones, and the other is a middle-aged woman named Margaret, who lives by herself.
I reckoned Id get on with them just fine, never having had bother with neighbours before. But that optimistic notion took a turn after a strange run-in with the woman next door.
One Friday evening, as I was cooking dinner, the doorbell rang. To my surprise, it was Margaret. She launched into a complaint about the strong smell of garlic wafting through the wall, saying it was so overpowering she couldnt concentrate on her favourite telly programme. She asked me to tone it down next time.
I was taken aback but kept quiet, brushing it off. The following week, I whipped up my favourite garlic chicken pasta. A few days later, my landlord knocked on the door. Someone had complained to him about a “persistent whiff issue.”
At first, I was furious shed gone behind my back like that. Then I decided to sort it out properly.
The next time I cooked the same dish, I knocked on Margarets door with a plate in hand. Smiling, I said, “Maybe the smell got to you because it was just too temptingfancy a taste?”
She blinked in surprise but took the plate and invited me in. Over the meal, she opened up about her childhood, when garlic bread was her absolute favourite.
But her late husband couldnt stand the smell, so shed avoided cooking with garlic for years. My dishes had brought it all back, leaving her frustrated shed ignored her own tastes for so long.
The next morning, I found a thank-you note at my doorshed loved it. Since then, Ive always made extra for her, and weve even started cooking together now and then.
