“I wont eat that,” declared the motherinlaw, looking at the dish with disgust.
“What is this?” asked Éléonore, wrinkling her nose as if a bucket of trash had been placed on the table.
“It’s potaufeu,” replied her daughterinlaw, Solène, smiling. She lifted the lid of a ceramic soup tureen and ladled the steaming, colorful broth. “Its wonderful to cook with vegetables from my own garden.”
“I see no difference,” scoffed the motherinlaw. “But its true that tending a garden takes a lot of effort!”
“Undoubtedly,” Solène laughed warmly. “When its a hobby, its always pleasant.”
“Youre talking about *your* hobby, not one forced upon you,” Éléonore sniffed, pursing her lips. “For whom did you prepare all this?”
“For us. There isnt muchjust enough for two meals.”
“I wont eat that mush,” the motherinlaw retorted, waving her hands and stepping back. “Its incomprehensible!” Éléonore pretended to gag, covering her mouth and averting her gaze from the table.
Solène rolled her eyes and sighed.
She had met Maxime, Éléonores son, a year and a half ago. Their love was so intense they married a month later, without a lavish ceremony. With the money they saved, they bought their shared dream: a country house that they were slowly turning into a home.
During that time, Solène had seen Éléonore only four timesjust as many as Maxime. In fact, three of those occasions were because Solène had persuaded her husband to visit his mother for the holidays.
Éléonore had always viewed her sons marriage as a folly. Yet she had no control over her adult, independent son, so she felt she had to wait for what she considered the natural, logical outcome. That outcome kept being delayed, and it was beginning to irritate her.
She couldnt understand what Maxime had found in this “too ordinary girl,” nor how Solène had managed to charm him. He was a handsome young man, constantly surrounded by more elegant, attractive women.
Moreover, Éléonore was a city dweller through and through, and she had raised her son the same way. Her motherly intuition told her that Maxime already had enough of rural life, and that a little push would return things to how they were before. After such a bitter experience, she was convinced he would finally find a partner who could forge genuine friendships with her.
She had to hurry and prevent the cunning Solène from trapping her son with a child!
Éléonore devised a plan: she called her daughterinlaw to ask for an invitation, since she hadnt been invited to their housewarming. Solène reminded her that she had called twice, but Éléonore always slipped away, claiming she was busy. Éléonore brushed those excuses aside with a wave of her hand and declared her intention to visit her son.
Two days later she found herself in a spacious, bright living room, barely able to contain her indignation. Her son, like her and her late husband, loathed soups! In their family, only easily identifiable dishes were accepted.
How could Maxime have let his wife take charge so quickly? Was she a sorceress? A shiver of anxiety ran through Éléonore. She immediately dismissed the crude thought that Solène kept Maxime with bedroom prowess.
“Tricks and Solène? Incompatible! Surely a spell!” she muttered. “Otherwise, why would my son eat that mixture?”
Éléonore shot a hateful look at her daughterinlaw. She pretended to be a saint while she “slowly murdered” her husband.
“Whats incomprehensible about it?” Solène asked, seemingly oblivious to her motherinlaws act, as she filled a second bowl of potaufeu and handed it to Éléonore. “Its simple: cabbage, onions, carrots, grated beetrootmy grandmothers recipe. No potatoes this time, but Ill add them next. Then a few fresh garden herbs and a splash of cream!”
“Eat your mush!” the motherinlaw shouted, hands flailing.
“Youd need it at your age! Fiber regulates bowel movements and improves gut flora. When the flora thrives, its owner does too!” Éléonore flushed at Solènes boldness but said nothing and continued, “Why are you making Maxime eat this?”
Solène blinked, puzzled. “He seems to like it.”
“What else can a man do when theres nothing else to eat?”
“Cook what he prefers? Order takeout? Visit a neighbor? See his mother?” Solène listed, smiling.
At the last suggestion Éléonores face reddened further.
“Dont be sarcastic! At least ask me what he likes, out of politeness.”
“Éléonore, I asked him directly. Hes old enough to speak for himself. He says he likes everything.”
“Hes lying! Cant you see? At first he didnt want to upset you. Now he forces himself!”
“Ah!” Solène sighed, pulling a long face. “The potaufeu is ready; we wont waste it. He must make an effort. Will you support him too?”
“What?!” the motherinlaw gasped at Solène.
“No? Too bad. Im sure your son would appreciate your solidarity.”
“You”
“Solène! Were back!” Maximes cheerful voice echoed from the hallway.
Suddenly a fluffy white dog burst into the living room, barking.
“Aaaah!” Éléonore shrieked, diving behind Solène.
“Dont worry, its Louna. She doesnt bite and shes wellbehaved,” Solène reassured, raising her hand. The dog settled down, sitting obediently. “Sweetie, youre wonderful.”
“Why are you letting the neighbors dogs in?” Éléonore whispered, still shocked.
“Why the neighbors? She belongs to us. Shes inside because shes a house dog. She lives with us.”
“Inside? Thats unsanitary!” the motherinlaw exclaimed. “And Maxime hates dogs!”
“No, Mom, you dont like dogs. Hello,” Maxime said, entering the room. “Youre just in time for lunch.”
“Hello, my son!” Éléonore stood still, waiting for a kiss on the cheek, but Maxime gave her a brief hug while Solène received a gentle kiss on the lips.
“So, shall we eat?” the host sniffed the air, a blissful smile on his face.
“With pleasure, Maxime, but theres nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“You prepared pork feed. By the way, you never told me you had that. The smell must be worse than the city traffic.”
Maxime looked perplexed at his mother, then at Solène, and finally at the set table. His neck muscles tightened, and his gaze returned to his mother, stripped of the earlier lightness.
“Honestly, Id forgotten those habits,” Misha said, bitterly.
“Which habits, son? Our tastes, principles, traditions! You never complained!”
“I? As a child I feared your wrath. As an adult I didnt want to aggravate you further.”
“What are you talking about?!” Éléonore cried, incredulous, triggering another round of Lounas barking. “Quiet!” she protested, threatening the dog Solène held with her fist. “She has her preferences,” she snarled at Solène, “but why let yourself be trampled? Happy to be fed junk? Let her turn the house into a menagerie? Who really rules this roof?”
“I” Maxime murmured darkly.
“Then act like the master of this place!” Éléonore declared, pleased with herself.
“Wheres your luggage?” Maxime asked.
“Always at the entrance! I havent eaten since the trip.”
“Perfect. Thank Solène for the invitation.”
“What?”
“Thank Solène for this final attempt at reconciliation and apologize.”
“But she”
“Mom!”
“Thankyouandsorry,” Éléonore muttered annoyedly.
Solène nodded solemnly.
“Lets go.”
“Where?”
“Where everything is to your taste, according to your rules, your traditions.”
“But Maxime, I” her son began, but he cut her off:
“It was your tastes with dad, not mine. My opinion mattered little. Yet he once told me, You dont like whats ours; create yours. I followed that. Here its my taste, my rules, my traditions. The lady of the house is my wife. Not happy? You still have your place.”
“My son! She turned you against me!” Éléonore adopted a plaintive tone. “She enchanted you!” she whispered dramatically.
Maxime had had enough. He grabbed his mothers arm, led her to the entrance, took her travel bag, opened the door, and silently escorted her to the gate, saying:
“By the way, know that Solène was on your side. She gets along with her family. She didnt think it could be like ours. In the kitchen a dish was prepared for you, but the potaufeu was the test. You showed your true face,” Maxime opened the door. “The taxi is waiting.”
“You but how did you arrange a taxi?!” Éléonore stammered, still stunned by her sons candor.
“I told Solène to wait and not let you out right away. She did the right thing.”
“You! But you!” Éléonore fumed.
“I, Mom, am the master of the house, just as you wanted,” Maxime signaled the driver, set his mothers bag on the ground without waiting for her to get in, reentered the property and shut the door.
“A spell,” Éléonore concluded, convinced she had diagnosed her son. Already seated in the taxi, she scrolled through her phone, searching for a way to break the enchantment. She was certain there must be something that could bring her son back.
I Won’t Eat That,” Said the Mother-in-Law, Wrinkling Her Nose at the Dish Disgustedly
