“I won’t eat that,” the motherinlaw said, staring at the dish with revulsion.
“What is this?” Eleanor sniffed, as if a bucket of trash had been set before her.
“It’s just potaufeu,” her daughterinlaw Solène replied with a smile, lifting the lid of a ceramic tureen and ladling the steaming, colorful broth. “I love cooking with vegetables from my own garden.”
“The difference is unclear to me,” the motherinlaw scoffed. “But tending a garden does take a lot of work!”
“Indeed,” Solène laughed warmly. “When its a hobby, its always enjoyable.”
“Youre speaking of *your* hobby, not one imposed on you,” Eleanor said, pursing her lips. “For whom did you prepare all this?”
“For us. Its not muchjust enough for two meals.”
“This mush won’t go down,” the motherinlaw snapped, waving her hands and stepping back. “Its incomprehensible!” Eleanor pretended to gag, covering her mouth and averting her gaze from the table.
Solène rolled her eyes and sighed.
She had met Maxime, Eleanors son, a year and a half earlier; their love was so instant they married a month later, without a lavish ceremony. With the money they saved, they bought a countryside house and were gradually turning it into a home.
In the meantime, Solène had seen Eleanor only four timesonce each with Maxime. In fact, three of those visits were at Solènes urging, convincing her husband to spend the holidays with his mother.
Eleanor had always viewed her sons marriage as a folly, yet she had no control over her adult, independent child, so she waited for what she considered the natural, logical outcome. That outcome, however, kept being delayed, and her frustration grew.
She couldnt understand what Maxime had found in this “ordinary girl” and wondered how Solène had managed to win him over. He was a handsome young man, constantly surrounded by more sophisticated and attractive women.
Moreover, Eleanor was a citydweller through and through and had raised her son the same way. Her maternal instinct told her that Maxime already had enough of rural life and only needed a little push to return to the way things were. After such a bitter experience, she was convinced he would finally find a partner who would forge genuine friendships with her.
But she had to act quickly so that clever Solène wouldnt trap her son with a child!
Eleanor devised a plan: she called her daughterinlaw, asking to be invited because she hadnt been asked to the housewarming. Solène reminded her that shed called twice, but Eleanor always declined, claiming she was busy. Eleanor brushed off those excuses and declared her intention to visit her son.
Two days later she found herself in a spacious, bright living room, barely containing her indignation. Her son, like her and her late husband, detested soups! In their family, only easily recognizable dishes were accepted.
How could Maxime let his wife take charge so quickly? Was she some kind of enchantress? A shiver of anxiety ran through Eleanor. She instantly dismissed the crude thought that Solène kept Maxime with bedroom tricks.
“Sorcery?” she wondered. “Otherwise, why would my son eat that mixture?”
She glared at her daughterinlaw. Solène pretended to be saintly while slowly “assassinating” her husband.
“Whats incomprehensible about it?” Solène asked, ignoring the theatrics, as she refilled another bowl of potaufeu and handed it to Eleanor. “Its simple: cabbage, onions, carrots, grated beetroot according to my grandmothers recipe. No potatoes this time, but therell be some next round, plus fresh herbs from the garden and a dash of cream!”
“Then eat your mush!” the motherinlaw demanded, waving her hands.
“You could use it at your age! Fiber regulates bowel movements and improves gut flora. When the flora thrives, its owner does too!”
Eleanor blushed at Solènes boldness but said nothing, continuing, “Why force Maxime to eat this?”
Solène blinked, puzzled. “He seems to like it.”
“What can a man do if theres nothing else to eat?”
“Cook what he prefers? Order takeout? Visit a neighbor? See his mother?” Solène listed with a smile.
At the last suggestion Eleanor turned even redder.
“Dont be sarcastic! At least ask me what he likes, out of politeness.”
“Eleanor, 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 longnose pin. “The potaufeu is ready; we wont throw it away. He has to try. Will you support him too?”
“What?!” the motherinlaw exclaimed, eyes wide.
“No? Too bad. Im sure your son would appreciate your solidarity.”
“You”
“Solène! Were home!” Maximes cheerful voice echoed from the hallway.
A fluffy white dog burst into the living room, barking.
“Aaaah!” Eleanor shrieked, hiding behind Solène.
“Dont worry, thats Louna. She doesnt bite and shes wellbehaved,” Solène reassured, raising her hand. The dog calmed and sat obediently. “Sweetie, youre wonderful.”
“Why are you letting the neighbors dogs in?” Eleanor whispered, still shocked.
“Why the neighbors? Shes ours, inside, because shes a house dog. She lives with us.”
“Inside? Thats unsanitary!” the motherinlaw shouted. “And Maxime hates dogs!”
“No, Mom, you dont like dogs. Hello,” Maxime said as he entered the room. “Youre just in time for lunch.”
“Hello, my son!” Eleanor waited 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 master of the house sniffed the air, a silly smile playing on his lips.
“With pleasure, Maxime, but theres nothing.”
“What do you mean, nothing?”
“You prepared food for the pigs. You never told me you had that. The smell must be worse than the city traffic.”
Maxime looked at his mother, puzzled, then at Solène, and finally at the set table. The muscles in his neck tightened and his gaze returned to his mother, losing 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 anger. As an adult I didnt want to worsen things with you.”
“What are you talking about?!” Eleanor shouted, incredulous, prompting Louna to bark again. “Quiet!” she commanded, threatening the dog Solène held. “She has her preferences,” she snarled at Solène, “but why let yourself be trampled? Happy stuffing yourself with filth? Let her turn the house into a menagerie? Who really rules this roof?”
“Me,” Maxime murmured darkly.
“Then act like the master of this place!” Eleanor declared, satisfied.
“Wheres your luggage?” Maxime asked.
“Always at the entrance!” she complained instantly. “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!”
“Thankyou and excuseme,” Eleanor muttered angrily.
Solène nodded solemnly.
“Lets go.”
“Where?”
“To wherever everything suits you, according to your rules, your traditions.”
“But, Maxime, I” his mother began, but he cut her off:
“Those were your tastes with Dad, not mine. My opinion counted for little. Yet he once told me, You dont like whats ours; create your own. I followed his advice. Here, its my taste, my rules, my traditions. And the lady of the house is my wife. Not happy? You still have your place.”
“My son! She turned you against me!” Eleanor adopted a plaintive tone. “She enchanted you!” she whispered dramatically.
Maxime could take no more. He grabbed his mothers arm, led her to the door, grabbed her travel bag, opened the gate, and, without a word, ushered her out to the taxi waiting outside.
“By the way, know that Solène was on your side. She gets along well with her family. She never thought it would be like this at our place. In the kitchen, a dish was prepared for you, but the potaufeu was the test. You showed your true face,” Maxime said as he opened the door. “The taxi is waiting.”
“You but how did you arrange a taxi?!” Eleanor stammered, still stunned by her sons bluntness.
“I told Solène to wait and not let you out right away. She did exactly that.”
“You! You!” Eleanor protested.
“I, Mom, the master of the house, just as you wanted,” Maxime replied, signaling the driver, placing his mothers bag on the ground without waiting for her to climb in, then reentering the property and closing the door.
“A spell,” Eleanor concluded, convinced she had diagnosed her son. Already seated in the taxi, she rummaged through her phone, searching for a way to break the enchantment, certain there must be something that would bring her son back.
I Won’t Eat That, Declared the Mother-in-Law, Eyeing the Dish with Distaste
