Chapter 3: Roasted Garlic Mashed Potatoes

Mehsen came home from work the next day to find his wife in the kitchen with the door to the house open. He entered, put the bag of groceries down on the living room floor, and stood there with his hands around his waist. He was ready to make Adila feel terrible about this erratic forgetfulness of the door being wide open. Hoping that Adila would turn around soon and see him standing there, he stood there for the sole reason of pointing out the “open door” that she left absentmindedly. Then he would carry on to point out to her that it is unsafe and make her recognize how lucky she is to have him around because God knows what could happen if he did NOT come home right in time before any burglar walks in, steals their things, and possibly murders her.

Before the war, whether Mehsen knew it or not, he never needed to make anyone know how important he was. He was important to the whole village; he was the only carpenter. Since the war started, not many people needed new things made of wood; in fact, they actually broke down whatever he built them to use as firewood. He left the village and moved to Lebanon where he lived in a three bedroom home with six other Syrian families. Adila was pregnant then, 

Once she gave birth, he realized that living with six other families that were also expanding was not a good idea. So he took Adila, and new baby Moustafa, and went to live in Jordan. Conditions were better there, he heard, and he was promised an exit to Europe. He lived in a tent in Jordan. He lived in a tent in Greece as well. He was not important in any of these countries. He was useless. This he felt, and it made him very tense. He handled situations like "the case of the open door" with a lot of drama and theatricality.  

Adila glanced quickly, then turned right back around to the new cookbook she went and bought that same day. In English. She could not find one in Arabic. She knew the alphabet in English, she also knew the numbers, but even though everyone around her says "English is easy, Arabic is hard!" this cookbook is not supporting that claim. 

She knew she hated cooking, to start with, and the language barrier was not helping. She turned around again, Mehsen was still standing there, so she asked him to bring the bag of groceries into the kitchen and help her figure out the recipe. She did not notice at all his scene, and he could not believe it! On top of everything, she is asking him to cook? What is HE a woman now? What will his mother think when she visits? What else is he supposed to do: clean the house and soon start popping out babies? 

He said all that out loud.

She blinked, standing frozen for a minute. Then her eyes watered, she turned to the cook book again, opened it, then closed it, and took it with her to the bathroom and shut the door behind her. She closed the toilet seat and sat on it, then placed the cook book on her lap, open to a recipe of Roasted Garlic Mashed Potatoes, out of which she only understood potatoes, and the picture indicated they were squooshed somehow, but which word is "squooshed?" “Maaaashed, rooaast … okay I cannot even guess how this one is pronounced, maybe garlic?” Oh, this is too hard! Then she noticed the tears falling down her cheeks and landing on the pages of her cookbook. She knew she was not upset because Mehsen said these words to her as she is quite used to him bursting out like that. I guess men have to scream sometimes, and it is quite acceptable. But she was anxious, she was terribly upset about something - something else entirely. When she stopped to think for a second, she heard Mehsen close the entrance door. So she got up, counted to ten, and went out of the bathroom. No one was in the living room as Mehsen was already in the bedroom changing. She went to the kitchen and started peeling potatoes. Her logic told her that in order for her to "squoosh" them, she needed to boil them first.

A few minutes later, Mehsen came out, walked to the kitchen and told her that he did not mean to yell, but she knows that "this is not a safe country either." Yes there is no bombing, and no war, but he knew quite well from all the Cops episodes that bad guys are everywhere. Then he noticed the cookbook. THAT is new. Adila was trying to improve her kitchen skills, he thought, for him. He felt very special all of a sudden and a bit ashamed. So he grabbed her head with his two hands and kissed her forehead and said: “God bless you for me Adila, you are only trying to be a good housewife, your mom will be pleased, you know 'a road to a man’s heart is through his stomach.'" Yeah, yeah, Adila knew that very well. Everyone she knew told it to her at some point: her mother, his mother, her sister, his sister, everyone except for Moustafa, her son.

Moustafa was at his friend’s house playing; she picked him up from the bus stop with Ibrahim, and they went up to Ibrahim’s house to play a little bit. Ibrahim’s dad hired a nanny in the past two months since the school started to help out his mother who came to live with him now that his wife had passed.

Adila went up sometimes to have coffee with Amma Salima, but she usually ended up listening to stories and stories about Sudan that reminded her of home, and she left most of the time with sadness in her heart. Amma Salima always dominated the conversation, not that Adila put up any resistance. Adila was not talkative to start with, but it didn't help either that she was there upon the request of her husband, to show courtesy and neighborly feeling towards the older lady. This time, however, Adila did not go up with her son; she sent him alone, and she was trying to cook.

Mehsen asked about Moustafa, and then suggested he should go get him. Adila only nodded but did not respond; she was taken with her potatoes. The pot on the stove was boiling when Moustafa, Ibrahim, and his dad came back. She was still peeling the potatoes. Every once in a while, she would glance over to the recipe thinking that maybe she will catch some tip she did not before, or something would happen magically, and she would understand what the hell this thing is about - it looks great in the picture.

She looked back and saw them, the two boys were standing there, and Mehsen came towards her whispering: “I don’t think it was nice to send our son for Amma Salima to take care of alone without you. She gave me an attitude, so I suggested I bring Ibrahim with me to make up for it.” “She wasn't taking care of him alone. An attitude, why?” “Well, she asked me where were you and why you sent the kid alone without coming for coffee, but with a tone.” Adila did not respond. “I told her you were cooking. She did not believe me, she hinted that she was tired ,and the boys were running around, so she had a headache, and the nanny left, so I took the boys until Adnan comes back from his work.”

Adila looked at him, looked into his eyes, and then looked back to the book. He left the kitchen and sat down on his sofa, his remote already in hand.

Adila suddenly had an idea, so she called the boys, sat them in the kitchen, and told them to tell her what is in the recipe. Moustafa was, of course, too young to read, but Ibrahim was seven, and he was reading now. He also told her that he had a dictionary up at his place, but Adila didn't want him to go get it as she didn't want to see Amma Salima. That's when he told her that she could search for the words online. Online, online, she has a phone with Internet, she could use it, he could show her how … she gave him the phone, and he showed her. Oh, she was fascinated by this discover, and the kids were loving this. Adila almost never interacted this way with either of the boys, and she was rarely impressed with anything. They both felt very important. After a long search, Adila learned that she needed to roast the garlic in the oven while she was peeling the potatoes.

The boys moved on to show her how she could tell ingredients and measurements, not just in this recipe, but in all the recipes. They could not figure out who Rosemary was, but Adila thought that it was probably someone's aunt's recipe. So by the end of the hour, she was able to read the quantities. The boys argued sometimes because Ibrahim was sucking up all of the attention, and Moustafa felt left out, so his contribution was uttering random sentences that would not mean anything to Adila but confuse her, so she shushed him a few times. He then contributed differently by kicking the side of the chair monotonously or making noises somewhere else in the kitchen.

After she dropped the potatoes in the pot, Ibrahim told her that there are a few words he did not know himself. He never really cooked, his mother died, and his grandma never lets him get anywhere near a kitchen, but this recipe seemed easy, and Adila should know now how to search for words. Mehsen was getting hungry, and he called for Ibrahim to take him back up. Adila asked to keep him a little longer, but Mehsen wanted to eat, so he stood by the door and called on the boy again. Ibrahim politely said goodnight to Mrs. and waved to Moustafa and followed Mehsen out of the apartment.

Adila suddenly lost motivation, and she realized this was only a variation of a recipe she already knew, and it was only a side dish. She was overwhelmed and intimidated by big words. She grabbed the book and flung it across the room. She suddenly felt her anxiousness come back. She was upset again, miserable and defeated. 

 

For the third time in less than a day, she cried again, this time bitter tears, silent bitter tears. She sobbed, and she did not understand exactly why she was feeling this way. Then … she heard a giggle outside … she jumped to the door as she recognized the voice - it was the girl! She was outside, she could not see her, but her heart was pounding; she could feel it is her. She heard keys in the door, and yes, she now could hear the dark haired neighbor talk, and his voice was low, there is the bass vibration that went through her body when she pressed her ear to the wall. His voice was soothing, she did not know what he was saying, it was too fast, and of course all in English - or any other language for that matter, it was not Arabic.

A few seconds later, Mehsen walked into the door, through the living room door, not the kitchen, and she fumbled around, as if she were doing something she did not want to be caught doing, and suddenly she realized she is excited, and adrenaline rushed through her body like fire. She went to the living room, picked up the cookbook, kissed her husband on the cheek, and went back to the kitchen to get dinner ready.