October 17, 2011
I was but thirteen years old.
It was back when I lived in Florida. I was over at my friend Alejandro's house. Alejandro was a very good chef, even at his age. He was showing me how to make creme brulee.
I watched over his shoulder as he whisked some ingredients together. A sweet scent hung in the air... until he placed the mixture into the fridge.
Like a knife, an odor sliced through the air. It was as if I had run into a brick wall. "*What* is that *smell?*" I had said.
"What, cilantro?" Alejandro replied.
He was holding a sprig in my face.
I took hold of the vile weed and observed it like it was an old slimy fish.
"Alain hates it, too." Alain was Alejandro's little brother.
Alain was playing video games in the living room. "I heard my name."
Alejandro shared a secret smile with me. "I was making you some creme brulee, Alain."
"'Kay," Alain said, and exited the room.
Restraining laughter, Alejandro ground the cilantro and mixed it into the creme brulee. He sprinkled the sugar into the bowl and burned the top. After letting it cool, he served it to his brother.
We stayed in the kitchen as Alain ate hungrily. After about three seconds, the ten-year-old let out a long string of curse words.
Alejandro and I burst into laughter, but I still felt kind of sorry for Alain.