“I think you should add some rice,” I say, staring into the bubbling red soup boiling in the monstrous crock pot. “It looks kinda watery for chili.”
Mother still towered over me, and I was about eye-level with her apron tie. “Your father doesn’t like rice,” she replied, stirring. Blowing on a dripping wooden spoon, she brought me down a taste. “What do you think?”
Pinto beans in hot water.
“How about jalapenos?” I suggest.
She pours a bowl. “Your brothers and sisters hate jalapenos.”
“Salt?”
“Nobody eats salt,” she says, bringing the bowl to the table. “Sodium is bad for your health. Now stop complaining and eat. I want this all gone when we get back.”
“Where are you guys going?”
She folds her apron and grabs her car keys.
“We’re going to McDonald’s.”
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