She dipped the spoon into the soup, lifting it up full of cabbage and purple liquid.
This was, she reflected, most definitely the food of desperation. Pretty much anything you had to dig out of the ground was. And beets were no exception.
Who’d thought to call them that?
Contaminating a perfectly good name by using it for a hideous tuber. Practically a shame, in her opinion.
Here’s a good idea: let’s dig this weirdo purple thing out of the ground and stick it in a soup.
She picked up the spoon again and let the purple liquid dribble back into the bowl.
As if the thing weren’t bad enough, they had to add mayonnaise to it.
“I know, let’s add this fatty white goop to this chunky purple soup! That’ll totally make it better!”
Eh. To be fair, they added mayonnaise to everything.
A way to put meat on your bones when you didn’t actually have any meat, she supposed.
She stirred the spoon around in the soup, diluting the mayonnaise into the liquid, lightening the purple to a wild fuchsia.
It was fine. It was soup. Soup was good… right?
She’d been eating it for as long as she could remember. And, for as long as she could remember, she’d thought it was gross.
Who had ever thought purple soup would be a good idea?
“How’s the soup?” called a voice from the kitchen.
Her Grandmother had to raise her voice to be heard over the running water.
“It’s great,” she called back, forcing brightness into her voice. “Thank you. You know it’s my favorite.”
“You’re welcome,” came the reply. “You know I make it just for you.”
She filled the spoon again and swallowed. It wasn’t so bad, she reflected, gazing into the bowl of purple in front of her.
Even peasants gotta eat, right?
drabble (100 words) * A Family Member * cooking
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