I pulled my chair in and it scraped on the green and white kitchen linoleum. Mom put a bowl of creamy, steaming soup in front of me. The scent of cloves drifted up to me, making my brain go to Thanksgiving and pumpkin pie.

“Pumpkin soup?” I said. Dark flecks floated in the soup.

“Yes, dear. Did you already put the nutmeg in?” Mom asked Dad.

“Mm hm,” Dad said nodding and taking a spoonful of soup.

“Dad made it?”

“Yes, dear.”

I stirred my soup. I sniffed. Pepper and pumpkin, and was that potato?

I was not sure if I wanted to try the soup yet. Dad’s concoctions had a way of going sideways. I glanced around the table. The kitchen light shined through the empty milk glasses and made them look like they were filled with quick sliver. Dad poured himself some milk. The quick-silver vanished as the milk climbed up the glass and stopped. The surface of the milk was all frothy and foamy. I poured myself a glass and took a swallow. I felt the creamy coolness in my mouth, down my throat, and all the way down to my stomach.

My brother Henry plopped some bacon bits into his soup. He put bacon on everything. The rusty chunks slowly sank in the thick soup.

“There’s some parsley for your soup,” Dad said.

I nodded and picked up the jar of parsley. I unscrewed the cap and it made a scraping sound. The gentle, bitter smell of the parsley tumbled out of the jar along with the crushed leaves. When the surface of my soup had a light sprinkling, I closed the jar.

The green parsley on the white soup reminded me of evergreens against snow. The parsley just floated there, so I stirred the soup.

“What do you think of my soup?” Dad asked.

“I haven’t tried it yet,” I answered. I took a deep breath and put a spoonful of soup in my mouth. I swirled it with my tongue. I could taste all the things I had smelled. It was good. Against my tongue it was thick and smooth, a warm milkshake. I took another spoonful. The nutmeg was subtle and the parsley gave it pop. The pumpkin, ah the pumpkin, was aromatic and nutty, fresh from the garden. This was… elegant. Score one for Dad!

I shoveled the delicious soup into my mouth. “I guess that means you like it,” Dad said.

“It’s really good,” I said between mouthfuls.

My family chatted, and I kept right on eating. I finished my bowl and refilled. About halfway through, that aromatic pumpkin was very pumpkiny. I poured on the parsley and spooned the soup into my mouth. Bitterness floated up my nose and flakes stuck to my tongue. Bleh!

I looked at the more-green-than-white soup and shook my head. I had made it, so I’d have to eat it. I picked up the bowl and put it to my lips and gulped down the contents.

“Jennifer!” Mom gasped, but by then it was too late. I had chug-a-lugged the entire thing.

“Aack!” I said while sticking out my tongue. Dad frowned at me. I smiled sheepishly and felt flakes in my teeth. I grabbed my milk and gulped it down, pausing once to swirl it and rinse my teeth.

“Whew!” I said, my family staring at me. This time, dad had done alright, and I’d made it go sideways!

581 words

Today’s prompt is to write about a food you (or your character) hate.

I tried to write about green beans, but just thinking about them made me get the dry heaves!

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