This is my story

I’m a cook. I like to experiment with various dishes: dishes that might become menu options.

So it was that late one Sunday morning I prepped vegetables for a chicken cacciatore recipe. It was in the design process for possible inclusion in my collection of recipes for groups of twenty or more.

The peppers, both red and green were chopped and the mushrooms quartered and the sweet onions sliced. They sat in piles, some on the chopping board some on the counter top nearby. I turned to collect the needed spices. And as I did, it was then that I first heard the noise.

Usually music plays when I cook, but today I had chosen silence. Sometimes silence is distracting. But today was different. Today it was what I refer to as “blessed silence.” The incessant chatter that life sometimes generates was gone. No one was around. It was just me and the quiet.

It was because of this quiet that I heard it, the noise.

It was a gentle slush, much like the sound of a slight breeze on a lazy sunny summer afternoon – just enough air to move the very smallest of the leaves. It wasn’t so much that I heard it. I felt it – someone or something was there. Yet it was enough of a sound/ sensation that I turned around to see if someone had entered the kitchen.

Nothing! No one was there.

I returned to the spice cupboard, my focus to retrieve just the right one – just the right blend. A spice can add much to the flavor of a dish. It can distinguish it from others dishes with the same basic ingredients.

As I collected them, I heard the noise again.

Again I turned quickly. This time I was fast enough to catch movement over by the chopping board. Movement, but no one was around.

Spice jars in hand; I returned to the counter and dumped them. Then I saw it. I must have seen it before but just didn’t believe it and so saw it not. But now it was such that I couldn’t deny it.

The separated vegetables just chopped had collected – coalesced –were in process to make a whole. When I saw what was forming, my blood ran cold. There was an involuntary shiver throughout my body. And the words “Oh My God” formed unbidden on my lips. Instinctively I moved back.

There before me, and starting to move, was some sort of vegetable insect.

Its features were not fine and delicate like most insects. They were wide, almost club like. It was a bug with thick light yellow-green horns attached to the very top of its head. Scales were formed along its “skin” and two white leg-like appendages on the lower body.

Momentarily I was frozen to the spot. My desire was to run. Yet at the same time, from somewhere deep within me there emerged a more primal instinct.

“Kill” It said.

This instinctual voice repeated and very loudly, “Kill this bug.”

It demanded action on my part. “Eliminate it.” “Stop it, now.”

My hand flew to my well used chef’s chopping knife on the counter. I grabbed it and chopped down through the very middle of the bug. Again my hand rose. And again it swung down and cut the insect.

Again and again it rose and descended until there was nothing left but pieces of mushrooms and red peppers and green peppers and sweet onions.

It was over and I was out of breath. The horned vegetable monster was no more.

I poured myself a mug of coffee and sat on a nearby stool. And as the adrenalin drained out of my body, I asked myself what just happened. I wasn’t so sure. But one thing I did know. I wasn’t going to tell anyone of this.

And I haven’t -not until now. And I tell you because I’m sure you won’t judge my mental state or pass this story on to others.

End End End