Devonne Brown

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“I’m making goulash for dinner tonight. I’m going to use Mom’s recipe too.” said Janice. Mason hoped she remembered the recipe. Sometimes her memory of her Mom’s dishes were sketchy and turned out awful like the soup. He was skeptical of this goulash stuff. It had a weird name to it too.

“What the heck is goulash?” Mason wanted to know before he decided to stay for dinner. It wasn’t too late to back out. He could make up an excuse at any time for his mom to come pick him up. He’d done it before, and he had no qualms about doing it again.

“It’s a macaroni dish she’d make when the tomatoes, peppers, and onions started to come in from the garden,” Janice said. “It’s got hamburger in it too. If you like Hamburger Helper, you’ll like this.”

She’d said the magic words, “Hamburger Helper,” Mason loved “Hamburger Helper.” Mason was all in. He decided right then he wouldn’t call his mom to come and get him. 

“You can help me chop the peppers. I’ll handle the onions; they might make you cry,” Janice said,

“Challenge accepted,” said Mason. “I’ll chop the onions, you do the peppers. I laugh at the chopping of onions. Ha Ha Ha!” he said, and then added, “I’ll show those onions who’s boss.”

Janice laughed at her grandson’s bravado. She’d get a kick out of teaching him about the pitfalls of onions. Grinning, she handed him a knife and a chopping board, and then she set the stopwatch on her phone. She wanted to see how long it took him to give in to the burning tears drawn out by the acrid juice of the vegetable. She’d bet on three minutes, since he was a novice chopper with two onions on the board. She laughed again. 

In no time at all the peppers were in the pot, sweating and softening. She put the ground beef in a skillet to brown. Mason was still chopping and she heard a sniffle. Two minutes and thirty seconds had passed on the stopwatch. He was halfway through his first onion. She could see his eyes begin to water, but he didn’t complain. The three minute mark on the stopwatch passed, and he tossed one onion in the pot with the peppers. His cheeks were wet, yet still he continued. 

“Having trouble there, Mason? I can chop that last onion for you real fast,” Janice said while she stirred the pot of peppers and her grandson’s first onion. She put the pasta on to boil. 

“I’m ok,” Mason said, wiping his eyes with his forearm, but he put down his knife. “I just need a minute.” He turned his back, wiped both eyes with his hands, and screamed. 

“Go wash your face and hands,” laughed Janice. “I’ll finish up.”