47. Cooking in Istambul

Blair

Dimitri and I worked together in silence, sharing our ancient complicity.

" Dimitri, we have a problem," I muttered as I found the package of quinoa, which looked nothing like what was in my mother's salad.

" What’s the problem?”

" This doesn't look like the quinoa my mother put in her salad," I held up a package of small grits.

" What do you mean? " he stepped closer, examining the contents of the package.

" My mother's salad doesn't get these crunchy grits," I pointed out.

He took the package from me, staring at it without much understanding.

" What does the recipe say? " he reminded me.

I remembered to consult the recipe on my cell phone, frowning at the incomplete information.

" It says to use one cup of cooked quinoa.”

" Let's cook a cup of quinoa then," he opened the package.

" Do you know how to cook this?”

" Blair, there are no secrets, let's just add water and spices," he smiled as if everything was under control.

I thought for a moment and he was right. It couldn't be