Whenever John Jordan went out on one of his tours, there was always something of impersonal attachment to return with, be it a leaflet, a magazine, neatly knitted clothing, table clothing, or otherwise. He had them littered everywhere, and his last trip wasn’t different.
At a small village around the outskirts of town oozing of exquisite essence, he had gone to a small bookstore. There he caught wind of a culinary magazine laying neatly on one of the shelves. As he stared engrossed, trying to make out its cover page, his thoughts were interrupted by a female voice.
“You could learn different culinary skills from that; it sure teaches how to cook a few native cuisines. I’ve lent a few myself,” she said.
“Quite interesting, I should be getting a copy,” he said.
At his abode, he thought it nice to try one of the delicacies in the magazine. Meticulously he wrote the required condiments to cook the delicacy.
He made sure to take the lists with him to ensure he was properly guided on the instructions written in the magazine.
He strutted about, arranging his cooking utensils before setting the gas on. And he wasn’t alone; he had the company of a diligent cat gifted to him by his neighbour, to bear with. Stevenson, referred to by way of naming, had been expedient all through their tepid company, doing quarter of John’s chores.
With prompt timing and caution, he courteously added each of the available condiment. At its near completion stage, he headed straight for a cabinet in search of a jar containing the seasoning he presumably had in store; he had deliberately ticked it off his grocery list.
His hands were moist while he reached straight for the kitchen cabinet grabbing its knob, but to his dismay and apparent disappointment he could only find an empty jar and a bag of crackers he had stacked two weeks ago, after a short burst of hideous ransacking, he instinctively reached for
his wallet, dashed out of his apartment into the chilli dark streets to get the missing condiment.
Before setting his feet off his apartment he hastily but softly lowered the cooking gas, enough not to turn it off.
Shortly after, he was triumphantly returning with a sizable packet of the seasoning. By the time he got into the kitchen the cooking gas was completely off. He had to begin cooking again, for that was part of the don’ts in the cooking manual he devotedly followed.
After adding the seasoning, he took a hot chumping bite, crisply chewing onto the less savoury but pleasant taste of the delicacy. There and then he got to found out he had omitted another condiment
“Oh… not again,” he said.
This time he had mistaken one other condiment for the other. Again he lowered the cooking gas biding Stevenson a cold “be good, I’ll be back soon” and dashed out hastily to get the missing condiment.
He got back again into his apartment, and headed straight for the kitchen.
To his sordid disappointment he had mistakenly turned off the cooking gas again in haste to purchase the missing condiment. His cooking would have to begin anew.
In a short time, he was back to cooking again. In a very short time he was chopping off the last piece of condiment which was in cabbage form, when he saw Stevenson walking on the rails before jumping onto the basin, knocking of some plates, utensils and a sauce pan.
“Get down! Will you?” he yelled, smashing his feet on the ground as he faced Stevenson, who jumped off knocking off the last of wares, revealing to him the sachet of seasoning he had initially stacked two weeks ago; a second sachet of seasoning was now in his possession, after two failed attempts at successfully completing his delicacy.
Right after adding the condiment which was in a cabbage form, he took another chumping bite, but he felt a slight taste of distaste. It struck him to go through the cooking manual once more. To his utter dismay and bewilderment, he spotted another missing condiment. He recoiled with a sharp and piercing feeling of outrage trickling down his guts.
He got fretfully exasperated but refused to be deterred, jamming out of his apartment and rallying straight into the cold and dark streets hurrying to get the missing condiment.