The smell of its sweet stinging spiciness would assault me at the gate.
It is a Sunday which means that Anthony is cooking up a big pot of ginger with some meat tossed in for flavour.
I absolutely despise ginger.
And every Sunday that I was able to make Sunday lunch at our dear family friend’s house I would start protesting loudly from the gate about the ginger.
“Why have me here for lunch when you know how much I hate the ginger!” I would bellow only half way joking because I was really kind of annoyed. To me there is nothing worse than biting into a piece of ginger that has masqueraded itself as a piece of chicken.
The bittersweet sting that hits the back of the throat and the subsequent heat that inches it way down to the stomach is most unpleasant to me especially if I am biting into it unawares.
He would always just laugh at me and say “have a beer girl you fret too much” and then would pile up a plate and say taste it.
And each time the sting of the ginger would hit me and I would be annoyed.
Overtime though he started putting less and less ginger into the pot when he knew I was going to be there for lunch, and slowly I got a taste for it. Still not my favourite but my grumbling stopped partly due to the resignation that Anthony could not cook without ginger and partly out of appreciation that he tried to appease me. Spoiled child that I was.
Then he died, giving into a second bout of cancer and there was no more ginger…… or cooking.
A few years later, pregnant and having a bad case of gas my husband forced some ginger ‘tea’ down my throat because ginger is suppose to be good for stomache ailments. It worked and I find myself on occasion actually cooking with ginger.
The root is still ugly, the smell is still stingingly sweet and too much of it still makes me feel sick. But everytime I use it, drink it or eat it I can almost feel him standing behind me saying ” Girl put some more in it, It will taste good.”
Joining in for my first Writing on Edge prompt for 2012.
Four hundred words or less, fiction or creative non-fiction, linked up on Friday morning’s post, based on one of the following definitions: flavour