Too Hippy

The hippy compound had a common kitchen area. The mood in the kitchen was very serious. The importance of food had taken on a new meaning. I was somewhat intimidated by it, and I consider myself a good cook.

There were four or five people trying to put a meal together. The kitchen was set up to accommodate the numbers. There were three sinks, two stoves, and all the utensils you needed to cook and eat.

I looked around to see what all the fuss was about. There was a lot of tension in the room. I noticed a slender man with a stern look on his face, very intense. He was putting together a salad. Not that hard, not worthy of a intensive look that’s for sure.

There was a lady standing at the stove stirring a pot of water with some kind of pre-packaged ingredient in it. She had a scow on her face. Experts! These people think they’re exports, but they’re not! I had them figured.

I was slicing suquini into quarters. I was going to make pasta, with garlic, and olive oil with a splash of oregano, something simple and fast.

I was cutting the suquini, when a man with a humorless look on his face nudged by me and put two pieces of bread into the toaster. I didn’t think anything of it. He came back a short time later to check on his toast. You’d think he was doing something incredibly important the way he carried himself. He had a look on his face that suggested that he was. But as far as I could tell, he was making toast. He came back a third time. His toast was ready. He inspected it. It checked out.