First Draft Memoir

Chicken and Barley

The smell of chicken and herbs fill up my room as I wipe the sleep out of my tired, puffy eyes. I jump right out of bed as my mouth waters and my tummy starts to grumble. Hopping down the stairs, one pigtail higher than the other, I know exactly what’s for dinner. It’s Friday night so I bet there is already chicken and barley in the shiny, purple, translucent pan that always seems to hold gooey goodness. After fumbling down the stairs, I start my nightly jog, alerting everyone in the house that it is almost dinner time, my most important job. I hear loud, pinging noises decorated by the clicking of buttons coming from the room with blue walls and wooden shelves. Probably Link or Zelda, but hopefully my personal favorite, Princess Peach. I only like to play with the girl characters. Joshy never likes to play with the girl characters, he says they’re not as strong as the boy ones. I don’t get why, they’re much prettier than the boy characters. After pulling on one of my brother’s blonde curls, I decide it would probably be best to pick up my pace a little. Running into the kitchen, bare feet on the cold tile, I let my mom’s voice carry me to the table. My mom is always singing. I can never quite tell what she’s singing; usually a song from the Sound of Music, or maybe something from the Beatles. Whatever it is, it’s usually wrong and exaggerated and the words are almost always made up or backwards or forwards. I love hearing her sing. I hear my dad’s car pull up to the drive way and I start to bounce even more, hopping to the front door. I have to be ready for when he gets here, I can’t let him walk through the door without being the first to hug him, that would be horrible. After lifting my feet up off the ground and half squeezing me to death, my dad quickly walks to the kitchen, dress shoes clacking on the ground. It’s mom’s turn. After dad starts up the stairs to change into his “play clothes” I hear mom make a “pssst.” noise and I quickly follow the smell of dinner to her food covered hands and apron. She hands me a little white bowl of chicken and barley- just enough for three bites. The steam skyrockets out of the bowl and mom quickly takes it back to blow on it, just like she’s read my mind. After my food has been properly taken care of, I take my first bite. My teeth sink into the hot chicken- sending warm kisses throughout me. I always save the barley for last. I love the way the barley tastes just like the chicken. My mom cooks them together, so that the barley has just as much flavor, if not more somehow. I love the way the chicken juice tastes over my chicken and barley. I love it. After we’ve all gotten to the table, yes, Josh finally put down the PS2 controller, we all look at each other smiling. Mom’s chicken and barley makes everyone smile. My mom lights the candles and recites a prayer. I know it best, I’m still in Hebrew school. My smile gets bigger as the light from the candles covers the faces of my favorite people, illuminating their smiles and eyes. I can’t help but hum. Joshy hates it when I hum at dinner. I’ll be honest, sometimes I do it on purpose. Sometimes I think it’s funny to make him mad and stir up drama at the dinner table. We never really have anything else to fight about, besides the TV remote, and maybe who gets the better looking scoop of blueberry cobbler for dessert. This stuff’s the best. You have to get the piece with the most buttery crunchy bottom part and the least amount of blueberries. I mean, I love the blueberry part, don’t get me wrong, but my mom puts like three whole sticks of butter in the crusty part! We never get to eat that much butter. But, I’m serious when I say that sometimes I really can’t help but hum. I don’t even always hum a whole song, or even part of something that plays on the radio, I just make a noise. Sometimes it moves around, and other times I hum the same note. Well whatever the repertoire is tonight, Joshy surely doesn’t like it. He whines at me for a few minutes before Mom intervenes. As usual, we don’t listen, I honestly think that we enjoy the fight, and mom has to call “Steve!” so that he’ll intervene instead so she can take a break and actually enjoy her dinner. My dad looks up and tries to tell Joshy to be a little nicer to me and tells me that I can hum at all other meals, just not dinner. Or at least it probably went something like that. I wouldn’t know, I wasn’t listening. And neither was Josh probably. Before we know it I’m back to humming and Josh is back to scarfing down his chicken and barley, barley chewing before he swallows. Disgusting. He suddenly doesn’t care about my humming anymore. It’s about a fifty-fifty chance if it’ll get him worked up or not. My humming takes me to another place after I play with my squishy Challah bread. Pulling off little pieces of the egg- glazed shiny bread and squishing them into tiny balls between my thumb and pointer finger. It tastes better all mushy and packed in tight. Julie Barnett showed me this cooking theory two Saturdays ago in religious school. You can also dip it in grape juice, that’s very good I’ve heard. No one in my family believes that these renditions of Challah really taste better this way, but I promise you, you will not be disappointed. After dinner, I let the sweet cobbler take over me, savoring every perfect bite, taking the smallest ones I possibly can. I ate so much chicken and barley, but like I always say: “I have two stomachs, one for food and one for dessert”. The cobbler is sticky in my teeth, gooey and sugary, each bite better than the next. The tartness of the hot melty blueberries makes my lips pucker up, but the sweet, buttery finish relaxes my mouth and begs me for another spoonful. The cold ice cream hurts my teeth but makes me soul happy. My humming has reached its highest volume, notes I’ve never sung are filling my lungs. Josh hums too.