Page 66 of When Lemons Give You Life

I scan the labels. Essence of Vanilla. Essence of Chocolate.

“Essence of Shit,” I mutter.

“Most of them have dementia anyway,” Nishan adds. “It’s not worth making anything else.”

I freeze. A mental image flickers: a thin face, hands trembling over a plastic spoon, bland mash congealing on the plate. “Not worth?” The words hit hard. “Stop. Both of you. Stop what you’re doing and listen.” They stare at me. “I never want to hear those words again.”

“What words?” Nishan asks, quieter now.

“Not worth. What makes someone worthy of good food?”

Silence.

“Youth? Health? Being in the majority?”

“No, I guess not . . .” Scotty mumbles.

“Food is dignity. Who are we to decide who deserves that? Believe me, I know what it’s like to be pushed out to the edges, to be made to feel that you’re less. And I’m telling you now—in my kitchen no diner is less.”

Nishan shifts, his gaze lowered.

“One day it’ll be you or someone you love in here. Then you’ll understand.”

Scotty picks up the bread bags. “I’ll put these back, sorry, chef.”

“I’m sorry too,” Nishan says, eyes still on the floor. “So . . . what’s our first step?”

“We have rice, right?” I ask, recalling the monstrosity that passed as risotto last week.

“Yeah. Loads.”

“We’ll make our own gluten-free flour.”

They stare at me like I’ve lost it, an expression I’ve become well accustomed to.

“Scotty, grab a new, unopened bag. That Thermomix clean?”

“Yep,” Nishan says. “Ran it through the dishwasher myself.”

“Great. Chuck in the rice and blitz it—two minutes, speed ten.”

Scotty does it. When the lid comes off, a cloud of white powder rises. “Didn’t know you could do that.” He grins.

“Impressive,” adds Nishan.

We get cracking—literally. Eggs, flour, milk. The rhythm comes back. For a second, I don’t know if I’m hearing the present or remembering the past.

Soon an intoxicating aroma fills the air as the crepes begin to fry. I instruct the men to chop up fresh orange segments and mix some mascarpone with brown sugar.

“What about the puréed—the soft diets?” Nishan asks. “Sure you don’t want the powders?”

“No! They aren’t food. Everyone gets the same. I’ll show you.”

We blend some crepes into a smooth purée and taste.

“Not bad!” Scotty says.

“What else does it need?”