The Wordsmith's Forge

This poem came out of the February 7, 2023 Poetry Fishbowl. It was inspired by prompts from ng_moonmoth and see_also_friend. It also fills the "Erythrite - Perception & Perspective" square in my 2-1-23 card for the Valentines Bingo fest. This poem has been sponsored by ng_moonmoth. It belongs to the Rutledge thread of the Polychrome Heroics series.


"Taarradhin"

[Monday, January 26, 2015]

Oscar had invited Labib
over to his cabin to work on
stuff for the business incubator,
because it had a big stone fireplace
to keep the living room warm and
they could watch deer playing
on the frozen pond or scrounging
for corn under the birdfeeders.

They spent the morning going over
new members and checking for
possible mentors to go with
the ones who wanted some.

More and more people wanted
to join the business incubator,
which was great, but also busy.

That meant more need for tools
and supplies, too, thus juggling
the budget to cover those.

Labib was really good with
numbers, which Oscar wasn't;
but Oscar knew the locals,
which Labib didn't; and
they made a great team.

When noon rolled around,
Oscar stretched and said,
"I'm getting hungry for lunch.
How about sandwiches? I
could do up some egg salad
or grilled cheese if you like,
and there's canned soup."

"Perhaps I'll have one of
those oranges I saw in
a bowl earlier," Labib said.

Oscar frowned at that.
There it was again.

Labib never seemed
to take food that Oscar
had actually cooked here.

He would accept fruits
or vegetables if they
were whole and could
be washed or peeled
before eating them.

He would eat anything
out of a sealed container
that had a halal label, cold.

But he would not accept
an offer of a hot sandwich
or a bowl of soup or anything
cooked in Oscar's kitchen.

His wife and kids took
their cues from Labib.

Oscar wasn't quite sure
whether it was him or
the kitchen that was
causing the problem.

Labib hadn't hesitated
to eat food that Oscar
had made with the family
in their own kitchen, though,
so probably it was the kitchen.

"You want to tell me what I'm
doing wrong here?" Oscar asked.

Labib sighed. "Technically, nothing,"
he said. "It is permissible to eat from
a kitchen which is not halal, so long
as the food itself is halal and utensils
have been cleaned. It is merely ..."
He grimaced. "... unappetizing."

Oscar remembered the time
one of his cousins had tried
cooking roadkill in the kitchen.

He hadn't wanted to eat out of
there, either, even after it'd been
scrubbed with oven cleaner by
his cousin under the hawk-eye
of their exasperated grandmother.

It had been that or go hungry,
though, so eventually he'd eaten
what he was served and tried
to forget about the roadkill.

"Okay, I get that," said Oscar.
"Eating out of a not-halal kitchen
is gross to you. Can I fix that?"

"You don't need to," Labib said.
"I get plenty of food now, so
a simple snack is plenty."

Oscar tried to hide his wince.

"Yeah, no, that makes me feel
like the worst host ever," he said.
"I want to be able to toast a sandwich
or make soup without freaking you out.
Is there anything we can do about it?"

Labib looked conflicted, which was
really not what Oscar wanted, he
didn't want to be That Guy, but he also
didn't want to eat a hot sandwich
in front of a friend who didn't
feel like sharing the food.

"When we moved in, we
cleaned the kitchen very well,
and now it is halal," said Labib.
"Here it is ... not so simple."

Oscar looked around at
his cramped kitchen.

It was a kitchen only by
virtue of full-sized appliances,
with a dining table and chairs
squeezed into the far side,
not because it was actually
bigger than a kitchenette.

"Okay, well ... I've seen
you eat out, and not just at
Kardal's truck," said Oscar.
"So what's different there?"

Labib brightened. "Places
that sell halal food have
a separate station to make it."

"So like they do for allergies?"
Oscar said thoughtfully. He
looked at his kitchen again.
There was that bit of counter
at the end which he hardly used.
"Maybe we could do that here."

"Is there room?" Labib said,
frowning. "This place is so small."

Oscar shrugged. "It's just me here
most of the time, not like I live with
a family," he said. "You're my friend,
you bring your family over here too,
and I'd like to be able to feed you."

"When we came to Family Business Rest,
the kitchens were cleaned, but there were
also these ..." Labib made a pot shape
with his hands. "... that were new."

"Oh yeah, the crockpots," said Oscar.
"I remember Gideon doing something
with those and stuff like toasters,
skillets, other countertop appliances."

"Perhaps something like that, then,
which would not take up too much
of your space," Labib suggested.

"Yeah, let me check out the store
where the local restaurants and
bed-and-breakfasts buy stuff,"
Oscar said as he reached for
his tablet computer. "They've
got things at lower prices there."

He vaguely remembered
having seen things designed
for apartment kitchenettes that
mashed together three or four
different appliances into one.

The bed-and-breakfast owners
liked such things because those
could be put in a suite for guests
who preferred to fix their own food,
without needing a whole kitchen.

Sure enough, Oscar quickly found
a rice cooker that would also sauté,
steam, slow cook, or keep food warm.
It came in a rainbow of colors, too.

"Hey, Labib," he said, turning
his tablet around. "My appliances
and other things are mostly white.
Do you want yours a different color
so we can tell them apart easily?
There's a green on here, not like
Muslim green, but at least not white."

"That will work," Labib said. "At least
let me buy the equipment, you are
doing enough just to share your home."

"Nah, don't worry about it," Oscar said.
"We're near enough to family, you've
had me over to your place plenty."

"Akhi," Labib said fondly, smiling
at him. "My friend, my brother.
Perhaps we could share the cost?"

Oscar looked at the catalog.
"There's plenty of stuff here."

In addition to the slow cooker,
which they definitely wanted
to make soup, there was also
a breakfast station that included
a toaster oven, a griddle pan,
and a coffee machine.

Labib found a set of
bakeware to match
the breakfast station,
then various utensils.

Oscar spotted a knife block
with knives, and a cutting board.

Labib had dishware and silverware,
along with a stack of mixing bowls.

That was enough to cook with,
at least for making basic things
or heating up something premade.

Oscar put in the order and let
Labib pay for half of it. That
was fair, splitting the bill.

Then Oscar got up to wipe
the countertop clean.

He checked inside of
the cabinets over and
under the counter there.

They didn't have a lot
in them since he had
only himself to cook for
most of the time; he didn't
need much equipment for it.

"Why are you emptying
the cabinets?" Labib asked.

"So you can put your gear in there
when you're not using it," Oscar said.
"Might as well add the halal food too."

He'd been storing a few things like
snacks on one shelf, but now it made
more sense to put all that together.

It wasn't that big a deal, really.
Was it? Oscar didn't think so.

The first time Labib had wanted
to do the wudu thing here, Oscar
had sent him upstairs to use
the common bathroom, since
the powder room down here
was so tiny that Oscar was
afraid Labib would've broken
his neck trying to do it in there.

This wasn't that different, just
buying a few extra kitchen bits
and letting Labib borrow a part
of the countertop that Oscar
had hardly ever used anyway.

Oscar bundled the last few items
into one hand and waved the other
at the counter. "It's all yours."

Labib smiled. "Taarradhin,"
he said. "A compromise that
makes everyone happy."

"It's just perception and
perspective," Oscar said.
"I noticed that you weren't
keen about the kitchen, and
all I had to do was think
my way around to how you
saw it to figure out a solution."

He pushed the loose items
into a cabinet, then spotted
something he'd bought earlier.

"Oh hey," Oscar said happily.
"These are halal, and they heat
right in the pouch. Is that okay?"

He'd gotten a variety pack of
four different flavors, Indian
something-or-other, because
they sounded interesting and
had a halal label on them.

There were rice pouches,
too, from a different company.

Labib was maybe rubbing off
on him a bit, when it came
to trying different foods.

The older man leaned over
to look at the labels, then
nodded. "Chickpea masala."

"Yeah, we can split that one,"
Oscar said. "Each pouch
has two servings in it."

He put a pouch of rice
and a pouch of chickpeas
into the microwave oven,
and then turned it on.

While those heated,
Oscar washed bowls
and spoons the way
that he'd seen folks from
the Triton Teen Center do it.

Maybe that would help Labib
relax about the food issues.

It seemed to work, because
when the timer went off, Labib
helped Oscar to distribute
the food into their bowls.

They sat down at
the small table to eat.

Labib kept looking at
Oscar and smiling a bit.

The chickpea stuff was ...
actually pretty good, if not
quite as good as Kardal's food.
Definitely worth keeping in
the pantry for his guests.

Oscar probably never
would have discovered
stuff like this if Labib
hadn't come in his life
and stirred everything up.

Sometimes that got confusing,
but Oscar wouldn't have
wanted to miss this.

It was like having
an older brother or
an uncle, and he had
family but not many of
them were still local.

Labib's company was
totally worth clearing out
a bit of kitchen space and
buying a few new things.

"What was it you said
earlier?" Oscar mused.
"Sounds like tar adding?"

"Taarradhin," Labib said.
"A compromise where
everyone feels they won."

"Yeah, that," said Oscar.
"I'm glad we worked it out."

Labib brushed his fingers
against Oscar's. "Me too."

* * *

Notes:

This poem is long, so its notes appear separately.