Vitya jumped up to the child, snatched the sausage from his hand, rubbed it against his sweatpants, and then put it back on the shelf of the refrigerator. On the top shelf, where Vanya didn’t touch.
— Vitya, what are you doing? — I was standing at the stove, stirring the soup. The smell of fried onions was spreading. — I overcooked the dried sausage while watching this scene. — The child just asked for a sandwich.
“You’ll probably be fine without it,” my husband muttered, slamming the door of the “Indesit” refrigerator we borrowed three years ago. “Eat some porridge. There’s buckwheat in the pot. It’s healthy.”
“The buckwheat is empty, Vitya. The meatballs ran out yesterday.”
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For complete cooking times, go to the next page or click the Open button (>), and don’t forget to SHARE with your Facebook friends.
