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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 105 | volume  | January, 2016



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 105January, 2016
Prose

The Death of the Cook

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p. 1
Olivera Kjorveziroska

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The Death of the Cook

Translated from Macedonian: Elizabeta Bakovska

A. was a cook. Although his profession solely relied on a cane of numbers and letters, and his free time rolled on his feelings, what really moved him as a unique human taste of the world… was the cooking. Since he was a child, A. had fantasized to open a restaurant and as his fantasy became more distant in the course of the years, the taste of his meals became more and more irresistible. Even magical. A.’s real life slowly roasted in the middle oven rack: on top was his professions, on the bottom his feelings. On top there were the letters and numbers, on the bottom the pain.
      
    Since he was a boy, A. would stuff the most those that he loved the most. As his mother kneaded – he watched, and when he would stay alone – he did what she had missed to do. For example, he would knead the bread longer and more energetically, because his mother did not always do this and then she wondered why the bread would sometimes break when baking and sometimes not. He would set the clock for the bread to rise for the first time, and for the second time before baking it. At a precise temperature, of course. To a precise degree. Once he had put cumin in the fried leek for the pie and since then his house started to smell like otherness and somehow seductively and sexually, movingly desirably, he moved out of his family kitchen. A. was not born for the kitchen he grew up in, because there hunger was seen only as an empty pan that should be filled in with anything… He considered hunger as yearning. For him, of course. Yearning that had to be responded, compensated with dignity, in a multiple way. With passion.
      
    For his first love, who, by the way, was younger than him and insatiable, he prepared two breakfasts, once in bed, and the second one on the kitchen counter, lunch at the dinner table, dinner at the coffee table by the TV set in the living room and two snacks… anyplace around the apartment… On the bed, on the floor… A. cooked and cooked almost day and night, banana halves fried on butter and most common old fashioned dips with dry red peppers scalded with hot oil. There






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