One Man Guy

One Man Guy by Michael Barakiva

Book: One Man Guy by Michael Barakiva Read Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Barakiva
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removed one leaf at a time. Each one was dark and thin, with veins running down its length, like a human hand. “You want to make sure you use the California leaves, because they’re sturdier than the Greek ones. Even still, the trick is to handle them very carefully. Like if you say the wrong thing, they might go running back to their room,” his father joked.
    Alek smiled in spite of himself. Other fathers might throw a softball around with their sons, or take them to hit at the tennis courts. But his quality time with his father involved being gently mocked while learning how to make Armenian dishes.
    “Now, I use the scissors to cut off the little stub of stem at the bottom.”
    Alek’s dad showed him how to make the stuffing for the leaves, a mixture of rice, lamb, spices, tomatoes, red peppers, chopped parsley, and olive oil. Then he spooned the stuffing onto the flat leaf and demonstrated how to fold and roll the leaf, creating a perfect little bundle of yumminess.
    “Now I lay it gently in the pot.”
    “How come you always use the same pot whenever you make sarma?”
    “This was the pot my mother always used to make sarma, and when I got married, she gave it to us. See how wide it is? Because of how the sarma cooks, you need a pot that’s wide, not deep.”
    After a few minutes of working in silence, Alek’s dad tried a new tactic. “I know your mother hasn’t been around a lot lately, but try to be understanding with her.”
    “I am, Dad. She’s the one who … As far as I’m concerned, she’s the one who’s messing everything up.”
    “Now, Alek, the way you’re talking now—is that the kind of man you want to be?”
    Alek knew there was only one right answer to this question. “No, Dad.”
    “Just remember—this is the first time she’s worked full-time since before Nik was born. And most of the people at the UN have left since she was there, so she’s working with new colleagues, and she’s worried that no one is going to take her seriously. So whenever someone at the office has to stay late or pick up weekend hours, she volunteers so that they can see she’s committed.”
    Alek didn’t say anything. He just continued watching his father unwrap, snip, stuff, and roll.
    “But more than her work, family is the most important thing for her. Like it is for me. And now it’s time for us to support her the way she’s supported us, okay?”
    Alek didn’t know why his dad’s talking to him this way made him want to die. “Okay, Dad,” he mumbled.
    “And maybe we can all go to the city sometime soon. There’s a Rodin exhibit at the Met. Does that sound good to you?”
    Alek mumbled again, “Yes, Dad.”
    His father continued rolling in grateful silence. Finally, when all of the grapevine leaves were stuffed, rolled, and packed into the big pot, they filled it up halfway with hot water and brought it to a boil.
    “Now we let it cook until it’s done. Sometimes we add some tomato paste for extra flavor halfway through.”
    “That’s how I like it.”
    “I know. So fifteen minutes before it’s done cooking, you can add it today.” Alek nodded his head, gratefully acknowledging even this small step in the journey of learning how to make sarma by himself.
    “Dad, how long do you let it cook?”
    “Just enough time.”
    “And how much tomato paste should I put in?”
    “Not too much.”
    Alek rolled his eyes. He wondered if there were any Armenian cookbooks in the world, or if all of the recipes had to be learned this way.

 
    6
    Four days later, Alek peeled his gaze away from the chalkboard and back into his algebra textbook. His lips were inexplicably dry, and he wished he had some lip balm so he wouldn’t have to lick them every few seconds like a thirsty baby.
    Mr. Weedin decided to end class by having a few Algebra II students work out a series of problems at the chalkboard. The Algebra I students were supposed to be working on their homework, but all Alek could do was try

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