Lou-Anne and the Great Lasagna Day

One bright afternoon, Lou-Anne was sitting under the marula tree, drawing swirls in the dust with a stick, when her tummy made a loud, grumbly sound.

Marmalade, stretched out beside her in a warm patch of sunshine, opened one eye.

“Yes,” Lou-Anne said to him, “I heard that too.”

Just then, M’Pofo came strolling over, his trunk swaying gently. “Good afternoon, Lou-Anne. Good afternoon, Marmalade. Why are you both looking so serious?”

“We’re hungry,” said Lou-Anne.

Marmalade gave a very meaningful meow.

M’Pofo nodded. “That is serious.”

At that very moment, Omi appeared from the path with a basket over her arm and a smile on her face.

“Well,” she said, “that works out nicely. I was just coming to ask whether anyone wanted to help me make lasagna.”

Lou-Anne jumped to her feet. “Yes, please!”

M’Pofo lifted his ears. “What is lasagna?”

Omi smiled. “Layers of pasta, sauce, cheese, and love.”

Marmalade stood up at once. He did not understand all the words, but he understood cheese.

When they reached Omi’s kitchen, everything was ready on the big wooden table.

There were onions, garlic, tomatoes, herbs, sheets of pasta, bowls of creamy sauce, and a great block of cheese that made Marmalade stare as though he had seen the moon fall into the kitchen.

Omi tied on her apron. “Right then. Everyone has a job.”

“What can I do?” asked Lou-Anne.

“You may help chop the soft vegetables,” said Omi.

Lou-Anne carefully began cutting mushrooms while Omi chopped onions and garlic.

M’Pofo watched closely. “And what shall I do?”

Omi looked at his trunk thoughtfully. “You may stir the sauce. Gently.”

M’Pofo puffed with pride. “I shall be the finest sauce-stirrer in the Savannah.”

“And Marmalade?” Lou-Anne asked.

Omi glanced at the orange cat, who was already creeping closer to the cheese.

“Marmalade,” she said firmly, “may supervise from that chair.”

Marmalade jumped onto the chair and sat down very straight, as if supervising were an important and noble profession.

Soon the kitchen filled with lovely smells.

The onions softened in the pan. The garlic sizzled. Tomatoes bubbled into a rich red sauce. Omi added herbs, and the whole room smelled warm and delicious.

M’Pofo stirred with the tip of his trunk, very carefully at first.

“You’re doing beautifully,” said Omi.

M’Pofo beamed so much that he stirred a little too enthusiastically and nearly sloshed sauce onto the floor.

“Still beautifully,” said Omi, “but perhaps a touch less earthquake.”

Lou-Anne giggled.

Then came the cheese.

Omi handed Lou-Anne a grater. “Would you like to grate this?”

Lou-Anne nodded eagerly and began making snowy little piles of cheese. Marmalade leaned so far off his chair trying to watch that he nearly toppled over.

“Marmalade,” said Omi without even turning round, “do not even think about it.”

Marmalade sat back down and tried to look innocent.

He failed.

At last, everything was ready for the best part.

“Now,” said Omi, “we build the lasagna.”

She placed a spoonful of sauce at the bottom of the baking dish.

“First sauce,” she said.

Then pasta sheets.

“Then more sauce.”

Then creamy white sauce.

Then cheese.

Lou-Anne added each layer carefully. M’Pofo handed things over one by one with his trunk, looking very solemn, as though they were building a palace.

“Again,” said Omi.

So they did it all over again. Sauce, pasta, sauce, white sauce, cheese.

Layer upon layer, the lasagna grew.

Marmalade watched every movement with total concentration. He had never seen so much interesting food arranged in one place.

When Omi added the final snowy layer of cheese on top, M’Pofo let out a happy rumble.

“It’s beautiful,” he said.

“It is,” said Omi. “And now we bake it.”

That, unfortunately, meant waiting.

Lou-Anne sighed. M’Pofo paced. Marmalade sat in front of the oven door as though staring hard enough might make it cook faster.

Omi chuckled. “Good food takes time.”

“But it smells ready already,” Lou-Anne said.

“That is the oven being mean,” said Omi.

Even Marmalade seemed to agree with that.

So while the lasagna baked, Omi set the table. Lou-Anne folded napkins. M’Pofo carried a jug of water very carefully. Marmalade continued to guard the oven in case it tried anything suspicious.

At last, Omi opened the oven door.

Out came the most wonderful lasagna Lou-Anne had ever seen. The top was golden and bubbling, the edges rich and saucy, and the smell made everyone go quiet for a moment.

Even M’Pofo whispered, “Oh.”

Omi set the dish on the table.

“Now,” she said, “it must rest a little before we cut it.”

Lou-Anne groaned. “More waiting?”

“A little,” said Omi. “Lasagna likes to settle itself.”

Marmalade put one paw dramatically on the table leg, as if he too had suffered enough.

But finally, finally, Omi cut the lasagna into big, steaming squares.

Lou-Anne took her first bite and closed her eyes. “Omi… this is amazing.”

M’Pofo tasted his and made a deep, happy sound from the very bottom of his tummy. “Layers of pasta, sauce, cheese, and love,” he said. “You were exactly right.”

Omi smiled. “Food always tastes better when made together.”

Marmalade received the tiniest safe taste of cheesy sauce on a small saucer. He sniffed it, licked it, and then looked up with such serious approval that everyone laughed.

“I think,” said Lou-Anne, “this might be the best lunch ever.”

M’Pofo nodded. “Until next time.”

Omi patted his shoulder. “There will always be a next time.”

And so they sat together in the warm kitchen, eating golden lasagna while the afternoon sun slanted through the window, and Marmalade supervised the crumbs with great dedication.

Because some meals are more than just meals.

Some are stories you can taste.