Tabula Rasa

It was the one time we all came together, weapons and wagers laid aside, and we were united. Everyone in the village could show and sell whatever they wanted, as long as they had grown or created or made them by hand. This year, Vinnie had promised his world-famous cannolis, and Brenda’s embroidered kettle cosies were sure to make an appearance for the twelfth fair in a row. I had never contributed anything before - I hadn’t yet come into my artisanal speciality. This year, however, I was debuting my squash soup. I was getting myself set up when I looked to the stall to my left and saw Brenda unveil her creation. My eyes widened in fear. “Brenda, where the fuck are your embroidered tea kettle cosies?” “Oh, I didn’t fancy making them for the twelfth fair in a row. I thought I’d try something new with a recipe I threw together.” Her evil eyes glinted behind tortoiseshell frames. “It’s squash soup” I marched to her stall and thrust a spoon in the vat before me. Taking it to my lips I whiffed the aroma of chillies and tasted crème fraîche. My two super-secret ingredients. That bitch stole my recipe.