The Syrup Incident

 My mom learned to cook from her mom. My mimi had a recipe for everything, and my mom grew up eating at home more often than eating out. The food was better, she thought. I was raised the same way. In the kitchen, helping my mom bake cookies for Santa or mac and cheese for our family party. My mom would much rather make something homemade than buy it from the store. Not in a health freak kind of way, she just enjoyed cooking and liked the taste of her food better than all the processed chemicals.

​ One of my favorite things she would make is her vanilla syrup. I would add it to my coffee every single morning. It was so simple, yet it elevated my coffee so much. Made with the bourbon vanilla paste from Trader Joe's, a rich, authentic vanilla flavor blossomed. The warm profile characterized with sweet undertones gave my coffee that extra umph I was looking for. The crappy Tornai syrup I forced myself to like, I could finally admit I hated.

​ I was back at my college house for the school year, and was without my mom's syrup. Back to the Tornai syrup I went. I complained to my mom on the phone about how much I missed her syrup. Ding! My computer buzzed with an email from Pinterest. It was the recipe for her syrup. Well, I guess I can’t really call it hers anymore, can I?

​ The recipe was easy, so I decided to make it myself. I got the paste from Trader Joe's and followed the recipe. 1 cup water. 1 cup sugar. A teaspoon of salt. A tablespoon of vanilla paste. Let the water and sugar come to a boil on the stove, then add the salt and vanilla paste. Let the syrup cool before adding it to a glass container.

​ As I was letting the syrup cool, I went upstairs to fold my laundry. It was just me and my two roommates, Kyra and Bryce, at home. I come back down to see the pot back on the burner. I think, hmm, that's weird. I go to look in the pot and see it is now filled with boiling water and two eggs. No syrup. “Who dumped the syrup from my pot?” I asked my two roommates sitting on the couch.

​ “Oh, that's what that was?” Kyra said, “It looked like gross, dirty water with weird black chunks in it, so yeah, I dumped it for my eggs.” The chunks were specks of vanilla bean. My mind quickly filled with rage as I tried to keep my composure.

​ “That was my homemade vanilla syrup I just made. I was letting it cool on the stove before I put it in its container,” I said with some attitude. Internally, my mind was racing, wondering why she didn’t think to ask before dumping something out of a pot. Knowing two of her other roommates were home, the thought that it could’ve been one of ours never crossed her mind.

​ “Well, how was I supposed to know?” she fired back defensively. Now things were getting heated. I could see her getting flustered, knowing she messed up. While I was upset about the syrup getting dumped out, I was more upset by the lack of respect going on.

​ “Ummm, you could’ve asked…I mean, why would a pot filled with something random be sitting on the stove and not be one of ours?” I replied. If she keeps this up, it's going to be a long year.

​ Unsettled, Kyra responded, “Well…well…I didn't know, okay!”

​ “Yeah, I know. You should’ve asked.” No response back. Not even an I’m sorry sprinkled in once throughout the whole conversation. I learned a lesson that day, even though I think the lesson was intended for someone else. I realize that not everyone grew up the same way I did. Not everyone learned the same common courtesy. I guess I can’t blame her for how she grew up, but I sure will never forget the annoyance I had that day.