10th November 2009
The blast of heat from the oven clashed violently with Yazid’s tears.
“I hate you!” Yazid shouted at the closed bathroom door then scrubbed his forearm across his face. f*****g onions, man.
Yazid wanted to be a cook. Not a proper fancy chef-type cook, just…a cook. Getting paid to make food, that was a good deal. Pubs, school canteens, that kind of thing. That would be awesome. Ali, on finding out, had instantly cried off cooking ever again. So that evening Yazid found himself experimentally (and very carefully) flipping some weird omelette-esque thing, made with onions, cheese, and chilli sauce. Seriously, what the hell? Ali had gotten the recipe from his dad, and Yazid was beginning to see why Ali’s dad was dead, judging by the dubious colour and the sheer amount of
