The sun rose gently over the village, tinting the sky a golden orange.
Mylova was the first to open her eyes. Louis was still asleep, one hand resting on her waist, his hair a bit tousled. She stayed there for a moment, watching him, amused by how he slightly furrowed his brow even in his sleep. Then, she placed a small kiss on his cheek before slipping out of bed.
This morning, she had a mission: prepare a big dinner to thank the villagers.
She slipped on a simple dress, grabbed a large wicker basket, and headed to the village market. The air already smelled of spices and fresh fruit. The vendors, seated behind their wooden stalls, sold still-green plantains, sweet potatoes, cassava, peppers, freshly caught fish still glistening.
She chose carefully:
plantains to make bannan peze,
potatoes to fry,
marinated meat and fresh fish,
cabbage, carrots, peppers, and vinegar to prepare a spicy pikliz,
and of course, plenty of rice—because here, without rice, there is no feast.
For the drink, she opted for a jus de groseille pays: dark red, fragrant, slightly tart, served fresh even without ice, cooled naturally in calabashes left in the shade.
When she returned home, she found Louis sitting at the table, still a bit sleepy, elbows on the wood, scratching his head.
— "You already went out?!" he said, pretending to be offended.
— "Yes, mister sleepyhead. You think the meal's going to make itself?"
— "I thought it was magic… you snap your fingers and bam, fritay!"
She burst out laughing.
— "Come on, get up, come help me."
He rolled up his sleeves, ready to "cook," even though he didn't know much about it.
Mylova rolled up her sleeves and placed the basket on the table.
— "Today, we're going to make them a real Haitian meal."
Louis looked at her with curiosity.
— "You mean… with rice?"
She laughed.
— "More than that! Listen closely, Sunday cook."
1. The plantains — Bannan peze
Step 1: Peel the green plantains and cut them into chunks.
— "These things are tricky. They're slippery."
— "You're just clumsy," she teased, tapping his shoulder playfully.
Step 2: Fry them briefly in hot oil, just enough to soften them.
Step 3: Take them out, flatten them with a press or simply the bottom of a glass.
Step 4: Dip them quickly in salted water (that's the secret, Mylova whispered to Louis).
Step 5: Fry them a second time until golden and crispy.
Louis watched, fascinated.
— "I think I'm going to eat half of them before they get to the table…"
2. The Creole-style French fries
Step 1: Peel the potatoes and cut them into sticks.
Step 2: Soak them in salted water for a few minutes.
Step 3: Dry them well with a cloth.
Step 4: Fry them until golden outside and soft inside.
Louis stirred them in the oil, proud of himself.
— "Look! They're beautiful, right?"
— "Yes… but stop eating them, they're for tonight!"
3. The pikliz
Step 1: Shred cabbage and slice carrots into thin strips.
Step 2: Add finely chopped peppers, a bit of onion, salt, and white vinegar.
Step 3: Mix and let it marinate so the spice and acidity blend together.
— "The pikliz is what wakes up the meal," Mylova explained. "Without it, fritay is like a smile without teeth."
4. The fried fish
Step 1: Clean the fish and dry it well.
Step 2: Season with crushed garlic, lemon juice, pepper, thyme, and a bit of chili.
Step 3: Let it marinate.
Step 4: Just before cooking, coat it lightly in salted flour—this thin layer will protect the flesh, keep it from falling apart, and give it a perfect crispy crust while keeping the inside tender and juicy.
Step 5: Fry until golden brown.
Louis, hypnotized by the fish sizzling in the oil, murmured:
— "It looks like it's dancing."
— "No," corrected Mylova, "it's singing… and it's saying it'll be delicious."
5. The rice with red beans
Step 1: Cook the red beans with salt and garlic.
Step 2: Add coconut milk and let it simmer.
Step 3: Stir in the rice and cook until tender, fragrant, and slightly sticky.
6. The drink — Jus de groseille pays
Step 1: Boil the sorrel flowers with a bit of sugar and cinnamon.
Step 2: Strain, then let it cool naturally in the shade.
Louis tasted a bit of the still-warm juice.
— "Hmmm… it's like drinking a sunset."
— "And you're like a badly written poem," she replied, laughing.
— "Where did you learn this dish?"
— "You forget my father is Haitian?! He came to New Orleans for his studies and to visit his family, and that's where he met my mother. He taught me everything he knows!"
Louis, intrigued, asked:
— "And… do you speak Creole?"
She smiled proudly.
— "Wi! Koman ou ye? Mwen anfòm! Koman fanmi ou ye?!"
Louis listened, fascinated, and without thinking, he blurted out:
— ""If you only knew… mwen renmen ou."
Mylova, surprised, froze for a second before bursting into laughter. Her eyes sparkled, a mix of emotion and tenderness.
— "Mwen renmen ou tou…"
She shook her head, still smiling, touched by his charm, intelligence, and above all… his sweet clumsiness.
The sun was slowly setting, and the smell of fritay still filled the air. In the little house, the dishes were lined up, the table set, and the kitchen shining after a long day's work.
Louis stretched with a satisfied sigh.
— "We did well, Mrs. Louis."
Mylova rolled her eyes, wiping her hands on her apron.
— "Yes… and we're covered in flour, oil, and sweat."
She was about to get her dress for the evening when Louis, with a small smile she'd never really seen before, said:
— "What if… we bathed together?"
She froze, wide-eyed.
— "Together…?"
— "Yes. Just… to relax a little before everyone arrives. We've spent the whole day in the kitchen, barely stopping…"
She lowered her eyes, fidgeting with the corner of her apron.
— "Louis…"
— "I promise… nothing more. Just… a moment with you."
His voice had that soft confidence, as if he knew she would eventually say yes. Maybe it was the excitement of the party, or just the desire to enjoy her in a way that wasn't between two pots and pans.
Louis had already prepared the large metal basin in a corner of the room. The water, heated over the fire in a cauldron, steamed slightly. Next to it, a small jar of cool water to balance the temperature, an artisanal lemon-scented soap, and two clean towels.
Mylova stood at the doorway for a moment, heart pounding.
— "We don't have much time…" she murmured.
— "Then let's not waste it," he replied softly.
He undressed first, simply, without any sudden moves, and stepped into the warm water.
She hesitated, blushing, before joining him. Her movements were slow, as if afraid a single gesture might strip away the thin veil of modesty between them.
In a tender gesture, Louis handed her a small cup so she could pour water over his shoulders.
— "See… nothing complicated."
Water slid along his skin, and she smiled, shy but reassured. He gently ran his hand through her wet hair, parting it carefully so it wouldn't tangle. She did the same, her fingers brushing his back, making him shiver slightly.
Sometimes their eyes met, and they'd quickly look away, smiling. They laughed softly at their clumsiness: a splash of water, a soap slipping, a gesture held just a little too long.
It wasn't burning passion, but a hesitant tenderness—two hearts still learning to beat together.
When they stepped out, wrapped in towels, Louis said:
— "We're ready… well, almost ready."
— "And clean, at least," she replied, laughing.
They dressed, ready to welcome their guests, their hearts light.