“What’s gotten into you? Why are you acting so superior?” Anna Mikhailovna scolded her daughter-in-law with a disapproving look.
“Don’t like it? Then leave,” the daughter-in-law responded, her voice steady and calm.
Lena’s cooking was generally well-received. Her husband always praised her meals, particularly her borscht and cutlets. But when Anna Mikhailovna tasted Lena’s food, she didn’t hesitate to call it “swill,” and criticized that serving such dishes to “decent people” was a crime.
Lena felt deeply hurt. After all, her husband and son genuinely loved her cooking, and she often treated the family to freshly baked pies and charlottes. However, none of that seemed to matter to her mother-in-law.
“Don’t mind her, darling. The important thing is that it tastes good,” her husband reassured her. “She doesn’t mean harm. She’s just… trying to help.”
“Help? Well, her ‘help’ scares everyone,” Lena replied, frustration evident in her voice. “She’s driving us all crazy with her comments.”
“Let it go,” her husband sighed. “She’s not even talking to Aunt Shura anymore, all because she called her fried potatoes ‘burnt.'”
“Maybe she should just not eat if she doesn’t like anything?” Lena suggested, a bit sarcastically.
“You know we can’t change her. All you can do is bear with it.”
“Or just not invite her?” Lena’s voice faltered as she glanced at her husband.
“We promised her we’d celebrate her birthday here.”
Lena sighed deeply, feeling the weight of the situation. “We promised.”
Two weeks later, Lena began preparing for her mother-in-law’s birthday celebration. She saw this as her opportunity to show Anna Mikhailovna the perfect table and decided to call her to ask about the specifics for the event.
“Anna Mikhailovna, have you forgotten about the celebration at our house?”
“Well, if you’re referring to my ‘serious date,’ then no, I haven’t forgotten,” came Anna Mikhailovna’s sharp reply.
“Tell me, what would you like on the table?” Lena asked, trying to keep the tone neutral.
“Something baked, not burnt, and with good texture,” the older woman responded with an edge.
“I’ll make sure to keep that in mind,” Lena said, pushing her mother-in-law’s sarcasm aside.
“Well, prepare a couple of salads—Alyosha loves the ‘capital-style’ one and the one with pink salmon. For the hot dish, just something simple, and I’ll bring a cake from the bakery.”
Lena knew well that Anna Mikhailovna didn’t care what was on the table. She wanted to set Lena up to fail, using this event to criticize her cooking once again. Despite having the financial means to celebrate at a café, Anna Mikhailovna demanded that they host it at their house so she wouldn’t have to cook herself.
But this time, Lena was prepared.
“Alyosha, sit at the table!” she called as her husband came through the door.
“Can’t I wash my hands first?” he asked, chuckling.
“You’ll wash them here,” Lena said, pointing to the sink. “Open your mouth!” She handed him a spoonful of salad. “Tell me if this tastes right.”
“What is this?” Alyosha asked, tasting it eagerly.
“I made several versions of your favorite salads—three ‘capital-style’ and three with pink salmon. You’ll tell me which one is best. And if your mother says anything, you’ll say you insisted on that recipe!”
“You’re clever!” Alyosha laughed. “Alright, deal. You’ve set up a tasting challenge for me.”
The night before the birthday, Lena made sure everything was in order. She ironed shirts for her son and husband, laid out a new tablecloth, and even bought a bouquet of flowers to add a touch of elegance.
“Dima, don’t slurp at the table!” she instructed her son, her nerves on edge. “Alyosha, steer the conversation away from sensitive topics.”
“Relax,” Alyosha said, smiling. “Even if she doesn’t like something, it’s not a big deal.”
“No, I want everything perfect,” Lena insisted. “If she criticizes my food, I want everyone to see it for what it is—petty nitpicking.”
Besides Anna Mikhailovna, Lena was expecting other guests—her sister-in-law Vika, who was always glued to her phone; Uncle Vitaliy, who enjoyed a drink; and Aunt Shura, who was cautiously trying to mend her relationship with Anna Mikhailovna.
“Oh, you even put flowers on the table! I love fresh flowers at home!” Aunt Shura complimented.
“Thank you, I love them too,” Lena smiled warmly.
Anna Mikhailovna, however, couldn’t resist a jab. “So you can afford a bouquet for everyone, but not for your mother…” she muttered under her breath.
“No, no. There’s one for you too!” Lena quickly retrieved a large bouquet for her mother-in-law. “Happy Birthday!”
Anna Mikhailovna was taken aback but muttered a half-hearted thanks.
“Alyosha, Dima, will you help serve the salads?” Lena asked.
Alyosha brought the ‘capital-style’ salad, and Dima brought the layered fish salad. They struggled to find enough space for all the appetizers, as the table was also laden with vegetables, fruits, meats, and cheeses. Lena had made sure there was something for everyone.
“Don’t pile that on me!” Anna Mikhailovna said with distaste when she saw the ‘capital-style’ salad.
“Why not? You asked for the ‘capital-style,'” Lena replied, her voice calm but firm.
“Is that the ‘capital-style’? It doesn’t look good.”
“Let’s just drink and snack,” Uncle Vitaliy interrupted impatiently, clearly eager to start.
“Yes, yes. Let’s enjoy ourselves,” Aunt Shura added, raising her glass.
“Happy Birthday, Mom!” Alyosha said cheerfully.
Anna Mikhailovna slowly picked at the salad.
“What is this? The meat is like rubber, and the cucumbers are slimy. Change my plate. I’ll take something else,” she complained.
Lena, with a steady tone, asked, “Do you like your salad, Uncle Vitaliy?”
He glanced up, startled, and smiled. “It’s very tasty. The cucumbers are perfect, they taste homemade.”
“I liked it too,” Aunt Shura chimed in. “The beef is tender.”
“Vika, put your phone down for a second. Try the salad,” Lena gently encouraged.
Vika looked up, surprised. She took a bite and smiled. “It’s really good! I’ve never had it with beef before. Why don’t we make it with beef from now on, Mom?”
Anna Mikhailovna, growing increasingly irritable, muttered, “I wouldn’t be able to cook it even if I tried. I always use better ingredients. Your fish dish is a joke.”
“You haven’t even tried it!” Lena finally snapped, but she quickly composed herself.
“Why try it if it looks so unappetizing?” Anna Mikhailovna replied, her tone sharp.
Lena couldn’t take it anymore. “If you don’t like my cooking, get out of my house. This isn’t a restaurant.”
Everyone froze, staring at the confrontation. Anna Mikhailovna stood frozen, fork mid-air, unable to believe her daughter-in-law’s boldness.
“Yes, you heard me correctly,” Lena continued, her voice unwavering. “Everyone here enjoys the food, but when you rudely criticize my cooking, I can’t help but think you’d be happier if you left—along with the unpleasant atmosphere you’ve created.”
Anna Mikhailovna looked to her son, expecting him to intervene. But Lena took the reins, saying, “If you don’t respect your son’s taste, why should he back you up?”
For a moment, Anna Mikhailovna was at a loss for words, but then she muttered