Тогоон доторх амтлагч

Sunday lunch is nearly ready, and the kitchen counter is covered in bowls and boards. A basket of warm bread sits by the door. The tap drips into an empty pan. Gran will arrive at one, and she has firm ideas about the flavour of a Sunday meal.

Mum stands at the counter and begins to chop a bunch of green herbs. Sara takes the tin of red spice down from the shelf above the cooker. Mum looks up at once. “You'd better ask Gran first, or she will not touch it.”

Sara does not ask. She tips a whole portion of the red spice into the pot. Mimi watches from the kitchen floor with her grey cloth rabbit and says nothing. The sauce turns a deep orange over a low flame, and steam spreads a sharp smell across the room.

Mum tastes the sauce and pulls a face. It is bitter. “We'd better not tell Gran about this.” Sara turns on the tap and stirs a jug of dairy cream into the pot. She stares down into the pot. “Hadn't we better start again?”

Gran arrives at one, hangs her coat by the door and lifts the heavy lid. She takes a spoon and stops to taste the sauce twice. Gran points her spoon at the pot. “My mother used this spice too.”

Mum begins to talk about nutrition, and Gran quietly hands round a second plate. Sara pushes the bread basket along the table towards Mimi, who is already reaching. Gran winks at Sara across the table. “You'd better ask me first next time.”