potatoes bubble vigorously, the aroma of the roast knocks at the door,
This reminds me of Saturday night dinners with my family. Me, my younger, and my older brother would go with our parents 10 minutes away to our grandparent's house. Driving up the winding, disorienting, steep hills, we would shove one another out of the car, running into the warmth of the summer, occasionally being hit by brisk shards of wind. The sky would be a drunken fuschia-tangerine, and a blast of radioactive heat would ignite out skin as we ran into the kitchen to see our grandparents. My Grandma, Opal, would be cooking in her apron; multiple bubbling pots with crusted foam on the electric stovetop and an oven, red-handed culprit of the heat, as she fanned herself with a crossword book. The sweet, meaty smell would fill our nostrils as we raided the fridge in search of milk, strawberry syrup, and what types of ice cream were in the freezer. Naturally, we weren't allowed passage to the rest of the house without being covered in kisses. We would then go over to my Grandpa, 'Paca'. He was always in his reclining, brown leather chair that was lined with silver, small circular metal buttons, hands across his belly as he sat contentedly. We would crawl into his lap. He would look down beyond his mustache and spectacles as we rattled away at his shirt pocket, squealing at the sound of, "tsk tsk tsk!". "Can we have a one-zie, Paca?!" He would laugh, only air escaping from his nose, and smile underneath his silver facial hair, "Oh you like those, huh?". "Yes, Paca." He would then remove them from his light blue shirt pocket and hand us the plastic container of "One-zies", allowing us to dispense a sweet, orange oval of taste. Usually, we would take 3 or 4. "Thank you Paca."
After, we would sit and have various dinners as a family, but one my Grandma would sometimes cook was Pot Roast with potatoes carrots, and onion. This is what the section reminded me of. This was my experience/a memory I had from this section.
