The market buzzed every Saturday: stalls brimming, sellers hurrying, shoppers stopping at each stand to examine, compare and sample. In a modest corner sat Auntie Elsie, a country granny with rough hands, a green headscarf tied snug beneath her chin and warm eyes that only simple, pure people possess.
She kept a few wheels of white cheese, laboriously made from the milk of her old cow, and a smaller piece set aside for tasting let a man try it and not take it for granted, she would say.
Each passerby was greeted with the same gentle smile:
Take it to your mum, love, and tell her if it isnt good.
Some lingered, others hurried on. Thats how the market works: not everyone has the time, not everyone sees the soul behind a humble product.
That morning, among the ordinary folk, a wellknown city lady appeared: tall, elegant, wrapped in an expensive fur coat, large dark glasses shielding her eyes. She was the talk of the town she had money, businesses, everything one could wish for.
But she did not have peace.
She first drifted past the big stalls of famous producers. She tasted, sniffed, asked yet each time she wrinkled her nose.
Nothing seemed to please her.
Too salty
Too soft
Not what Im looking for
People stepped aside. Her presence cut the air, a cold, icy elegance. Yet behind that confident veneer lay an unseen fatigue, a sorrow that clashed with her luxurious attire.
When she reached Auntie Elsies tiny stall, the other vendors turned their heads, curious: Look how shell ignore it! What does a poor village granny have to offer?
But Elsie saw no difference. She saw only the persons heart.
So she smiled at the lady with the same tenderness she gave everyone:
Take it to your mum, love, and tell her if it isnt good.
The woman paused, not knowing why. Perhaps there was something in the old womans voice, a warmth she hadnt felt in years.
She reached out, and Elsie broke off a piece, as if for someone dear:
Its made with these old hands but with a young heart, love. Have a taste and tell me.
The woman lifted the cheese to her mouth. A simple, pure aroma flooded her with a forgotten feeling.
She closed her eyes.
And then she felt.
She felt childhood.
All at once, amid the bustling market and the hum of voices, she found herself in a small kitchen with a clay floor and a plain wooden table.
There she saw her grandmother, the woman who had raised her with love while her parents worked abroad to survive.
Grandma, in a floral apron, always broke off a piece of fresh cheese and said: Take it to your mum and see if its good. Youre my mouth.
A knot formed in her throat.
That simple cheese was exactly the same.
Same texture. Same taste. Same memory.
Her eyes filled with tears, but she hid them behind her large glasses. She wanted to speak, but her voice trembled.
I I dont know what to say its its perfect.
Auntie Elsie gently touched her hand, as only a grandmother knows how: Love, I dont need much. If you say its good, thats enough for me.
How how do you make it? the lady asked in a thin voice.
With hard work, love and with longing for good people like you who still know how to taste with their hearts.
The woman lifted her glasses. In her eyes were tears, but also a light she hadnt felt for a long time.
Youve reminded me of my own grandma, she whispered.
Elsie smiled broadly, the dimples in her cheeks deepening.
Thats wonderful, love. It means she isnt far. As long as you remember her, your grandma lives inside you.
Ill take all your cheese, the lady declared. All of it. And I want to help you. What do you need?
But Elsie shook her head gently. Im not poor, love. I have hands. As long as I have hands, I have cheese. And if youve come from all those markets and stalls to my little stand it shows theres still room in this world for people with heart. Thats my wealth.
The rich lady inhaled deeply and wiped her eyes. For the first time in ages, she felt something simple: the warmth of a memory.
Thank you, Auntie Elsie thank you for making me remember who I am.
The old woman gave her a gentle squeeze. Take it to your mum, love, and tell her if it isnt good. Thats cheese, thats life only those who taste with their soul truly feel it.
If this tale has sparked a memory, dont keep it to yourself. Write in the comments what it reminded you of: who, what taste, which moment from childhood.
