I wrote today loosening cobwebs of memories of learning to stretch food to last more than a day. When benefits are cut, all are forced to abide by authoritarian rule, my imagination was in overdrive turning a negative into survival mode.
Earth 12: The One That Still Had Recipes
Memories & Recipes
Starring Mama Lita & son, Alex Rodriquez
This a fictional story with fictional characters
Spoken Word / Lyrics Draft
They tried to erase the food.
Said salt was a luxury.
Said spice was subversive.
Said we could survive on rations and silence.
But we remembered.
We remembered how to stretch a meal with memory.
How to turn broth into a blessing.
How to make mustard egg potato salad taste like a family reunion.
On Earth 12, the kitchen was the last sacred place.
The stove was an altar.
The cutting board, a battlefield.
Mama Lita didn’t measure water.
She listened.
When the pot whispered, she turned the flame down.
When the steam danced, she knew it was ready.
The child watched.
Standing on a stool, hands behind their back like it was a ceremony.
“Why don’t you use a timer?”
“Because the rice tells me when it’s ready.”
They didn’t understand,
but they listened.
They watched the steam curl like a story.
They memorized the rhythm of the spoon against the pot.
“What if they take the rice?”
“Then we’ll grow it in secret.
In window boxes. In old shoes.
In the cracks of the system.”
She handed the child the spoon.
“Here. Stir. So, you’ll remember how it feels.”
The child stirred.
And the rice whispered back.
They tried to starve the story.
But we fed it rice.
They erased the names.
But we stirred them into the broth.
We didn’t march.
We simmered.
We seasoned.
We served.
And when the child grew up,
They didn’t need the recipe written down.
They remembered.
Because on Earth 12,
memory was a meal
and resistance tasted like home.
They wrote 1,000 pages to erase us.
But we wrote recipes in the margins.
We are not ants.
We are the ones who remember how to feed the future.
On Earth 12, rice was never just rice.
It was the first thing we learned to cook.
The last thing we offered to the dead.
The thing we always had, even when we had nothing else.
Mama Lita didn’t measure water.
She listened.
When the pot whispered, she turned the flame down.
When the steam danced, she knew it was ready.
They tried to ban rice.
Said it was inefficient.
Said it didn’t meet the new nutritional codes.
But we kept cooking.
In basements. In backyards.
On hot plates powered by stolen current.
We seasoned it with memory.
With garlic, if we had it.
With salt, if we dared.
And when we gathered, we didn’t say grace.
We said names.
The ones they tried to erase.
We spooned rice into bowls and passed them down the line.
We fed the future one grain at a time.
Earth 12: Recipes That Remember
A printable scroll of nourishment, memory, and quiet rebellion
Mama Lita’s Rice (No Timer Needed)
Ingredients:
1 cup of rice
2 cups of water
A pinch of salt
A story you remember
A silence you trust
Instructions:
Bring to a boil.
Lower the flame when the pot begins to whisper.
Cover.
Wait until the steam dances.
Serve with memory.
Mustard Egg Potato Salad (for Reunions + Revolutions)
Ingredients:
5 boiled potatoes
3 hard-boiled eggs
2 heaping spoons of mustard
1 spoon of mayo (if you have it)
Paprika, salt, and a dash of defiance
Instructions:
Mash gently.
Stir like you’re remembering someone.
Chill before serving.
Best eaten with people who know your name.
Broth for the Forgotten
Ingredients:
Bones, scraps, or whatever’s left
Garlic (if you dare)
Onion skins, bay leaves, and grief
Water and time
Instructions:
Simmer for hours.
Skim off bitterness.
Serve hot.
Say their names before the first sip.
Closing Note
They tried to starve the story.
But we fed it rice.
We are not ants.
We are the ones who remember how to feed the future.
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