Rice pudding and the angry dragon

Late autumn in Malham, Yorkshire-Dales. A gifted painter over-used from his colour palette the rust.

We walk hurriedly to the place that calls us. Our boots are full of mud because it just rained, but we don't care. In front of us, The Lister Arms - voted in 2019 the favourite pub in Yorkshire due to homemade dishes, beer (never miss a great pint) and ambience.

Cold-weather, but warm inside. A fireplace, in which the wood cracks and emits stellar sparkles, warms the atmosphere and turns it into a fairytale one. However, we choose to stay outside, like the locals. The cold doesn't scare us anymore. Wooden benches or chairs gathered around tables are the perfect place for relaxation and discussion. From time to time, the loud laughter of children makes us lose our mind.

In order to make you unable to decide, a list of dishes is lying in front of me. My eyes stop at dessert. I admit... the date pudding with caramel sauce or the brownie with praline crumble could put me in trouble if I didn't already know what I would choose: rice pudding with fruit. I order and wait. The wait is long, but the result is just right. A motley bowl crammed with appetizing fruit, boiled in its own juice, gives colour to the creamy rice pudding. Delighted by what I see, I start to taste it. Suddenly, the memory comes to me. It's her, the grandmother who always brought me the portion of rice with milk made with so much love when the lust for something sweet gave way. I taste plum, and the thought leads me to the Chisalita (traditional Romanian dish) made every autumn, also by Her. I'll take an apricot. I see myself as a child, trying to catch the apricot branches in front of the house, left by so much weight. Then I feel the taste of the jam that she also made when the fruits were ripe. The dessert ends quickly, although I would have liked to enjoy it a little more. A hot drink that we drink rapidly, because of the rain that is about to begin, tries to erase my thoughts, but to no avail.

The sky is filled with smoky clouds, the streets are empty, darkness appears. We ran towards the car, followed by louder and louder noises. My cheeks are wet. Is it raining? I wipe my eyes under the steamy glasses, and he appears to me, the dragon. Angry, he almost catches me. Between us, there is only the thought of Her, the Proustian rice pudding.

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