Over lunch, she mentioned pork several times. She was telling him about this place in Westlands where she used to go with her colleagues. At that particular moment she was having chicken, a slice of chapatti and mashed potatoes. He was having beef with mashed potatoes.
It had been a while since he last had the fulfilling taste of pork engulf his senses. He imagined her eating pork. Probably the sweet juices of pork would slide down her lovely lips, perhaps a few drops of pork oil would perch seductively on her upper lip, almost falling off but not quite, just hanging there, daring gravity to do what it can. He then imagined what it would feel like to share some roast pork with her, what it would be like to dip a spare rib into her mashed potatoes.
But why was he thinking about pork yet he was having beef? The thought of having a different meal could only get into his head if the meal on the table was not that great.
They had to rush back to the office because she had a meeting.
Later that evening on his way home, he spotted a pork butchery in the neighborhood and the craving rushed back into his head. It was a fierce craving. He could almost hear the worms in his stomach shout ‘We want pork! We want pork! No pork, no peace!’
He obliged. The spirit of cooking descended on him that evening and he managed to defeat his lazy bachelor ways. He crafted some good wet fry pork with a sprinkle of traditional terere vegetables and accompanied it with warmed ugali leftovers from the night before last night. Whoever invented the refrigerator is worthy of continued recognition.
The food was delicious but the more he ate the more unsatisfied he got. His stomach was full but there was still a lingering hunger. He was hungry. For her company. He realized then that he liked her a lot, just like pork, but much more.