The feast of St. Jude's Eve
The air outside grew warm from laughter, and the damp feet of the dancers. The cold air didn't just bite; it settled into the bones like a permanent frost. For Caleb, the only cure for a freeze that deep wasn't a coat or a cigarette—it was the traditional feast where hot sausages were served.
Tonight, the market hall was a sanctuary of laughter, steam, and the heavy scent of roasted spices. Caleb and a few of his friends sat on a long wooden bench; they were eager to taste the delicacies set before them. He picked up a red, seasoned grilled sausage known as Hungarian sausage, one of his favorites, which reminded him of his mother's kitchen, and took a bite. For a minute he chewed it with his eyes closed, allowing himself to enjoy the taste.
Before him sat steak potatoes—to others it was their usual meal, but to him it was heritage. He started with the sausage, tasting every meal on the black skillet-lined white paper, then proceeded to the blood sausage, steak potatoes, purple cabbage, and finally to the mixed pickle vegetables.
While the cold breeze settled on their skin, the hot steaming meal was the cure. Satisfaction rested on their faces as they munched the meal before them.