In response to the Carrot Ranch, 99 word Flash Fiction Challenge this week, I wrote about one of the most memorable places I have ever had the pleasure of finding. It was like pulling up a chair in the kitchen of the older couple down the street and eating whatever the woman of the house cooked that day.
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Oh, we loved the non-descript storefront, because the fewer people who knew about this place, the easier it was to get a seat. Authentic Hungarian food was all they served and when what had been cooked every morning was gone, they locked the doors.
On the patched vinyl cushioned chairs, we sat patiently at a faded, red Formica topped table. Soon, a woman, whose age could be determined by counting the wrinkles on her face, delivered our plates. She wiped gnarled fingers on a food-stained, white apron and smiled. Then, she handed us each a fork and said: Eat!