Lazy dumplings

I ask grandmother:
- Why do you get so tasty? You probably know the secret?
“I know,” he answers.
- Will you tell me?
“If you don't talk.”
- No one! - I hit myself in the chest. - I swear by school!

Grandma leans over and whispers in my ear:

- You need to really love the one for whom you are cooking. And smile more often.

“Is that all?” Whole secret?

- And that’s it!

“We have to try,” I say thoughtfully. - And if the mood is bad?

- Then open canned food.

- And if the mood is good, and laziness to cook? - I do not give up.

“Lazy dumplings were invented for this case,” the grandmother answers. - I was going to do them just because I am lazy today.

Grandmother puts cottage cheese in a wide bowl, breaks a raw egg, sprinkles with granulated sugar. Then he takes flour from the shelf.

- Will we knead the dough? - I'm scared. - Again, wait two hours ?!

“Not two, less,” Grandma reassures.

She pours flour into a bowl, mixes everything with quick fingers, and then rolls this fragrant mass with her palms on a wooden board.

I am laughing:

- We rolled out such sausages in kindergarten. From plasticine.

“Didn't eat, I hope?”

- One girl was eating, Nastya Bolshakova. Then she spat for a long time and brushed her teeth.

“And we will not spit,” the grandmother promises and cuts sausages into small pieces.

The water in the pan began to boil.

- Will you help me? - the grandmother asks.

- And what to do?

- Wait until they pop up.

- Help me too! Assign me something harder.

“You can't,” grandmother answers. “Dumplings are lazy.”

- Oh, grandmother, one has already surfaced! And the second one! Third, fourth, fifth! ..

But soon I lost count. Dumplings pushed on the surface, rolled over, dived and interfered with each other.

“Done,” says the grandmother. - Get out the plates. Where's the skimmer here?

“Grandma, why is she a slotted spoon?” - I ask.

“I’m surprised myself,” he answers. - No noise. Our little dumplings, lazy-ive ...

And he puts on the table a dish with dumplings. A piece of butter glistens with yellow sides, slowly drains into the depths, and grandmother helps him with a spoon. The second tablespoon puts sour cream on my plate, the third - lingonberry jam.

But I eat dumplings, not with a spoon, but with a fork. I dip in sour cream, so in jam - and in my mouth. This grandmother taught me so.

We sit with her opposite each other, dunk and eat, dunk and eat. Yummy! And what a wonder! Dumplings are lazy, but eating them is not laziness. Well, not at all!

Sergey Mahotin