FIZAH (Female Kolong Garbage)
PART 91 "Cooking Competition"
*Fakharuddin Akhyar Al - Ameen
Ba'da.
I'm glad he accepted my invitation. At first I thought he would refuse subtly. Sometimes I think his attitude is unpredictable. Sometimes smooth, sometimes suddenly cold, and can also turn mature. Seventeen year old girl fizah. And now I'm ready to race with him.
"I'm ready. What are you, Iz?"
Iza silently looked at me. Then, I realized I was still in a gloved state.
"I'm changing clothes. You get everything ready."
There's not five minutes. I replaced it with long training pants and a shirt I just wore yesterday.
"Arepe nyapo iki?" (Why is this?) Enjoying in the kitchen.
"Here, Mik, Fizah and I want a cooking competition. Ummik just wait who the most delicious cuisine."
"Rooking competition? Sopo iki?"
Translation: (Rooking competition? Whose idea is this?)
"Me, Mik. Just wait for it."
"Ummik proposed by Mbak Ulya kon melu. Less rame yen mung wong loro."
Translation: (Ummik proposed by Mbak Ulya told to come along. Less crowded if just two)
I looked at him with eyebrow movements. He moves the same.
"So much, Gus."
"Yes already. Iz, you call him. If he bothers, no need. Lately he has murajaah. Chasing mutqin."
"Halah sampeyan matur lek Ummik sing ngutus. Must be a missile."
Translated: (Even, you said that Ummik asked. Must be leaving)
"Enggeh, Mik," I replied.
He hesitates to step. Maybe he doesn't know his room yet.
"His room is in Fatimid. Just ask the muraqibah" I said.
*Hafizah Palace
I searched Ning Ulya's room alone without asking muraqibah. The room is at the back. He's in front of the room. Jon holds his Koran. From a distance I looked at him with envy. Happy to be he can recite the Quran well. Prospective daughter-in-law Bu Nyai Ridhaa is indeed not arbitrary santri. She is actually a princess. The ring on his finger, from a distance seemed to light up in the sunlight that fell on half of his body. The one who thinks it's lucky may not be just me. Especially those who want to have it for life. May I be afraid. Nular Allahumma.
"Ning Ulya?"
"Sstttttt." He stands. "Call me mbak."
I'm mangosteen.
"What's wrong?"
I approached.
"Ummik cooks fried rice in the kitchen."
"OKAY. Wait a minute, yeah, I put down the Koran first."
I've only been to the princess's cabin until the very back room. The atmosphere is cool and shady. This pesantren calms the heart. Maybe because his own nanny had such a big tirakatan.
Ning Ulya was wearing her plain yellow flip-flops. At first glance, he was in a hurry to wear sandals. Wrong to wear sandals of the same color belong to other santri. The coat is quite faded in color. Her clothes may be expensive, but they look old. The sandals are flops too. A single class of ning was very simple. I was suddenly impressed.
"Ning, you're a cool guy, ngggeh."
"What's cool, Ma'am? Don't call ning. Don't like me." She smiles.
"Just so."
"Had. Tumben Bu Nyai asked me to cook fried rice. It was like a meatball this morning."
"What lo?"
Bu nyai and Gus Fakhar in the kitchen. Ning Ulya sungkem first to Bu nyai.
"Iki lo, Ma'am, sampeyan tak suwun cook fried sego. Fakhar's karo race."
Translated: (This lo, Ma'am you Ummik asked for fried rice. The race with Fakhar)
"With Iza too." Gus Fakhar added.
I took the ingredients out of the fridge. Earlier I and Mbak Ufi had bought it at the vegetable maker not far from the pesantren. I prepared three apron.
"Jurine sopo iki, Le?"
Translation: (Who's this tour, Le?)
"Senengan, Abah, Mas Yazeed and Ratna, Ufi's mother, Iza's mother, and who is our male guest."
Ning Ulya and I agreed to turn and say no. Automatically cooked a lot. Prepare seven rice dishes.
I don't know what Gus Fakhar means to take me on exclamations like this. His behavior is very friendly now. Not giving distance. In fact, as far as I tell other santri he is quite cold.
"It's thirty-five minutes. Pretty, right, that?" Gus Fakhar looked at me, Ning Ulya, and nyai maam alternately.
"Enough," replied ma'am nyai.
The three of us started cooking. It's like a real cooking match. Gus Fakhar put up his cell phone stopwatch. Put it on a plate rack.
I cooked it slowly. Along with Gus Fakhar who seems to be an expert about making nasgor. Anyone would be able to make it quickly. Easy and practical menu. So was Ning Ulya still with her skill at cutting the seasoning in a quick motion. I focused on looking at his hand movements for a moment. Then, Gus Fakhar surprised me by putting shrimp in my hand. Instantly I tiptoed. I thought that was what. The two people beside me immediately let out a laugh.
"Don't daydream Mbak Iz," Ning Ulya said.
I started to focus. I saw Gus Fakhar looking at me from the side even though I didn't look at him. The sound of hot oil told me to look. "Gus, the genengan even daydream," I said.
"You look smart too, Iz. Your cooking might be so good."
I looked to my right side. The look on the woman's face in front of me was a bit sour. He threw away his face. Hiding the laughter that broke out.
"Is Ning Ulya jealous?" my inner.
"In addition why also Gus Fakhar said so in front of Ning Ulya who was clearly his future wife. Without any control anyway," my inner self again.
And, until the last twelve minutes, I stole a glance towards Ning Ulya who had become silent since earlier. He had already plated his fried rice. I still add salt. He focused on presenting his rice nicely. Kutengok Gus Fakhar has also started to choose dishes. I also have to hurry. There are seven minutes left. I'm gupuh. Fast motion. Fortunately I had prepared a plate and a small bowl to print the rice. Then I am the one who finished the last fit in accordance with the time.
The dining room was full of twenty-one dishes. It's like a buffet. It's just that the portion is a little so that the eating is not full.
Gus Fakhar
Ning Ulya's
Mine
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