The Lost Art of Snack Time
Once upon a time in a post-apocalyptic world…
In the heart of a post-apocalyptic world, the Riley bakery stood resilient amid the chaos, its walls draped in vines and its windows smeared with the dust of neglect. Inside, Clara Riley worked tirelessly, her hands fluttering through the motions of baking. Each loaf of bread and each pastry that emerged from the crusty ovens was a morsel of normalcy in an otherwise fragmented existence. Yet, amidst the daily grind, she felt a yearning for something more—a sense of togetherness that had long faded in the wake of their survival.
Her son Alex, was her anchor. Together, they had created a home within the bakery. However, they were missing a special touch to their meager meals, something that Clara had once taken for granted: a charcuterie board. It had been a staple of gatherings in the past, a decorative arrangement of meats, cheeses, and fruits that transformed simple snacks into feasts of connection.
“Mom,” Alex said one evening as they shared a modest dinner of crusty bread and a few forgotten scraps of cheese, “What if we made our own charcuterie board? Something special for snack time?”
Clara’s eyes brightened. “That would be wonderful, Alex. But we’ll need something to serve it on. The old plates won’t do—something rustic and unique.”
With youthful enthusiasm etched across his face, Alex suggested, “What if I go to the forest tomorrow? I could find a nice log and cut a slab out of it.”
Clara hesitated but quickly realized that Alex needed this adventure. “Alright, just be careful, okay?” she said, feeling a mixture of pride and worry.
The next morning, as the sun cast its golden rays through the broken windows, Alex armed himself with an old chain saw Clara had salvaged from a workshop. Its motor hummed to life with a sputter, and he set off into the heart of the nearby forest, eager to find a suitable log.
The forest was both haunting and beautiful, its once vibrant flora now twisted and gnarled. It was a landscape both familiar and foreign, reminiscent of their old hikes, yet shrouded with the ominous silence of the new world. After wandering for a time, Alex finally came upon a fallen tree, thick and sturdy, its bark rough and rich with age.
Setting to work, he carefully maneuvered the chain saw, the sound cutting through the serene quiet of the woods. With a skilled hand, he carved a thick disc from the log, rugged yet promising. Sweat dripped from his brow, but excitement propelled him. Finally, as he finished, Alex marveled at the smooth, polished surface of the freshly cut wood. It felt alive, a piece of nature transformed into something useful—a symbol of craftsmanship and care.
He returned home, the disc cradled under one arm, eager to show Clara his creation. The moment he stepped into the bakery, Clara’s face lit up, a testament to the beauty of what he had brought back.
“Oh, Alex!” she exclaimed, her eyes gleaming. “This is perfect! You’ve done wonderfully!”
Together, they cleaned the wooden slab, removing the bark and smoothing its surface with a rag. The smell of fresh wood filled the bakery, and they both felt a renewed energy ripple between them—a resonant echo of their past, of family gatherings over hearty meals.
As days turned into weeks, the wooden board became a centerpiece for their snack times. Each afternoon, Clara would arrange a simple charcuterie spread on the slab, a medley of foraged nuts, berries from the forest, and whatever remains they could salvage. Each snack time transformed into an event, where the grandness of the wooden board invited conversation and laughter.
One day, they perched in the fading light of the evening, the golden rays illuminating the rustic board adorned with their meager offerings. Clara sliced into a hunk of cured meat, and Alex proudly placed it next to a handful of wildflowers he had picked during one of his foraging trips.
“It’s not just food,” Clara said, an affectionate smile gracing her lips. “It’s a reminder of the beauty we can still find.”
Alex reached for a berry, popping it into his mouth. “And it’s a reminder that we can still have special moments, even like this.”
Over time, the charcuterie board became more than just a serving dish; it was a symbol of their resilience and creativity in a world that often felt bleak. It adapted alongside them, evolving with the seasons and what little they could gather—mushrooms in the fall, nuts in the winter, herbs in the spring. The board became a canvas for their memories, painted with laughter and conversation, where every food shared created a thread binding them closer together.
And so, in a world painted bleak and broken, the charcuterie board—crafted from a fallen log—stood as a testament to the warmth of family, the power of creativity, and the belief that even in the darkest times, there could be moments of light when shared with those we love.
What would you put on your post-apocalyptic charcuterie board?
