Those Friday Nights

Photo credits to Kikkoman

When my sister was first learning to read, my parents incentivized her with a trip to IKEA every time she completed a level of Ladybird books. For a four-year-old who had just barely learned to say “hi,” the promise of one hour’s worth of playtime in the ballroom, followed by meatballs, followed by ice cream, served well in quelling learning frustrations. I can’t say it didn’t please me too at all, every time my mother proudly announced that another three Ladybird books had been mastered and as a reward, the Friday upcoming, we would go to IKEA.

“Mashed potatoes or fries?” My sister nudged me from below as the server held up a plate of Swedish meatballs, already swathed in gravy. “You get the mashed potatoes, I get the French fries, and then we can share,” she whispered, eyes wide and nose twitching at the warm smell of meatballs, gravy, and potatoes that would never lose warmth. “If you can read this label for me,” I whispered, holding out my plastic packaged apple slices. She frowned, “Washed and ready to eat.” So she was learning. “Mashed potatoes please,” I called.

The rest of the evening was spent in complete enjoyment. Over delightful bites of meatballs and over the cooperative trading of fries for potatoes, I recounted my school day to my parents, my parents reminded my sister they were proud of her, and my sister reaffirmed my love for her, “Do you love me, Adai?”

Love her? In these carefree moments shared after careful toiling, I adored her and the world. Looking back at how we happily placed our trays on the rack before rushing off to play on the colourful abacuses, and how each night out ended so sweetly with an ice cream swirl savoured in the library, those Friday nights were not magical because of IKEA alone. I don’t think I could ever play so long and often with an abacus today - only as children did my sister and I find fun and freedom in even the most simple things.

For all the times we mounted back into the car and drove away from those red, yellow, and blue flags, it took me years to realize family moments like those made more than memories. As the taste of meatballs remains forever fresh on my tongue, so does the significance of our IKEA childhood routine. It was more than reading that was learned, more than my sister whose world was brightened, and more than the present that was celebrated.

Project Metropolis will be selling meatballs on Food Day. Come support us and buy a bowl, 5 warm meatballs for $3!