to wait for the winter; he would sneak into the pantry, open up the bottles or other containers and enjoy his “stolen” goodies. most of the time, he would forget to close the containers back, as they were prepared so neatly by my mother and she would get puzzled, how come that the stuff got spoiled?
my father was telling her the stories of “thousand nights”, like “most likely we have a mouse in the pantry, dear” “i am going to buy a mouse trap”….or “the rubber bands we bought must have been too old” “i am going to get you a new batch” …are you sure you cooked them in 