⏱ ~4 min reading
On Saturday, Artem's aunt Oksana from the city was visiting. Aunt Oksana came infrequently — once every six months. But when she did, she always brought something delicious and unusual.
This time she brought a large bowl covered with a towel.
“What is this?” asked Artem.
"These are cheesecakes with pumpkin," Aunt Oksana replied. "I made them myself. Try them all.".
Mom put the cheesecakes on the table. Artem leaned over to look. They were orange — from the pumpkin. With a burnt crust. There was a bowl of sour cream next to them.
Artem wrinkled his nose.
— I won't.
“Why, son?” asked his mother.
"I don't know what they taste like. They're orange. I don't eat pumpkin.".
Aunt Oksana wasn't offended. She just smiled.
"As you wish, Artemchyk. Taste what you like.".
Everyone at the table started eating. Dad ate one cheesecake, thought about it, ate another. Mom also tasted it and smiled. Little sister Dashka ate a piece and asked for more.
Artem sat with his sausage sandwich — as usual. But he glanced at the cheesecakes out of the corner of his eye. A light steam was coming out of the orange crust. It smelled of something warm, vanilla, and slightly nutty. Not at all like the pumpkin that Artem had once tried in soup — that was bland and uninteresting.
Dashka licked the spoon with sour cream.
— Artem, you don't know what you're missing!
Artem looked at the cheesecake. It was small, round.
«"What if I try it? One piece. Very small. If I don't like it, I'll tell you. No one will force me.".
This thought calmed him down. Because if you can't finish eating, you can start.
"Mom. Can I have one?"
— Of course, son.
Mom put a small cheesecake on his plate. Artem cut it with a fork. Inside, the cheesecake was tender — also orange, with small specks. Artem sniffed it. It smelled good. Like vanilla bread and a little honey.
He took a very small piece on his fork and put it in his mouth.
Stopped.
It wasn't like he imagined. Not at all like bland pumpkin soup. The cheesecake was tender—like porridge from early morning. Sweet—but not too much. With a cheesy flavor—warm, homey. And he could barely taste the pumpkin—just a hint, like on an autumn evening.
Artem chewed. Swallowed.
Everyone at the table looked at him with curiosity, except for Aunt Oksana, who was calmly smearing sour cream on her cheesecake and didn't ask anything.
"So what?" Dashka couldn't help herself.
Artem thought.
— Delicious.
Dashka clapped her hands.
— I told you so!
Artem ate the whole cheesecake. Then he took another one. He poured sour cream over it — like Dashka.
“Why didn’t you like pumpkin before?” Aunt Oksana asked later.
Artem thought.
"I once tasted it in soup and I didn't like it. I decided that pumpkin was generally tasteless.".
— And it turned out?
— It turned out that pumpkin can be different. In soup — one. In cheesecake — another.
Aunt Oksana nodded.
— It happens with everything. You want to say "I don't like tomatoes" — or maybe you just tried one variety. And the others are sweet, like candy.
Artem thought about it. It seemed to him that this was important.
In the evening, mom kissed Artem before bed.
— I'm proud of you, son.
— Why?
"Because you tried. It's not easy to try something new. It's courage.".
"Courage?"
— Yes. Not just big courage — like with a dark room or with heights. Even small ones — like trying an unfamiliar dish.
Artem smiled.
— And I thought courage was when you were scared.
— That's also courage. And courage is when you don't know if it'll be good, but you try anyway.
Artem closed his eyes. He dreamed of orange cheesecakes, which turned out to be good and tasty. The world was bigger than he had thought in the morning.
💡 The world is big — and every new flavor can become a favorite.