CUTIS Family’s Special Rainy Day Meal is Simple but Full of Love
The rain fell steadily outside the small, cozy home of the CUTIS family, pattering softly on the tin roof and tapping at the windows like an old friend come to visit. Inside, warm yellow light spilled from the kitchen into the living room, where five pairs of slippers sat by the door and a row of damp umbrellas leaned against the wall.
Rainy days were special in the CUTIS household. Not just because of the chance to stay indoors or watch the world blur through streaked glass, but because they meant something more—a tradition that had started years ago, when the family had very little, but their hearts were full.
C—Carlos, the father, a quiet, gentle man with hands hardened from years of carpentry work.
U—Uma, the mother, full of laughter and stories, who could turn even plain rice into something magical.
T—Talia, the eldest daughter, now a teenager, but still quick to help in the kitchen.
I—Ian, the curious younger brother, always asking questions and trying to sneak bites before dinner.
S—Sasha, the baby of the family, only five, but already a lover of spices and colors.
Together, they were the CUTIS family.
It all started with a stormy afternoon six years ago. Carlos had returned home early from work, soaked and tired, with only a small bag of rice and two eggs in hand. Uma, ever resourceful, smiled and said, “We’ll make it enough.” They cooked the rice, fried the eggs, and added whatever scraps of vegetables they had. They sat on a mat on the floor, using mismatched bowls and chopsticks, listening to the rain as they ate together. That simple meal turned into a memory, and that memory into a tradition.
Every rainy day since then, no matter what was happening in their lives, the CUTIS family would gather and prepare a meal together—simple, homemade, and filled with love.
On this particular rainy day, the sky had turned a gentle gray, and the air smelled of wet soil and blooming jasmine. Uma peeked outside and grinned. “Rain’s here,” she called, already tying her apron.
Talia looked up from her phone and smiled. “Rainy Day Meal?”
Carlos nodded. “Let’s do it.”
Ian and Sasha cheered and ran to the kitchen. It didn’t matter what was in the pantry; they always found a way to make it work. It wasn’t about fancy recipes or expensive ingredients—it was about creating something together.
Uma pulled out the staples: jasmine rice, garlic, onions, a can of sardines, and a bunch of fresh greens from their small garden. “Sardine stir-fry,” she announced. “With garlic rice and soup.”
Carlos took charge of chopping while Talia set the table. Ian helped wash the greens, splashing water everywhere, and Sasha was on seasoning duty, carefully counting out pinches of salt like a master chef.
The kitchen was filled with laughter, clinking spoons, and the smell of fried garlic—the CUTIS family’s signature rainy-day scent. Uma sang an old lullaby from her childhood while stirring the sardines in a pan with diced tomatoes and onions. Carlos added a squeeze of calamansi for brightness. Meanwhile, the garlic rice sizzled in another pan, golden and crispy at the edges.
Ian kept trying to sneak a spoonful. “Just one taste?” he pleaded.
“Not until it’s done,” Uma teased.
Talia made a simple soup using leftover chicken bones and squash. She added ginger and lemongrass, letting it simmer until the broth was fragrant and comforting.
When everything was ready, they sat on the floor again, just like that first rainy day. No dining table, no fancy settings—just a woven mat, warm food, and warm hearts.
Sasha said grace, her small hands pressed together. “Thank you for the rain, the food, and the love.”
They ate with joy. The sardines, though humble, were rich and savory. The garlic rice was crispy and full of flavor. The soup warmed their bellies like a hug. And as they shared stories—about school, work, and silly dreams—the rain became their backdrop, soft and steady.
Later, after the dishes were washed and the kitchen cleaned, the CUTIS family sat together by the window, sipping hot cocoa made from melted tablea chocolate and condensed milk. They wrapped themselves in one big blanket, watching droplets race each other down the glass.
“Do you think we’ll still do this when we’re all grown up?” Talia asked.
Carlos smiled. “I hope so. But even if we’re apart, you’ll carry it with you—the memory, the love.”
Uma nodded. “Rainy days remind us to slow down, to be together, to be grateful for what we have.”
Ian looked up. “Even sardines?”
“Especially sardines,” Uma said with a wink.
They all laughed, and Sasha leaned her head on Uma’s shoulder. “This is my favorite day.”
It wasn’t the food that made the rainy day meal special. It was the process—of coming together, of working as one, of sharing what they had with open hearts. In a world that often rushed by, the CUTIS family had found their little island of peace, made from garlic rice, sardines, and love.
Years later, when Talia moved away for college, she found herself one rainy afternoon in a tiny apartment with nothing in the fridge but eggs, rice, and a can of sardines. She smiled and texted her mom.
“Rainy day. Making our meal. Thinking of home.”
Uma replied with a heart emoji and a photo of the family, all in the kitchen, Sasha now taller, Ian holding the ladle like a sword.
From that day forward, Talia would make the same meal every time it rained—simple, delicious, and filled with the love she grew up with.
And one day, when she had a family of her own, she knew what she’d do when the rain came down: gather everyone, cook something humble but warm, and sit together to make new memories.
Because the CUTIS family’s rainy day meal wasn’t just about what was on the plate. It was about who was around it.
