A Home Cook's Journal of Tastes & Morsels
Simple pleasure: Opening the windows at night to let the chill in. Freshly laundered clothing on your freshly showered body. Stopping for brownies on the way home from work. Not setting an alarm for your afternoon nap. The way the sun shines through the blinds over cookie batter. Cozying on the couch to gossip with…
There is nothing quite like the steam above a saucepan. A reminder, something is brewing. Think: an appropriate response to the warmth, with nothing expecting anything Other. (Occurring) naturally to things in a pot, heating. [This is all you have to do.] Vegetables in quarters and thirds, beneath sage leaves and sprigs of thyme. Rinds…
Effortless: a boat atop a stream like glass. Sweet, magenta petals. Running laps around. Dangling willow wisps that graze your shoulders in the night. How might we infuse what we encounter. Lightning bugs like candles through the trees. Wind in soft exhales before sleep. Cotton wafts, fresh linen on your skin. A space where the…
Just remember that the things you put into your head are there forever, he said. You might want to think about that. You forget some things, don’t you? Yes. You forget what you want to remember and you remember what you want to forget. (the road) carrotscomfort foodcookingdeliciousfoodfoodiegluten freehealthyMinneapolisProducereciperoasted red pepperSoupveganvegetableswinterwriting
I did not think I was rude to the woman at the call center. The phone screen reported: 27 minutes, with ticking seconds. I was still at work, and I would be, until much later in the evening. To be fair, I stepped out for a little while. Aiming to stop at home, I weaved…
I remember a brick of feta drizzled in olive oil. That’s it? The concept seemed so foreign. Yes. Please. Yes, please. Simple pleasures. Purple buds on tree limbs. A guttural laugh. When you will never let yourself put too much honey in your tea, but someone else does for you and you do not have…
Can we ever really just walk into a room, or? I think that we forget sometimes to be receptive. I wonder what it must be like to arrive someplace and observe what arises. And sit with it. Instead, we greet it with all the things we carried along. No wonder things blow up in our…
