A Home Cook's Journal of Tastes & Morsels
I made cookies and then I smooshed ’em and I swirled ’em into ice cream. I dolloped that with sweetened condensed milk frosting, topped with more of ’em, crushed. I suppose that isn’t all I learned to do over the course of this most recent revolution around the sun. What a life. Oats and peanut…
Pre-Post Script: It is most likely that, if you are reading this, the following is not about you. Staying honest, I had never heard of Bill Smith until his name showed up before the words, “atlantic,” “beach,” and -the real eye-catcher- “pie,” under my thumb. Wasting time on social media. It starts with an ampersand,…
Pretend you identify as female and you own a romper with underwires. They poke and prod. They do not bend. Your move. There is a place in the fabric where you can see a little bud. Do you leave it? Do you tug. And when you tug, don’t you feel better. Nothing gets to state…
Memories of other things. Spreadable. Applicable. A friend says, It is what it was. Breath on windows. Chilly nights, the telephone. Pointer fingers. Secret messages spelled in fog. I am a prism and you are climbing a tree. Sacred space with only goodness because it is time. A little pinch of warmth. Sweet cardamom freckles…
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…
Don’t you believe in magic. Chubby fingers, a craving met in the cupboard from a cardboard box with singular packages of marshmallow-sandwiching oatmeal cookies. A voice. A statement. Always. Who decides what is / what is not enough. When do we engage restraint. Why don’t we sometimes. Is there a reason we feel entitled to…
On the second level of the Minneapolis Institute of Arts, there are six eyes at the end of a long walkway. They surround the name, “Guillermo del Toro.” Through the entrance are pieces (big / small, spooky / scary, wonky / familiar) that encapsulate things that I have feared. Monsters, ghosts, abnormality, uncertainty. Things we…
