A Home Cook's Journal of Tastes & Morsels
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…
Something is bubbling, somewhere. Hot steam above purple water. Making fuchsia goop. It melts into chocolate, which turns to batter. Then, it’s cake. Somewhere, -between beets and a creme fraiche cloak- it becomes. bakerbakingbeet cakebeetscakechocolatedeliciousdessertfoodfoodieMinneapolisreciperoot vegetablessnack cakesweetsvegetarianyum
When you are tired (perhaps of everything) -and all of it collided a little bit after days of piling- so tired, you thought, “It’s been a life,” when you typed, “It’s been a week.” that is when it is time for toast. / sourdough beneath salty, limey avo cream / itty, red specks of aleppo…
Ahem. “Sometimes the one who is running from the Life/Death/Life nature insists on thinking of love as a boon only. Yet love in its fullest form is a series of deaths and rebirths. We let go of one phase, one aspect of love, and enter another. Passion dies and is brought back. Pain is chased…
My dad would have been 69 today. Who knows if he would have made it this far? There is always something. You know, you start to watch the way the light hits things differently over the course of a period of time. That might be the most prominent thing in my experience of this blog.…
How to try and mend a heart. Take a road trip. See new faces. Relocate, as many times as you have to. Read. Don’t read. Lose concentration. Let someone think whatever they want without trying to resolve it. Let that ruin other opinions because it wasn’t your poison, anyway. Practice yoga. Stop practicing yoga. Practice…
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…
