Okay, so I missed a couple of days!

Firstly a little update on Chuck the sourdough starter. He has been refreshed and fed but was still a little lacklustre. I have fed him again tonight (feed me, Seymour!) and I hope he will recover some of his former vigour. Watch this space – I miss my sourdough!

The challenge for day 29 of NaPoWriMo was immense, hence my silence, and I am surprised I even managed it, frankly. As a result I am soooo going to cheat again tonight and post something I wrote a while ago and, yes of course it’s a… poem!

I love cooking, and I love making veg curries. When I was chatting with Shirley earlier in the week she said they had held a brilliant curry evening at Food Positive recently.

Living in Bolton I am really fortunate to be able to get everything I need fresh, and on my doorstep. Here is a poem I wrote about my love of cooking curry:
Trade Winds
The scent of mustard seeds
bites the air.
Ghee-starred tiles sweat,
the essence beading
as seeds burst and brown.

Damping them down,
the startled pods of Cardamom
glow and swell,
sounding out clearly.

Lower notes too:
clove buds through the steam;
the lingering melancholy
of Fenugreek.

Cinnamon speaks of dusk,
It’s parchment heart
seeking out the heat.

The air dances with turmeric,
saffron veils
lightly brushing the stars.

Sunset,
and the Trade Winds sweep
suburban England.

 

Tonight sees the end of NaPoWriMo so a new chapter begins. I have a long working day tomorrow, and am driving to Sussex on Friday, so will do what I can. After tomorrow I will focus on this blog and try to develop all kinds of work. Help me out and post a comment, which can be a foodie piece, guys!

 

 

 

 

 

Sensory stimulation and savouring – plus sweetmeat

I do love food. I am a veggie, though I cook meat and fish for my family.

I found the book, Toast, by Nigel Slater, an amzingly inspiring book – I actually think he stole my childhood!! It made me want to write about food and the memories it brings back to us all.

I have amazing memories of our local greengrocers, for example, which come back with the smell of stored apples, sacking and dust. Likewise the cake shop, with the sickly sweet smell of icing and the bubble gum machine outside the door, which always had wasps hoveringup and down withing the glass jar in the summer. how did they get past the gumballs?

This doesn’t relate to my childhood but I hope you like it – it was an exercise in exploring the senses.

 

Sweetmeat
Cinnamon eyes,
deep-pressed
in cocoa dough.
Clove-spiked chin
pin-pricking my cheek.
Your hair tumbles,
crunch-crumbled
to chocolate curls.
Plump glacé lips
slip askew as,
bit by tiny bit,
I devour you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bread – a poem

Okay, so in the spirit of sharing, here is one I made earlier. I have just taken up making bread this year. I actually went to a course at Food Positive recently and made a couple of delicious loaves and increased my confidence enormously!

Needless to say, I wrote this a while ago and this is just artistic licence – my husband need  have no concerns at all…

 

Bread
They don’t make love
so she makes bread –
spends long nights sifting,
gently placing peaks in her silent landscape.

She dozes lightly, till it’s time
to rise from the cool sheets
and share the dough’s warmth.

Kneading the swelling mass
she soothes and shapes,
folds and forms:

Buxom cottage loaves;
petit pain – the tops slit, just so;
rustic ciabatta, starred with olives,
and fleshy baguettes.

She brushes his arm with soft hands,
returns his smile,
as she watches him break bread.