NaPoWriMo / NaPoREADMo — Days 15 & 16 — Hum(m)us & Oysters

(two for one today, again, because yesterday was a cock-up and today we get weird...)




Hum(m)us

Hearth of soil and soul of 
stone, gather us 
to your bosom.  Hum us
like warmth into
winter’s close conjuring.
Hum us into 
the bellies of our love.

Heirlooms live in 
ancient ovens leavened 
with our tailings, 
leavings telling of our 
ordinary 
meals, the most sacred shared
by us, alone.

Pulses from one 
to the one that sprang from 
her very soil
(earth murmurs), the maker
passes on the
notes of a melody
for the making. 

Six simple gifts, the land's 
material,
ascend in scales, soft sound 
offerings of 
humble place; ordinals 
older than words;
sounds fat and round and full 

of life.  "Fully
formed and transformed by the 
mouth’s own making,
the soil's song sings itself
in tongues' silence,"
mumbles humus, a tune
down in its roots.





Oysters

We went into the streets 
and squared our shoulders 
against the coming night.  

The clouds hung low in 
our minds, eating us--
eating our thoughts.

The rats were everywhere, 
walking over our feet and
chewing our fingernails for us.

We twisted our hearts into 
animal shapes and 
gave them to the rats.

They did not want them.
They wanted the bones of 
our world to gnaw on.

They wanted to be 
the humming birds that ate 
the fairies of our hearts.

They wanted to filet the blue 
fish of our minds.  
They wanted to burrow 

through our marrow 
and delve into our guts, 
coming up with fresh oysters.

The bread becomes the baker

(for Alice and Belinda....finally)




The bread becomes the baker


The baker does not exist
until bread-making begins.

Fingers are ropes.  Hands, 
lumps of mute flesh until

they touch the flour, until 
they form the loaves, until 

they roll the dough around 
and around, turning the planet.

The sun does not rise until 
the oven’s fire rubs the last

of the rest from the eyes
of the yeast and wakes it fully 

from its bed within the warmth, 
until the nascent crumb 

stretches, yawns and grows
upon the crest of the day

when the baker becomes the bread
and again ceases to exist.

Sunday Supper, images from inside the industry

This week’s episode:

…jumbo…

Sunday Supper, images from inside the industry

This week’s episode…

Lime juice, the hard way.

My wrist hurts.  

Hum(m)us

(Susan challenged me to write a poem about hummus back in....umm...April, I think.  
I get around to things eventually...)


Hum(m)us

Hearth of soil and soul of 
stone, gather us 
to your bosom.  Hum us
like warmth into
winter’s close conjuring.
Hum us into 
the bellies of our love.

Heirlooms live in 
ancient ovens leavened 
with our tailings, 
leavings telling of our 
ordinary 
meals, the most sacred shared
by us, alone.

Pulses from one 
to the one that sprang from 
her very soil
(earth murmurs), the maker
passes on the
notes of a melody
for the making. 

Six simple gifts, the land's 
material,
ascend in scales, soft sound 
offerings of 
humble place; ordinals 
older than words;
sounds fat and round and full 

of life.  "Fully
formed and transformed by the 
mouth’s own making,
the soil's song sings itself
in tongues' silence,"
mumbles humus, a tune
down in its roots.

Sunday Supper, Ikan Panggang

When I have the time and the energy, and when I’m not tired of cooking for the masses, this is how I have fun in the kitchen.

This is a Thai/Malaysian-inspired meal I made for a “family” dinner with friends one Sunday.  I don’t usually get to have this much fun and freedom in our usual cooking.  We do a lot of diverse and creative foods but we often end up doing the same items a LOT.
We often tire of our own cooking…

1) The spice-paste for the fish: lemongrass, Thai basil, cilantro, garlic….and I may have added ginger and galangal…and…?

2)The fish (I used mahimahi), pasted.

3) Marinated White Bunashimeji Mushrooms.

4) The fish, wrapped and ready for the grill.

5) A vegetable medley (julienned carrots and lotus root, shallot, broccoli), sauteed and flambeed with curry vodka (my own creation).

6) The mahi mahi on the grill.

Sorry, we ate it all before I could get a pic of the finished, unwrapped fish.