Christmas Cookies, Maybe

Paws just stretched out
under the table
and yawned

“Christmas Cookie Time”
-she yelled, as if all cookie eaters
would fall out of the woodwork
alas alas
only her, and I, and…
“Yawn” said Paws again

“Remember” she said
“One batch for us, and one for Paws”

Paws just looked
as innocent as could be
then burped, big time

“Uh” I said quickly
“Which ones are ours?”

She pointed, but stopped
“Ours were with white icing,
and Paws’ with blue”

There only seemed to be blue

“What was in his?” I asked, but didn’t
really want to know

“Uh” she said again, then turned beet red
“Reindeer Toes, raw and ground up,
with Chicken Gizzard Special Sauce”

Paws just rolled over,
and fell asleep
while I wondered if…

“Nope” she said
“All done for this year, no more flour
sugar, or eggs”

Paws just barked, and wagged his tail

Christmas was indeed
his most favorite time of year……

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Blog Pancakes

OK. Here I am on the Eve of the Eve of Christmas, which in Denmark is called Little Christmas Eve, of all things.

Some of you might like to imagine me slaving over the hot  stove, whipping up a new batch of Blog Pancakes? Others might like the R-version, where my back side is visible, showing off my less than pubic face!

Actually, my blog pancakes are the result of too many blogs falling out of the tired and worn-out blog cabinet, onto the floor, with the remainder being squashed under the weight of my emptied imagination.

Too many blogs rolling  around in my head has created this situation, and I am sorry that you, my faithful readers, have had to suffer under the weight of releasing too many for most of you to stomach.

I’ve been trying to clean up the mess, but it seems  to be a losing battle, as my imagination keeps wanting to create a new mess with each new batch of nonsense.

I’ve tried  to cut down, really I have, but some days seem to have more posts than others.

I’ll just add that to my imaginary list of resolutions for 2018, perhaps to be read as a blog in 2018?

Until then, pass me the Maple Syrup, won’t you?

Eat Asphalt and Dine!

I sure have a fond recall of my family, back when I was growing up in my younger years. Mom did what she could to clothe and feed us, with the main emphasis being her way with food.

My earliest recollection was of me and my brother, sitting on a pile of hot asphalt, when the road needed its yearly paving. I still remember how Mom used to watch those sweaty construction workers, on what was probably the hottest day of the year, pouring that black gold on our very street.

“Come on kids” Mom used to say, as we got our first taste of that freshly poured asphalt! Man that was really living, and to this day, I can’t help but have my stomach start its rumbling when I see a paving machine roll by on the highway.

Mom used to tell us though, “Don’t be Asphalt Chasers“, which was a darn shame seeing as how there was more than enough to go around, and I always had a clean pair of underwear on, in case something went wrong and some doctor needed to check  our drawers!

The best part of the week was Sunday. Mom got us hooked on “Road Kill Sunday” with asphalt in many flavors and colors. I still remember how funny it was she spelled Opossum, but that didn’t matter, as long as it got sealed in with its many flavorful juices with Sunday Asphalt being the main course for the whole family! I used to ask Mom, why we couldn’t get it on the other days of the week, but she just said, “Then it wouldn’t be special, would it”? Mom knew just what to say.

Once in a while, I’d start to feel a bit queasy, and had to miss out on school with my friends. Mom just looked worried and checked my temperature, usually proclaiming that I had concocted, “White Line Fever“, which came when I ate asphalt that hadn’t been cooked at the normal temperature, causing her to make a warm Turpentine Tea to ease my pain!

Dad used to get steamed up when Mom forgot the asphalt a cooking, when those soap operas were on TV. She left the asphalt in the oven too long, making it tooth-breaking crunchy, like we used to call it. She had her ways though and got him calmed down by promising him a cold beer, and a hot time on some steamy newly-paved road, which seemed to get him as sweaty as those road workers used to be.

I used to taste asphalt wherever I traveled across this great land. It’s funny how it changed in tastes and consistency depending on where the gravel came from or, the oil itself. Mom used to say that “Texas Crude” was the best taste on the planet, but there were always foreign influences, with a more sandy taste of places far away that entered into my cuisine.

I’ll never know just why eating Asphalt today makes me a bit sad, but it is probably knowing that Mom is doing her part, paving her stretch of Heaven with the good Lord. She is probably staring down on me right now, eating a crunchy piece of Texas Crude, humming a tune, of something she learned far and gone away. She won’t be with me this Sunday for the weekly Road Kill Sunday , but we always share a wishbone with her picture, hoping and praying for another Opossum to get unlucky on some other day then  next Sunday!

We know though, it wouldn’t be the same, celebrating that event more than once a week, but we can always dream, can’t we?………………….

 

2 Eggplant Minimum

Pecans
not an easy nut to crack
nor to find

I resorted to
the barter system
with one of the local growers
in my area,

2 pears and an apple
I proposed to the woman behind
the counter,

She just looked amused
“You know,
there is a 2 Eggplant minimum?”

Eggplants vs pears
who made up this system anyway?

I searched throughout my truck
I was lucky today,
it seemed,

Kiwi lucky

“I have”, said while rolling up my sleeves
“a wanton Kiwi, 2 prickly pears, and a chili”

She eyed my fruits, as i did hers
“interesting, quite interesting” she said

She began to thumb through her vegetable
exchange book.

“Kiwis, pineapples, grapefruits, watermelons”,
she said aloud
I noted how her fruits seemed to increase in size
as we pondered what to barter
what we had to lose, had to gain

I started to imagine her watermelons
rolling around my truck, while she
she seemed to feel that my chili had potential, but
it seemed a bit on the smallish side,
for her taste,

“We’ve gotten off the subject” she said, as she bent down
to feel my wanton Kiwi, in a rather business-like way,

I said, “I thought we could make a lovely fruit salad together”,
but she wasn’t about to have her grapefruits squeezed on
our first date,

“I suggest”, she said at last, “we should throw caution
to the winds and see just how prickly my pears really were,
without worrying about how kinky they turned out to be…

Just think, a trip to the big city thinking only of scoring a few nuts, but ending up with a larger fruit basket than I had ever dreamed of

And never even meeting the 2 Eggplant Minimum!

That just might be my next true barter,
if our fruit salad doesn’t work out, leaving us just
rinds and seeds,

You just never know….

Pardon Me

She was looking
for something tasty,
when she chanced upon
my blog,

“Pumpkin Soup”
she said. “Easy and rich”
“Kind of sounds like something
a girl could sink her teeth into…”

I was in a quandary
perhaps, I misunderstood her
I’d read about thing like this happening
to others, but this site had stories and prose
not a recipe kind of blog!

I wrote a reply to her comment, trying to help out.
“Natural mistake on your part. Happens
all the time, but if you go over 1,2kg of pulp,
then you’ll have to double the recipe”.

Her next comment was:
“I’ve never tried 2 at one time, but I am open
to suggestions.
Do you add the cream first,
or, do you wait until things get hot?”

I had to loosen my shirt collar a bit, as I thought
of my answer.

“Perhaps, you’ve made a mistake. This site might not
satisfy your cravings”. I replied, thinking that was a good answer.

She replied: “Well, if you didn’t want to tell about how to
make Pumpkin Soup, you shouldn’t have mentioned it
in the first place…..”

“I’ll just have to keep on searching for someone who can/will satisfy my needs, and in the future, remember don’t lean so close to your laptop, your breath is fogging up my monitor….”

I Burned My Lip

White beans. Who would use white beans in Chili?

She was a strange one, that’s for sure, but I guess I needed her, even though she had strange ways.

The kitchen was filled with sounds of cutting, and her humming “Linger” by the “Cranberries”. Fitting. So Fitting.

Onions. Garlic. Red Pepper.Salt.Pepper.A pinch of this, and of that. Chili powder.Cumin. Smoked paprika.Tomatoes.Water. Lentils. Beans – not white

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I didn’t like her choice, using White Beans. Not what the recipe called for. It simmered in her pot, while I stood her near. Her scents. Lost in the onion and garlic. Which scent would overpower the other, hers or…

She added the Chili. Never strong enough is it? It tends to grow stronger with time, but impatience is a part of cooking isn’t it? Too much goodness, too much wanting.

20171116_091317

I suggested we do something about our needs and wants, while the vegetables simmered.

She held a White Bean between her teeth, and dared me to kiss her. A true Temptress.

The mists of our Cooking Seduction obscured any sights not usually seen in the kitchen.

“Taste this” she told me, while I held her up against the stove, trying to adjust the temperature to the desired, while attempting to taste as many of her White Beans as time allowed.

She placed the spoon to my lips. Her type of foreplay, I guess. I burned my lip. The pain seared as her hands pulled me closer, but which was better, the pain of her Chili, or the way she changed the way the recipe to include us?

Too many cooks spoil the broth, but then there wasn’t really room for others in that tiny kitchen, and especially not pressed up against that stove in the heat of the Chili Moment!

I admit it. It was good for me. The Chili filled my expectations, while she smoked some Paprika, when we were finished. “Did you like the taste?” she cooed in the background.

White Beans now became my Mantra……

Om…..Om……Om……


Chili Inspiration courtesy of: https://minimalistbaker.com/1-pot-red-lentil-chili/

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Sweeter Than

You are the sweetest
not just a bit,
better than I ever
tasted before,

You are the darkest
my bittersweet girl
just right for baking
just right for me,

Your scent fills my room
so wonderfully warm
too hot to touch
Ouch! too easy to be burned

If you were a cookie
a cake, or a pie
how wonderful it would be
tasting my way

Through your sweetness…

My Kale Babe

Don’t object
to being called a Babe
no harm intended
no harm at all

It seems that
Kale has crept into
my existence
lurking, showing up
in the most unusual
places

Learn to love it
some might say
better than fighting it
make Kale, not War

I looked under
the covers,
I saw you, and….
Didn’t I say, that
Kale has a funny way
so funny indeed,
so many funny places too

Green and leafy
bursting with energy
pleasing forms
good for me,
can’t you see
can’t you see

My Kale Babe
you are,
more than I ever knew
you, the warmest person
I know, but how
oh my God,
but how,

Do you taste better
with the Frost takes you?
Enriches you?

I wish, oh, how I wish
I was Mr Frost

With you being my Kale Babe,
just think what we could do
together

I can’t wait to taste you
again…..

Fantasy Vegetable Soup

I would imagine, that some of you have already started looking for the ingredients to this soup on the Internet. Keep on looking….

The beauty of Fantasy Cooking is that you never have to worry if your pictures are in focus, or if there is too much salt in your concoction.

Lentils? I see that some of you are faster than I had expected, especially the Canadians. “You can’t fool Canadians, when lentils are in the cupboard“, my old grey-haired mother used to say. She was often telling me anecdotes like that when teaching me how to perform Fantasy Cooking.

I’ve often warned my readers about testing the soup/stew while still hot. Well, this time I didn’t take my own advice which means that my mouth is humming a little tune, “burning, burning, burning…..”

No matter.

If you are still looking for a list of ingredients, I’d suggest you add The kitchen sink as your first. When I was young, there was always some mention of “Everything but the kitchen sink”, but if you need a starting point, then by all means, just do it!

I realize that bouillon is an art in cooking in itself. Hours of cooking things then straining the concentrate until it is just right to add to your next soup. I must admit to not using that type of bouillon in my soups. I usually  add those little foil-covered devils, which are a bit on the salty side, but which tells me not to increase the amount of salt, or else my Fantasy wife might just complain!

It has been simmering for a while now, with the red lentils residing on the bottom of the pot. The potatoes, yes there are potatoes, should be pureed a bit,when the lentils are done cooking, but if necessary the whole soup might just get that treatment as well. My Fantasy Wife doesn’t mind seeing what she eats, buy my realer than real Teenage Children are a bit more picky. Blending the soup hides the really good, healthy ingredients, which I know are there, but they don’t. Just think if they (my Children) started reading my blogs? My wife might do so as well, but she hasn’t yet, or else I might have heard her mention Canadians in passing!

This might be called Canadian Fantasy Vegetable Soup, but that is a long name to remember, especially for us old folks.  If there were enough vowels in the name then it might become a Viral Acronym, which everyone who is anyone would be texting and repeating to their significant others, as soon as this blog is posted. Unfortunately, there aren’t any  vowels,  unless you add a few Fantasy ones, or are really good at reading between the lines?

Anyhow. The soup is about done, and ready to reside alongside the stove top until cooled.

My Fantasy Wife can now take some along to her job tomorrow and the next day, while I am concocting something new to amaze and astound.

Before leaving you, I’ll just let you in on another thing my old grey-haired mother used to tell me, “A watched pot never boils”……but then, we never had watched pots when we were young, just the usual metal ones…..

My old grey-haired mother might just have been in my imagination after all…..