How does a journey begin? Well, with a walk. A church and a cemetery affords the beginning. Bare branches on the edge of spring with stubs of brown-green grass and a path of graded small stones. An avenue of trees really, as we look down the path past grave markers and towards the dwellings of … Continue reading A Walk And A Reverie With Apples, Cheese And Cognac Or How To Embrace The Pandemic And Meet Pan.
It’s good to think of Hannibal as we leave the Winter Solstice behind. Well, at least remember the Great Stag who witnesses Björkar. Birches. Member of the Betulaceae family. Deciduous hardwood. Dropping what is no longer needed. The falling away of what no longer fits. Dark horizontal lines on white, paper-thin plates. You can peel … Continue reading What Does The Great Stag See From The Forest At The Turn of A New Year? Björkar, Björk And Calf Liver Served With Fried Egg and Potatoes, While Contemplating The Good Resonance Of All Things.
Like a golden eye slowly cooking in a sea of red. Yolk and whites slowly beginning to bubble in a paprika-rich goulash. Think Sauron. Think an Eye of Sauron Yule Log. For five hours. Eventually the egg cooks and rests in a bowl of peppery goodness grounded with a chicken stock. Think of the beginning … Continue reading My Life With Eggs Since The Beginning Of The Year. And A Walrus.
Though James Joyce’s Ulysses properly begins with, Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned: —Introibo ad altare Dei . (3) … Continue reading Eating Ulysses. Bloom Balls.
I take the long way to the Cirkus Arena. Walking from Slussen across Slussenområdet with its bridges rising over locks between Lake Mälaren and the Baltic Sea, and further towards the Stockholm Cathedral, Riddarholm Church and Baroque orange and yellow facades greeting me as I descend into Gamla Stan, stepping cobblestone to cobblestone in black patent leather shoes, past ornate … Continue reading Night Of A Red Right Hand / First Postcard.
Five hours roasting at 150 Celsius or about 300 Fahrenheit and Maillard Reactions abound as lamb bone, flesh and skin browns, fat melts and a wondrous dark, umami aroma fills the kitchen and house. Carbohydrate molecules and amino acids change and change in dry heat as colors and taste merge. Fat molecules with the aid … Continue reading Roasted Spring Lamb And Veg With Several Calls To The Suicide Prevention Hotline.
Spring lamb. First born and first kill. Three to five months old and now on our table, well one of its legs. An offering for new growth and warmer days. Flesh and sign of a flayed god and his ascendance into blue skies. Once upon a time a celebration at the end of fasting. The … Continue reading Spring Lamb With Roasted Vegetables, Agnus Dei, William Blake, the Tenebrae Choir, Broadway And Seventeen Years Of Therapy.