Julienned narratives

A friend dropped by one recent weekend and we had a fabulous time cooking our way through the evening. I can’t think of anything to write except all the recipes we conjured up for the meal and so perhaps I should write a poem on what makes a pleasant Saturday.

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It’s ginger, for me, the piquant in life that yields to living / the time when we are truly awake to our real destiny / we colour it being cooked to perfection / fated that we are to fanciful imaginings of our day to day / milling about a slab of wood and a sharp knife we cut little matchsticks out of a rhizome / to match our subconscious longings / our ambitions / our despairs / julienned into narratives of soul flavour / as it goes to season oil in heat and smoke and haze / The season now smells like Zanzibar despite the snow /

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I remember being obsessed about ginger when I followed a Sattvic diet plan. It’s the most delicious flavouring agent to use.

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