Here’s Soldiers Things by Tom Waits, my flea market theme song.
Feel them spirit
Lord, I thank you
Feel alright now
I’m gonna put it on, I put it on already
Good Lord, help me
I’m not boastin’
Feel like toastin’
I just read about a person called the “toastmaster,” who arranges and announces all the toasts, and I’ve decided that this is my new career goal, my dream job. When a person feels so much happiness or love or gratitude that they need to speak it aloud, they come to you. You hold up your hands and cry, “Pray silence for a toast!” And everybody raises their glasses, which are spilling over with good cheer. And wherever you go, when people see you they feel moved to shout out their esteem and appreciation for whom or whatever they are currently esteeming and appreciating. And apparently the subject of a toast is also called a toast, and these toasts will abound, eventually we’ll all be someone else’s toast, and everybody will feel proud and happy. Toast.These rolls are very good toasted! I had some leftover pumpkin purée (from a can) and I decided to add it to a yeasted bread recipe. And I decided to make it savory rather than sweet. I added rosemary and a little bit of coriander powder, because I’ve recently resolved to use coriander powder more often. It adds a lemony floral flavor, which I liked but the kids didn’t. So feel free to alter the spices to your family’s tastes. I baked these in a large shallow muffin tin, but you could probably just plop the batter on a baking sheet. They might spread out and be a bit flatter, but they’d still taste good. Texturally, these are soft and a little chewy, and they go nicely with soup or stew. Or just eat them TOASTED with butter!!
Well, I make a lot of cakes, and this is one of my favorite I’ve ever made. It has a dense pleasant quality, almost like shortbread, and the combination of cinnamon and almond is a perfect one. It has a soft cakey part topped with a sort of crumble with lots of bittersweet chocolate chips in it. Nice with coffee in the morning, tea in the afternoon, and wine after dinner.
Here’s a link to the interactive playlist. Add what you like or leave a note in the comments and I’ll try to add it through the week.
Then, in a little while, the great tumultuous din–the roaring of men and other, lower moans–faded and died away. And that terrible swirling dust, my king, was in a moment absorbed by the blood drenched earth. We left the town in a panic, in a daze, blinded more by fear than by the dust itself. When we got to the road, as our eyes cleared, we could see what we had left behind. The sun died, too, and fell, gasping off the edge of the world, spreading long grasping crimson arms across the earth. And in this light we saw that the chaos was complete. Whole buildings had fallen, leaving only gaunt, staring, motionless wheels rising from mounds of brick rubble and ragged weeds. And let me tell you that we left with just the clothes we had on our backs. And they were tattered, they were rags, dirty strips of fabric matted to our wounds. We stumbled down the road, broken and bruised, charred and ruined, but always moving, trying to leave this day behind to fester in our nightmares where it belonged. In the distance on the road before us we saw a figure approaching, slouching towards us, with a long, strange stride, singing. He came nearer and we saw that it was a man, a large man with a perfect smile on his face. “Friend,” we said, “You must turn around, you must flee this place.” But he said, “I am done with running. Is it not better to be freed from cares and agues, from love and melancholy, and the other hot and cold fits of life, than like a galled traveler, who comes weary to his inn, to be bound to begin his journey afresh?” Well, we could not argue with that; what could we say to that, after all we had seen? We watched him on his way, and he raised a small rosy cloud of dust with each footfall, and soon we lost him in the sanguine whirl of everything. We turned on our way, and soon night, fresh and quiet, almost unstirring, enveloped the earth.
It’s a purple purée! Isaac was mystified by this dish, but he ate it anyway. It’s a combination of a purple sweet potato, a regular potato and half a head of cauliflower, all boiled till tender and then mashed together till smooth. It was really delicious. I seasoned it very simply with butter, salt and lots of pepper, but you could jazz it up with various herbs and spices, or even with cheese.
Here’s The Smiths with Cemetery Gates, because I’ve had these lines in my head all night…If you must write prose/poems
The words you use should be your own
Don’t plagiarise or take “on loan.”
And of course that’s exactly what I did, I took words on loan.
This pizza was very very tasty. I couldn’t resist buying some purple sweet potatoes, they’re just so pretty. So I sliced them thin and roasted them with olive oil, balsamic, rosemary and smoked paprika. Sort of like sweet potato pepperoni!! And then I decided to put them on a pizza with baby arugula and black olives. Sweet meets peppery meets salty. I put some of the arugula under the cheese, and I scattered some on top at the end. I used a mixture of sharp white cheddar and mozzarella, which I think was a good combination, but obviously you can use whatever you like. And that’s that.
Here’s Dizzy by Tommy Roe.
Here’s Word Play by A Tribe Called Quest.
In my dream I decided to legally change my name to Clairey the Observer. And in my dream this was my job (my dream job!), I was a professional observer. I just sat back and watched people and then I wrote about it. I made observations. I half-woke up and thought about what a nice job this would be in real life, I imagined myself on a high perch, taking notice of all that happened around me, and I thought about writing stories based on observations of people. I want this job! Unfortunately I didn’t dream about the part where you apply for the position, so I don’t know how to go about it. But then when I was fully-woken up, I looked up “observe” in the OED, as one does, so I’d be fully apprised of the job description before I undertake the employment. Observe. It’s such a rich and fascinating word. According to my understanding of the term in my dream, my main responsibility as an observer would be “To take notice of, be conscious of; to notice, perceive, see.” And then “To remark or make observations on.” If I was actually applying for this job, I would write in my cover letter, “I think I would be very good at taking notice and being conscious of things, because it’s very important to me to notice things, and not to just let them pass me by. I want to observe things and collect and keep them, and not just let life wash over me as though I was in a sleepy stupor. I want to be a keen observer, and notice even the small things and feel them, too.” Further duties of an observer would include acting “To watch over, look after, keep safe.” And I feel confidant that I could do this very ably. Just ask my dog or my sons, if anything I’m likely to keep too close a watch and generally look after too fondly and anxiously. I also understand that as an observer I might be called upon to abide by or adhere to or to maintain or uphold a mode of existence, a covenant, or a promise, and I assure you that in my day-to-day existence, I will strive to observe principles of curiosity, creativity, generosity, honesty, and, of course, verbosity and I will faithfully observe such small daily rituals as necessary to ensure a life fully lived and thoughtfully observed, as far as I am able. In summation, I would like to share the words of Francis Bacon, “If men will intend to observe, they shall finde much worthy to observe.” I hope that you will consider me for this position of observer, howsoever it shall be found and remunerated, yours sincerely and henceforth, Clairey the Observer.
Malcolm picked out some tofu at the grocery store. I only like tofu when it’s fried very crispy, and I don’t like the way my kitchen smells when I do that at home. So I had the bright idea to take it to work and ask the chef to put it in the fryer for a few minutes. And he very very kindly agreed, for which I am eternally grateful. I brought it home, and Malcolm and I made a sauce for it, consisting of tamari, honey, balsamic, and a bit of ginger. I decided to use this same treatment on some black beans, and pile these on some broccoli rabe as a backdrop for the tofu, so that is what we did. Quick and simple meal, but quite tasty, too. You could use broccoli instead of broccoli rabe, and just add it to the beans and cook until bright and tender.