Food Dreams

Curried Parsnip Soup

Ingredients

Three Tablespoons of olive oil
One Tablespoon of butter
Two medium onions
Eight parsnips
One medium apple peeled and chopped
One Tablespoon of curry powder or equivalent Madras paste
One Desert spoon of flour
One and a half litres of chicken stock
Two tablespoons of Indian hemp seeds
One hundred millilitres of cream

Method

Gently heat the oil in a large heavy bottomed pan

Add the onions and fry until clear

Add the curry spice and stir

Sprinkle in the flour and stir into the mixture

Add the chopped parsnips and apples

Pour in the stock and stir

Season well

Cover and let it all bubble away until the parsnips are tender

Blend until smooth then add the cream

Lightly fry the hemp seeds until they start to pop then add to the top as a finishing touch before serving

^^
Gazing along the frozen river bank ice hanging like molten glass. Inside at last warmed by curried parsnip soup.

Miso Soup

3-4 cups of water
Leftover or unused konbu and dried bonito

1-2 carrots, thinly sliced

1/4 cup of thinly sliced daikon

1x spring onion, chopped

1 cup of finely chopped Chinese celery cabbage

4-5 tablespoons of red miso paste

Prepare a stock by boiling the leftover konbu an bonitoin the water for 10 mins.

Strain the the broth through muslin/cheesecloth or similar (a clean J-Cloth will suffice).

Place broth, carrots, daikon, cabbage into a pan and simmer until vegetables are soft ten take a little of the soup and dilute the miso into this then add to the soup

Do not boil again

^^

I watch you now, as you lay cat like on the rug, seemingly content.
The evening sun casts a slowly moving silhouetted garden across the room. A bowl of miso soup.  We watch Koi swim lazily under the bridge and listen to the quiet rhythms of life.

^^

On the Identification and Resistance of Evil (or Relections on Resignation)

“I became convinced that noncooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good”

King, M.L. Autobiography of Martin Luther King, Jr. chapter two.

Interestingly enough several of those involved probably thought that they were morally right at the beginning and only one began to question whether they had been right in the first place though appeared too weak to stand up or walk away.

A Simple Life

You want a simple life and you told me that you wanted to spend your days feeling happy and appreciated and doing anything you wanted to do.  Of course you don’t want to be uncomfortable or have to suffer or work very hard either.

Okinawa Death Life Birth Honesty and Making a Living

The week began Sunday night with the news of a death of a child in a tragic drowning incident.  A good friend had been running a course to introduce kids to their local beaches.  What was a wonderful day properly organised with activities for kids and the participation of their parents and the local community became a nightmare

Neko

I often go for a walk when I cannot sleep, especially when the moon is full. On these nights I do not feel in the least bit tired and just start walking. On this particular night I felt quite happy to be walking along the road in the moonlight and before long I achieved the state where my body felt like it was floating along with a steady rhythm and my mind was free to wander. Sometimes when I reach this state I might make up a play and have all the various parts playing in my head. I was therefore not aware of the scooter until it was quite close to me and was startled by the sudden sound as it sped past me. It was an older model called a Honda Joker and this one was shiny black with chrome handlebars. The rider had a black helmet, dark tinted goggles, and as far as I recall was dressed entirely in black.

Changing Minds: David Raho Meets Will Self

Most of the people I admire are dead so Will Self is something of an exception as he is very much alive and at Clapham Books on 23^rd October 2008 he was relieved to be back in London after touring around promoting his new book ‘Liver ; A Fictional Organ With A Surface Anatomy Of Four Lobes’. This was the first reading and book signing thing I have ever been to, or wanted to attend, but I could not resist meeting the man who has written books such as ‘The Book of Dave‘, ‘Cock and Bull’ and ‘Butt’ to name but a few. I was there early and was offered a glass of wine by the nice people, Nikki Kastner, Ed Mcgarry, and Alastair Kenward, of Clapham Books who own one of the very few independent bookshops left in this part of London.

If You Had Not Been There

If You Had Not Been There
Then who would have been in the space where you were.
And spoken with soft words about the energy of colours
If you had not been there
Then who would have been there to smile and tell me
With kind words about the meaning of giant spiders
If you had not been there
Then we would not have walked side by side by the River Thames
And drank earl grey and talked about identity and life
If you had not been there
Then I would not have been captivated and full of thoughts
And floating home with words singing in every fibre of being
If you had not been there
Then who would have been there and this would just have been
Another dream of longing to fill the empty spaces all around
If you had not been there

Short Lives

A young woman walks past he sees her put down her shopping bags briefly as she retrieves her travel card but she leaves one behind as she hurries for the bus. He sees this and moves quickly picking up the plastic carrier bag briefly examining its contents that he assumes is fresh meat or fish. Nice and easy. He takes a breath as he sees the woman get on the bus. She does not look back and he lets out his breath. He looks quickly left and right to see if he has been seen and then walks off briskly towards the park. It’s not stealing if you find something is it?  It’s your destiny. You can’t argue with fate can you? He feels nothing. He has already forgotten her face. She no longer exists to him if she ever existed at all.

Tonight I Am Restless And Cannot Sleep

Tonight I am so restless and cannot sleep.  I just raided the fridge and ate some cold jerk chicken and washed it down with some milk. The night bus thundered past lighting up the kitchen strobing my movement. Suddenly I am caught in the act by several pairs of roving eyes.

Why Is It That That That Is Essentially Me, Loves You?

Why is it that that that is essentially me, loves you?

The Honey Trap

The spaces between are empty and we move from one trap to the next until we are too worn down to resist any more.  The brightness fades from our eyes, the shine from greying hair, and our once hard bodies, ache, soften, crease, and sag like old leather.

Take Care and Be Happy

The criticisms that were often made of him were not altogether unfamiliar.  That he had tried to lift himself out of the mundane routines and practicalities of everyday existence and tried in vain to reach for something slightly beyond his grasp is true.

Starting Again

I was walking dreaming when I passed the Thai restaurant and thought I saw a slight movement or perhaps sensed the spark of life. And there, clinging to the blood red wall, was an exotic creature. I guess it must have stowed away in a crate of restaurant supplies. After making good its escape it was now resting a while and trying to get its bearings before it made its way in this strange cold place. I look at its beautiful camouflaged pattern wings dusted with gold; wings that should be warmed by the slight stirring of a sub-tropical breeze not the hot oily discharge from a dirty restaurant extractor fan. It had perhaps found a tiny oasis of warmth. Seeing this doomed being though struck a chord in my heart and I felt once again the soft touch of your finger tips sending shivers up my spine and the warmth of your body. I felt sad though too knowing that this beautiful little creature would die soon, cold and far from the warmth of its home. I had not dared to breathe and then as if knowing its fate it appeared to give a small bow. I bowed too in return then it flew off into the night leaving me alone again.

Trying to Write

I had a lot on my mind and when that happens I know that I won’t get anything written. The only cure I know is to go out and bring some paper and my trusty fountain pen and find somewhere different to write. On this occasion I took a bus into Newcastle and after walking around a bit found a cafe and purchased a BLT and a Mocha.

The Voyeur and the Woman in 418

He lay in bed reading a book but found he couldn’t concentrate. The bath was taking a long time to fill and she was humming tuneless to herself as she was taking a pee. After what seemed an age the toilet finally flushed and moments later he heard her lowering herself inch by inch into the bath making tantalisingly suggestive noises. The water must be as hot as she could bear it and he imagined her face flushed and pink.  He found himself fantasising about her outrageously and he felt a little guilty about it.