Home: Kitchen: Recipe Aubergine (Puree) Memories

a lemon is better, garlic crushed
nicer

Broad nails, sturdy hair

steady, solid, grounded.

Earth fragrant he cooks

cause I didn’t learn yet.

Patlıcan poor man’s meat

carrier of garlic and spices

mild, pale, flesh vessel

which when unsure,

sprinkled with salt draws

clear drops of unhindered

bitterness, anger

frustration.

Patlıcan is a love affair

the curve of a wrist

the sure supple

knife flick, slice

the boiling kettle

when coloured and soft

the oven

heating the room.

I: top, tail,

half, drizzle oil

in oven

wait…

chop garlic

mix olive oil

vinegar

salt

pepper, stir.

A lemon is better,

garlic crushed: nicer.

when coloured and soft

separate the skin

mix the flesh into: dressing

mix

crush for chunks

chop garlic

whizz for silk

Annem

I watched her

he smiles a line in his cheek

and it tastes

of Istanbul

not the nomad

not the stories:

of goats, sheep,

nights under stars

it tastes

good and alive

of travel

my kitchen

home.

my kitchen
home.

House: That Spare Room, Making Space

There's nowhere for knees under the table

There's a table which can be used as a desk.
Who do I want to be?
Yes, clothes.
What do I want to be?
Notes from college.
How do I want to express me?
Baby-book, photo's. Unused instruments.

Spare mattresses: a couch.

Are you afraid?
CD's, paperwork, stacks upon stacks.

First, make space to get in and out.
No, no fear.
Room on the floor.
No need to search.
Spare mattresses: a couch.
Just say, sing, play.
Like in the old days.
Be.
There's nowhere for knees under the table.

The instruments like living together.
Let go of belief and known.
If I take some time.
Be open, intuitive.
To become all I think I can.
Feel the road.
In front of the unsorted clothes and paper.
Put feet down.
It's not can't, we just don't.


Move forward, walk.

The instruments like living tohgether

House: Spare Room

Spare Room

Hurdy-Gurdy in need of repair and memories

We have a spare room.

A room without belonging 

without purpose.

It was different at first.

When we moved here
it was a bedroom.

My bedroom.

North-facing small.

Uncomfortable with too much space
- Im a city girl after all -
I left the big room empty.

Luggage, clothes...

I grew into it.

The room, the house.

The big bedroom
with view
is now boudoir

There is carpet, curtains, space.

And the small room
is now filled with
leftovers from periods gone by
things kept, saved.

Luggage, clothes,
CD's, books, notes, bedding.

It needs a purpose,
something to do
that spare room.

That spare room of mine.

I'm a city girl after all

House: Kitchen, Moving away from the old

I don't like stuff much, and stuff on work surfaces
makes me ugh...

They say the kitchen is the centre of the home.

We lived in a 2 bedroom apartment in the Kinkerbuurt in Amsterdam.

The galley kitchen was separate from the other rooms. With in it just enough space for one person.

Mum.

There's nothing like doing the dishes to
make me feel good

Now the kitchen is mine.

Things are done a certain way.

When children, gardeners or others use it I can't help but be territorial.

Now, I've decided I'm letting go.

I'll clean up the mess and worry about it no more.

I'm not to do anything after anybody doing something in the kitchen ...

I'm moving my workspace upstairs.

The best feeling: clear and clean worktops

I do dishes, worktops, grill, stove, fridge and floor.

I look at it and feel good.

Wipe down cupboards.

Rinse the espresso pot.

I know how to have it like this always.

And finally a sink unobscured and clean!

I'm loving you kitchen!

I'm loving you like you've never been loved before.

I'm hugging and kissing you and making you feel good.

I'll clean tops of the cupboards, wash out shelves and under the sink.

I'll even clean the lamp and maybe give the extractor a wash and change...


You wait and see. This kitchen will stay pristine!

Leftover Bread - Forgotten Rice Bread

I like to be with just me for a while.
Not to think of others. I like not thinking of others.

Time takes a little to pitter patter into potter state.
A glass emptied. A book moved. A surface wiped.

Yesterdays rice in the fridge.
It sits there waiting to be rememberer knowing it has been forgotten.

With a little: yeast, flour, water...
and there is forgotten milk, black pepper, a little...

knead into a pliable, softness and leave.
Like the beginning of new life it needs time.

Wandering from room to room
following paw prints that lead in and out the window.

The cat fighting the fox.
The dog barking at them both.

Weaving in the cold as the dough won't rise.

Next morning with blood on the wall
battered but not beaten sleeping tom.

Time for pottering gone, the dough forgotten it in the bowl.
Bubbles! Let it rise again...?

In the bowl goes, rice-dough.
Up high. Then down low.

When I look again there is a crust, the bubbles are there too.
I turn it and find the loaf to be light. Lighter than I thought it would be...

It is like the breads I like, full and light, a little moist but with a good crust.

Ah, left over forgotten rice... ....thank you!

 


Do you ever bake bread with left overs?
Do you bake bread?
What happens when you bake?


I always have more questions  than answers and would like to hear from you and your Recession baking and cooking adventures.

Thank you for your interest and don't forget:

Leave a message, subscribe and enjoy...! Until next time :)


Anja Bakker