Chained to the sink.

Cooking up a storm,
Cyclone Tracy,
Post Christmas seventy-four.
My kitchen is laid waste.
But unlike Darwin,
The mess requires only a little elbow grease,
And I have more to show for it than flattened stilt houses.
Currant jelly.
A shoulder of goat in white wine and rosemary.
Mutton pie,
And from that colossus of the garden,
The veg that can neither be named or given away,
Zucchini slice and a zucchini chocolate cake.
Yes a fine bounty but the cost.
An inordinate amount of,
" You're soaking in it!"
And wiping of bench and tabletops.
Chained to the sink.

Catharsis of Cooking

Despite a lack of enthusiasm,
From the consumers of my hand-made repast,
Kids won't eat it without complaint or bribery.
There was still simple pleasure in the act,
Purchasing those less frequently bought items,
Like calamari, deli cheese and a french stick,
The tactile experience of cutting veggies,
The anticipatory aromas of half cooked pork and seafood,
The periodic tasting of the various dishes,
The table set with fresh flowers,
Enough food so that there will be leftovers,
And having the time to take care.
Cooking a meal for my family,
Is healing for the soul.

Late night Jam Making

I would rather be curled up in bed,
With a good book,
And a 'hottie'.
Instead I am waiting.
Waiting, waiting, waiting,
For melon,
To become jam.
I'm ever tempted to reach for that cold plate.
The harbinger of the magic word:
'Setting point.'
But the mass of melon, lemon juice and sugar,
"Gurgles and bubbles and slurps and plops",
Boiling away,
Hour on hour.
Oh for that tiny spoonful,
To not continue to slide down the cold plate.
"Set you bugger!
Just get on and set will you."

The jars have been tenderly washed and sterilized in the oven.
They wait more patiently than I,
On the wooden chopping board.
Lined in military ranks.
"Oh come on set!
Pleassssse."

This poem shall just have to go on,
As long as it takes.

The melon was a gift.
I hadn't seen a jam melon,
Since I was a child living in warmer climes.
I grew nostalgic,
When an old timer who lives a few hundred metres lower than us.
Had heaps.
So many he couldn't give them away,
(except one to overzealous me.)
After all,
What else can you do with a basically un-sweet melon.
Only make jam or pie.
So jam it is.
Or hopefully soon will be.

  

Cooking Dinner

It is not in the cooking,
It is the deciding what to cook.
There are considerations,
What vegetables are starting to fail the bend test.
What leftovers are cluttering the fridge.
The most challenging is the defrosting.
Microwave free, chops, steak, mince and sausages,
All need time to defrost.
Up to a whole day.
Then there is the issue of bread.
Has some been baked?
Is there a loaf hiding in the freezer?
Yoghourt too, requires a whole day to ferment.
Today the issue is eggs.
Approaching the Winter solstice.
Only super bantam is laying her daily egg.
Not enough for a batch of ham or Tofu, burgers.
A trip to town to buy twenty kilos of chook feed,
And one carton of free range eggs.




 

Bread

Real bread is made by hand.
Four ingredients,
Flour, water, yeast and salt.
It is not just the combination of its measured constituents.
Real bread takes intent, intuition and practice.
Each loaf a new adventure.
Test the water for blood warmth before adding the yeast.
Into the little dam of salted flour,
You add the frothing cloudy water,
Bit by bit.
Swirling with your fingers  the mass conglomerates.
You sense when the consistency is perfect.
Then you knead.
There is a subtle rhythm
Push down and turn., push down and turn.
The ball of your palm stretching and working,
The yeast and gluten activated.
The dough becomes more elastic.
You sense the time,
To let it be,
To rise.
There is real satisfaction in the 'punching down',
Folding loaves and slicing the tops.
They rise again into the mature forms they will soon become.
And so into a hot oven.
Stay focused and turn it down to moderate,
At just the right time.
The smell is the best indicator.
It's cooked.
Turned out of its tins you can indulge in the sweetest and most comforting aroma on the planet.
Real fresh bread.