the dance of the ink riddled fingers

comforting food

Posted in thought spills by enisea on 30/01/2010

I’ve found yet another temporary solve for my procovative restlessness.  They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, but the way to my stomach is through my heart…yes kids, emotional eating at it’s peak. Also, the fact that I’ll be moving into a matchbox apartment in 2 months means I’ll be needing to whip myself a couple of meals a day, if I stay at the new place for even the majority of a day.

The notions of a good cook, I find soooooo admirable! It’s art that I appreciate (sometimes) and I know not how to recreate. Mine is the grungey, street-art attempt from instructions of how to make an art-gallery-something.  Flag the cooking shows: Luke Nguyen’s Vietnam and Hugh Fearnley-Whittinghall’s River Spring Cottage, they’re my favourites!

Kim’s over. We’re just perusing the few Donna Hay’s I found around the house, watching Seinfield, casual chat and many “we can make these, we can make these”, without much ado.

Ciao my loves!


One Response

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  1. enisea said, on 31/01/2010 at 2:54 AM

    I tried to distract myself from my those heartaches that scream: Compassion is dead.

    I didn’t expect Kim to relight said fires, nor did I expect for her to support and feed them, not because Kim is not encouraging but because I’ve never spent hours alone with her and so didn’t expect her to tell me of her own hungers and recent stories of learning to reach. Reach out, and be an arm…like we sing in church, to be the arms of Christ.

    Oh God, I’ve never longed such a dry longing.

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