Days Like These

The sky is blue. And the air is crisp. And the night before you’ve been to see your favourite band, The Cat Empire. And the gig is not one of their most mind-blowing or exhilarating, but they play some of your favourites, like The Car Song and The Darkness and The Chariot. And seeing those Aussie boys all the way over here in London playing their tight tunes and doing what they do best just makes you feel good. And you remember all the gigs you’ve seen them play over the past 8 years and all the friendships and lovers they’ve seen you through and you know at the end of the day, no matter what, despite the glorious cliche of it, you’ll always have the music. And in the morning you head out to East London to meet up with old friends and you walk down Brick Lane. And you smell all the delicious curries. And you spot one of the lead singers from the Cat Empire and it makes you feel a bit hip that he’s here too. And you walk through the record shop and find a shelf full of books and you find one which looks interesting and you discover a lovely chapter on food foraging in London and you get so lost in its words and pages that you’re surprised when your friends are suddenly standing in front of you calling out your name reminding you that you are standing in a record shop in east London. And then you sit on a bench in the sun with a chilli hot chocolate and a dark chocolate truffle. And to your left a family is posing for photographs. And to your right people are eating assorted food stuffs from the street vendors dotted all around. And you make your way west towards central London and stroll around St Paul’s Cathedral and feel oddly moved by the Occupy London people. This tent city outside the church, peacefully protesting the status quo. And you head back home and buy pasta and sauce and garlic bread for dinner and supplies for cookie baking. And the sun sinks deeper into the west and streaks the horizon with a dash of highlighter pink. And you smile at the chill in the air. And know you are living the life enchanted. The end. 

Chestnuts Roasting

What on earth possessed a human to look down at a chestnut pod and think

Hmm, I’m going to crack open that there spiky pod and then I’m going to take out what ever is inside and I’m going to throw it on a fire and crack it open again and eat the yellowy white flesh in the middle

Because truly, chestnuts are a strange item

And it is hard to imagine that you didn’t eat your first roasted chestnut until you were 24 and walking the Camino in rural northern Spain

Because by that time in history chestnuts had already been reduced to a cliche

Swooney tunes sung by swooney men at Christmas time in the northern hemisphere

Entire worlds away from your birthplace

And at 24 you are walking through a chestnut forest with your beloved

And you wonder if the chestnuts on the ground all around you are edible

And you exclaim I want a roasted chestnut! 

And you round a corner and there are Giuseppe and Maria collecting chestnuts

And Giuseppe calls out to you

And you start chatting

And he talks about the niños in the area lighting fires at this time of year

And you and your beloved shake your heads and tsk-tsk those naughty niños because where we come from children who light fires in the forest at the end of summer are asking for trouble

But this is northern rural Spain

And autumn time is chestnut time

And Giuseppe lights a fire and throws a couple of chestnuts into it

And you stare around nervously wondering if it is ok to be in the middle of the forest with old Spanish men lighting fires

And then he gives you a smoldering chestnut

And you peel it

And it burns your fingers

And then you taste your first roasted chestnut

And it is like a hot potato

It is like a hot potato with just the right amount of butter

It is amazing

It is heaven

Suddenly the cliche makes total sense  

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire

And two years later you are at home in Ashfield

And your beloved is gone

But you have a bag of chestnuts from the markets

And you’ve roasted them in the oven according to your uncle’s advice

And the smell of it makes your heart yearn for another time

And you peel the first chestnut

And the heat of it surprises you

And then you bite into it

And the taste is as blissful as heavenly as wondrous as you remember

And you remember the time and place and happenings of your first chestnut

And you smile

And you wonder how it is it all began 

Don't Judge a Soup

Vegetable soup simmers away in the pot and smells delicious and fills the kitchen with warmth and heartyness on a chilly autumn afternoon where the sky is dark and threatens rain. And the soup is ready and it’s pulverised to make it soupy but the vegetables within include two purple carrots and they make the whole soup turn dark purple and look entirely un-appetising. It looks like schlop. You think of Oliver and his bowlful of gruel. And you take a deep breath and try a little sip of that sickly looking soup, and you are pleasantly delighted to find it is delicious! And you mix in a spoonful of goat’s cheese and it melts into the purple and the whole thing becomes a lighter purple and it looks slightly more appetising. But who cares what it looks like. You are feeding yourself and are accountable to no one. It is fairytale soup. It may look a little ugly. But it’s contents are full of goodness. And by eating it you just may turn into a swan who loves to play in the rain that is surely about to come. The end. 

Autumn Afternoon

The sky is melt-your-heart-blue, and it has been snowing white flowers all over the back corner of the garden. When you go for a closer look you discover three small toadstools. There must be fairies at the bottom of the garden for all this enchantment. The breeze is warm and the air smells like change. It is nice.