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You know, we will make phenomenal soup together.
You have all you need to know to do anything with any piece of food, it's already in your heart, don't ignore what you know. Look to the ingredients to be inspired. Cook books are for coffee tables. We have our own kitchen.
You and I, back from the market, the freshest of everything, an afternoon of warming, of tasting, nurturing the foods into a single pot masterpiece. The aromas cause our guests heads to lift, the sag in their shoulders from a hard day, or the pressures of life, lifted by the panacea of hand made warmth. Scent memories of travels far. The smiles of childhood. Eyes alight, darting back and forth with a sudden energy, the delighted diner-to-be does not mill about an entrance way, they make the way to center of a love filled house: a kitchen shared. They make themselves at home.
The bread we kneaded with our own hands, the yeast we fed having raised our living creation, the steam and heat leaving its deep golden brown warmth a feast for the eyes and more.
The sights of an exquisite table, every place the eye lands around the room shows her hand, strong and supple, decisive yet subtle. The colors, the textures all reach out to support one simple myth turned truth. A feast for the eyes, for the hand expressive running its fingers along a cloth tossed with as much care as casual elegance. Wine is poured, bread is broken, a house filled with laughter and health. Yes, the soup goes down warmly, soothing savagery of the outside world that is not welcome here. They are safe here; they can feel it in their souls. No enemy is ever invited to table, only contributors to a life well lived.
To feed you with my hands, with the reason and force of all that I can give. From the experience of a world travelled: to touch the things that hold lovers in time, hold families together, hold cultures to task, hold tears at bay... that holds laughter and love and a sated soul above all else.
I give you my heart, I will feed you soup.
You have all you need to know to do anything with any piece of food, it's already in your heart, don't ignore what you know. Look to the ingredients to be inspired. Cook books are for coffee tables. We have our own kitchen.
You and I, back from the market, the freshest of everything, an afternoon of warming, of tasting, nurturing the foods into a single pot masterpiece. The aromas cause our guests heads to lift, the sag in their shoulders from a hard day, or the pressures of life, lifted by the panacea of hand made warmth. Scent memories of travels far. The smiles of childhood. Eyes alight, darting back and forth with a sudden energy, the delighted diner-to-be does not mill about an entrance way, they make the way to center of a love filled house: a kitchen shared. They make themselves at home.
The bread we kneaded with our own hands, the yeast we fed having raised our living creation, the steam and heat leaving its deep golden brown warmth a feast for the eyes and more.
The sights of an exquisite table, every place the eye lands around the room shows her hand, strong and supple, decisive yet subtle. The colors, the textures all reach out to support one simple myth turned truth. A feast for the eyes, for the hand expressive running its fingers along a cloth tossed with as much care as casual elegance. Wine is poured, bread is broken, a house filled with laughter and health. Yes, the soup goes down warmly, soothing savagery of the outside world that is not welcome here. They are safe here; they can feel it in their souls. No enemy is ever invited to table, only contributors to a life well lived.
To feed you with my hands, with the reason and force of all that I can give. From the experience of a world travelled: to touch the things that hold lovers in time, hold families together, hold cultures to task, hold tears at bay... that holds laughter and love and a sated soul above all else.
I give you my heart, I will feed you soup.
