Posted in fiction, food, writing

Fragments

Chèvre Cookies

Stop-and-go traffic. You inch forward. Maybe you see cars up ahead moving, and hope, and hope…but then realize you’ve been fooled. All of you creep and stop, creep and stop, creep and stop.

I’ve been chain reading. We’ve had several losses of dear friends in the past month, amid worrisome news about loved ones, and most of the books have provided a relief from grief and stress. I won’t bother you with the handful that did not, except to say that 80% of the prose in two of them was made up of sentence fragments. The remaining 20% was made up of simple sentences.

Creep and stop, creep and stop, creep…and I stopped reading on page 10.

Fortunately, the book I read after that put me securely back on the road to relief and enrichment. And, when I finished it, I baked.

The Chèvre cookies pictured above are my new favorites—rich yet light, tart yet just sweet enough, and altogether as satisfying as a work of nuanced and soul-nourishing fiction.

I was going to rant today about the overuse of sentence fragments. In fact, to illustrate how annoying they are, I was going to write an entire post in sentence fragments, but I’d much rather share cookies with you. The recipe uses gluten free flour, although wheat flour can be substituted in equal measure.

***

Chèvre Cookies

Ingredients

4 ounces softened Chèvre
4 tablespoons softened unsalted cultured butter
4 tablespoons softened Spectrum Organic Vegetable Shortening
1 scant cup gluten free flour mix**

Beat Chèvre, butter, and shortening until creamy. Beat in flour mix. When combined into a soft, yet firm enough to handle dough, shape first into a ball, then into a log about 2” in diameter, and 1 foot long. Wrap in parchment and refrigerate overnight.

The Next Day….

Preheat oven to 375º. Line a cookie sheet with parchment paper.

Mix 2/3-3/4 cup sugar with 1/2 teaspoon cinnamon.

Remove dough log from refrigerator. Unwrap and flatten the ends of the logs. With a sharp knife, cut the log into slices about 1/8” thick. Dredge the slices with the cinnamon sugar, and place on prepared cookie sheet about 2″ apart.

Bake for 10-13 minutes, turning pan halfway through, until the cookies are golden brown. Cool on cookie sheet for five minutes, then transfer to a rack to finish cooling.

**Gluten Free flour mix
1 cup brown rice flour
1 cup white rice flour
2/3 corn starch
1/3 cup tapioca starch

Happy baking. Happy eating. Happy reading.

©2021 All Rights Reserved

Posted in allegory, fiction, Flash Fiction

Nightmare

“The Abyss of Hell” (Botticelli)

You’re at a restaurant for dinner and order salmon, with lemon butter sauce on the side, and lightly steamed vegetables. The waiter brings you a plate of roast beef and mashed potatoes, slathered with gravy,. A few limp string beans peek out from under the white and brown mush.

You say, “This isn’t what I ordered.

The waiter says, “You wanted the salmon.”

“That’s right, with lemon butter on the side, vegetables lightly steamed.”

“And that’s what you got.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Are you crazy? You gave me meat.”

“Where? Where do you see meat?’

“On the plate,” you point. “There.”

“That’s not meat. It’s fish.”

“What? Get the manager.”

The waiter shrugs and leaves. A few minutes later, he comes back with the manager.

She says, “Is something wrong?”

“Yes,” you say. “I ordered salmon, sauce on the side, with lightly steamed vegetables, and your waiter brought me this.”

The manager looks at the waiter, then at you. “So what’s the problem?”

You growl, “This isn’t salmon.”

“Yes it is.”

“Smell it,” you lift the plate, “and tell me if it smells like salmon.”

The manager leans over. Sniffs. “Seems fishy to me.”

“Seriously?”

The manager sighs, “how about if we bring you something else?”

“Fine.” You think for a minute. Then, suddenly, feeling very clever, you say, “Bring me the roast beef.”

“With mashed potatoes and gravy?”

“Yes. And string beans, well done.”

“Very good.” The manager smiles, and both she and the waiter disappear.

Twenty minutes go by. A good sign, you think. They’re making your meal to order. You’re staring to feel better…

…until the waiter reappears, proclaiming, “Beef!!” and sets the saddest, slimiest salad you have ever seen in front of you.

©2019 All Rights Reserved

Posted in creativity, fiction, writing

Bones

Screen Shot 2018-08-11 at 6.31.47 PM

I’m not going to talk about writing.

There are these bones, you see, almost 32,000 of them, strung together in a fairly reasonable order.

I think they will function well. All the joints are properly connected, in the right places—foot, ankle, shin, knee, and so on. It took a bit of effort. A few bones didn’t seem to fit, and had to be moved. Bones do have their logic.

And now that they’re properly fashioned, as bones should be, they look, well, skeletal.

They need padding.

I can’t put a suit or a dress on them yet. It won’t hang right. A skeleton need padding first, and then layers.

There’s a long list beside me, getting longer by the minute. I leave the desk, and five new items for the list occur to me, and five more, which will layer nicely on those bones.

But for now, I plan to let them hang around unbothered for a couple of weeks, so they can get used to their assembly, settle in to their identity.

Bones like that.

Yes, they do.

©2018 All Rights Reserved