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Jun. 20th, 2007 09:49 pmI am sitting in my loungeroom, looking into my kitchen, watching a plaintain ripen. When it ripens, I shall bake it with brown sugar and rum and orange juice, I think.
I was planning to make plaintain curry, but watching it ripen is much more fun. It's the same as watching a novel develop and waiting for it to take enough shape to cook into something rich and delicious. Or rich and strange.
The thing about the plantain is I know what it will cook up into. With a novel, it never turns out quite the way I expect. The question is whether cooking keeps me sane or writing keeps me sane. (I'm assuming that there is no doubt as to my overall level of sanity.)
My brain is coming back to me as I catch up on sleep. I feel I ought to declare "Let the world beware!" but I'm still not quite awake enough for anything so dramatic. I'll go back to watching my plantain ripen.
I was planning to make plaintain curry, but watching it ripen is much more fun. It's the same as watching a novel develop and waiting for it to take enough shape to cook into something rich and delicious. Or rich and strange.
The thing about the plantain is I know what it will cook up into. With a novel, it never turns out quite the way I expect. The question is whether cooking keeps me sane or writing keeps me sane. (I'm assuming that there is no doubt as to my overall level of sanity.)
My brain is coming back to me as I catch up on sleep. I feel I ought to declare "Let the world beware!" but I'm still not quite awake enough for anything so dramatic. I'll go back to watching my plantain ripen.