a wednesday, the eighteenth of march It is just me, but all around the flat there are little evidences of eating. Tables set and emptied and left. I opened the curtain earlier this evening to check on the seedlings, and a cup of undrunk black coffee was on the sill beside them. Now, almost midnight, and directly across from me I am startled by the scene: low on the coffee table, a bundled blue napkin and a small pot, dark inside with vinegar and oil - that dark circle is what catches my eye. I had forgotten. And a clear glass full of olive stones. A little sunset tea. Flat breads cooked to blister over long heat, taken out, then, cheese added onto the empty smoking frying pan, melted to a crust and slipped over. Yogurt, and, haphazardly mixed (the cheese is melting!), balsamic and tamarind. Eaten with hot milky tea and 15 silk-green olives.
evening meal
evening meal
evening meal
a wednesday, the eighteenth of march It is just me, but all around the flat there are little evidences of eating. Tables set and emptied and left. I opened the curtain earlier this evening to check on the seedlings, and a cup of undrunk black coffee was on the sill beside them. Now, almost midnight, and directly across from me I am startled by the scene: low on the coffee table, a bundled blue napkin and a small pot, dark inside with vinegar and oil - that dark circle is what catches my eye. I had forgotten. And a clear glass full of olive stones. A little sunset tea. Flat breads cooked to blister over long heat, taken out, then, cheese added onto the empty smoking frying pan, melted to a crust and slipped over. Yogurt, and, haphazardly mixed (the cheese is melting!), balsamic and tamarind. Eaten with hot milky tea and 15 silk-green olives.