coffee and cake:

the poets of a day's meals, european with a dark sense
of humour. nothing as compared with the protestant
snobbery of the mint jelly served with pork roast and new
potatoes or the creamthick self-assuredness of pasta carbonara
boasting italian prosciutto. the tightly tinfoil wrapped
honesty of lebanese food deeply appeals to me with its
unlikely pickled vegetables and spicy chickpea spread.
and there is definitely something to be said for cranberries
those bright and christian christmas bundles of acidity
baked into a sensible bran muffin. or, better yet, the soft
french prentension of triple-creme brie on a crusty baguette
which makes me long, in turn, for dry sauteed garlic greenbeans
and all the saltiness that soysauce is eager to provide and what
about a proper tuna steak? barely seared with some inauthentic
wasabi-kicked sauce and toasted sesame seeds on spinach
leaves have no mercy for the clementines which decorate
them. and rightfully so. vegetables are the nobler creatures,
especially when steamed with garlic butter and served with
a rosemary rubbed rack of lamb. and perhaps some beer.