LIFE OF FOOD

 

Without constant experiment literature dies. Experiment is one of the necessary elements to its life. Experiment aims at writing that will have a relation to the present analogous to the relation which past masterwork had to the life of its time.   — Ezra Pound

    I think it is the joy of food themselves to try out all their possibilities and challenge the cook to find the ways. Just look at the picture! So much was delivered to me by friends and co-workers this weekend; least I could do is make the most of them, not waste anything, delight them for how the food turned out and enhance my gratitude for all their giving. Even my ex from New York texted me a podcast recipe for “Chicken Soup for the Weary Soul” — an audio short story of one writer’s coping through the challenges of the pandemic by cooking home food he remembers growing up prepared by mom — and inspired after listening, I made me (through experimentation) a vegan version of tinola, a classic Filipino ginger-onion-green papaya based soup, minus the meat. His favorite. I will call mine ginger-onion-asparagus-sweet potato dal using up what my friends locally had brought me. I reconstituted the prepared curried dal from the farmers market and added it to the sizzling ginger roots and onions in the pot, and once giving out nasally amazing steam poured over some liquid stock of the sweet potato, pressed in some frisée lettuce, some basil and arugula for counter bitterness, and for sweetness balance with asparagus sticks and the golden yams already tender and creamy, and more stock. The resulting soup wasn’t overpowering at all but surprisingly light-spiced and minerally delicious to the heart I ate my soup from the lip of the bowl holding it with both hands on either side. The “life of food” is what I’m eating now for my health, a fusion of goodwill and friends love and a plethora of ingredients I “played” with. But, on the other hand, and I have to say this purely out of nostalgia: There is nothing  better for the soul than companionship. Since New York, true, I’ve been alone for a few years now, and albeit I can cook, there’s no true comfort in being solo at a table with fine food when there could’ve been the two of you like before. But I’m O.K. I have memories to live by and a “living" kitchen to be a poet for with a beautiful roof over my head, the sky of Maui. Did I mention the fruits? Upcountry strawberries and tangerines juiced fresh. The big pomelo chilling in the fridge will be hand-peeled later when the afternoon gets hot — and I am already imagining it mild like a cool martini yet zero-proof. Ezra Pound said to never abandon the beauty of poetry, and for the arts to be the antidote for the multitude. It’s a phenomenon I do not take lightly how poetry and food transcend like a gemini twin spirit in my life, I approach writing with food I give poetry, and poetry will have a prose for me to cook on. Did I mention what’s for dessert? Well, I have to think of something creative with what I have waiting in the fridge (more goodies from my care package): fruity popsicles, candied lemons, coconut milk yogurt, local ripe bananas. How about a “parfait split”? What an adventure to discover!