narya_flame

Dear Chocolatier,

Hello and happy 2021! It doesn't seem like two minutes since I was writing last year's letter – and yikes, what a year this has been.

I'm so glad you're going to be making something for me and I'm really excited to see whatever it is you have in mind. These are all art requests, although fic is more than welcome for treats; please rest assured that I am not at all fussy about styles and I'm bound to love whatever you make, as long as you stay out of my DNWs. Usual shebang – don't read anything into the number of characters requested or whether I've asked for a particular fandom before. This year of all years don't read into the length of prompts; I'm seriously lacking in brain power so I haven't given any, beyond a list of likes, but don't worry – I am happy to be surprised.
 

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Late again...I will try to get back to doing this on a Monday at some point. 

Behind a cut for those who don't like our eight-legged friends.

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Taken from Jamie's The Overhaul, published by Picador Poetry.  I really love this collection and could have picked any number of poems from it, but this one fit my mood today.

More about the author here.

Very very late this week - what is time?  

I'm afraid I haven't been very imaginative in my selection today.  I chose this because it was one of the readings we always had at my school carol service.  My best friend read it the year we both left, so whenever I read it now, I hear it in her voice.

The Oxen

I'm putting this week's entry behind a cut - not because it's terribly long, as it's only a snippet, but I am aware that for varying reasons it might not be what everyone wants to read at the moment. I have re-read the full poem this year, though, and found it put a smile on my face, so maybe it will do the same for others.

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I have something slightly more festive in mind for next week, but for me, ghosts and reflection and remembrance are just as much a part of the season as sleigh rides and snow scenes and sugary treats.

(Also, go me, I managed to post this on an actual Monday for once!)

Spirits of the Dead

Thy soul shall find itself alone 
'Mid dark thoughts of the grey tomb-stone; 
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
   Which is not loneliness - for them
The spirits of the dead, who stood
   In life before thee, are again
In death around thee, and their will
Shall overshadow thee; be still.

The night, though clear, shall frown,
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven
With light like hope to mortals given,
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever 
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne'er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more, like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze, the breath of God, is still,
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy, shadowy, yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token.
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

I grew up in a nominally Catholic family, although my parents' attitude to their faith veers from relaxed (my Dad) to occasionally hostile (my Mum, who has never forgiven her local priest for refusing to marry her and Dad in the 80s, because they'd been “living in sin”). Even so, fish for dinner on Fridays was a tradition we kept to, and out of habit I've mostly stuck with it through university and my adult life. Often this meant fish and chips, but sometimes we would get a little fancier.

This is actually not a family recipe. This is my take on a smoked haddock chowder – I was having friends over for dinner one Friday night at uni, and I didn't trust their timekeeping enough to risk anything like pan-fried or oven-baked fish. Instead I opted for something that would happily sit on the stove doing its own thing until people had arrived and were ready to eat.

Most of the traditional chowder recipes I had access to required ingredients that were a little exotic for the shops of the East Fife coast in the late '00s (creamed corn? Jarred clams? Saltines? Forget it!) so I substituted things in as best I could, and ended up with something so astonishingly delicious that my squad of friends immediately demanded the recipe. I had to confess I didn't have one, and that I'd been improvising – but I've recreated and refined it several times down the years, and it's now my go-to for feeding a crowd, or for treating myself and my hubby after a long week. (Confession: I've been known to eat the leftovers for breakfast.)

This, if you like, is the “final” version. In terms of influences it's taken a few detours via Scotland, France and the Deep South (my French uncle taught me that everything is better with wine, my godmother in Georgia is responsible for the addition of cayenne pepper, and I lifted the leeks from traditional cullen skink) – but despite the culinary mish-mash going on, it's never failed me yet, and it's easy to scale up or down as needed.

 

 

( Spiced smoked haddock chowder )

(I should really get back to posting these on a Monday...)

The Last Enchantment

Rest you here, enchanter, while the light fades,
Vision narrows, and the far
Sky-edge is gone with the sun.
Be content with the small spark
Of the coal, the smell
Of food, and the breath
Of frost beyond the shut door.
Home is here, and familiar things;
A cup, a wooden bowl, a blanket,
Prayer, a gift for the god, and sleep.
(And music, says the harp, And music.)
Rest here, enchanter, while the fire dies.
In a breath, in an eyelid's fall,
You will see them, the dreams;
The sword and the young king,
The white horse and the running water,
The lit lamp and the boy smiling.
Dreams, dreams, enchanter! Gone With the harp's echo when the strings
Fall mute; with the flame's shadow when the fire
Dies.
Be still, and listen.
Far on the black air
Blows the great wind, rises
The running tide, flows the clear river.
Listen, enchanter, hear
Through the black air and the singing air
The music . . .

This was supposed to be a traditional broccoli and stilton, but the first time I made it I had far less broccoli than most online recipes seem to call for, and a bunch of other green veg to use up.  So - here is the version that seems to work best, despite sounding like something out of a Dr Seuss poem.  (It's a great dish for not needing a ton of prep; you can add an ingredient to the pan, then wash and chop the next thing while the first thing cooks.)

Green Veg and Blue Cheese Soup (makes 4 main course portions)

Gently heat a couple of tablespoons of olive oil in a large saucepan or cast iron pot.  Chop 4 cloves of garlic, then add to the pot to cook (carefully, on a very low heat, without colouring - they should basically just be infusing the oil).  Add a tablespoon of chopped fresh thyme leaves, one finely minced celery stick, six roughly chopped spring onions, and plenty of black pepper, then cook gently for 3-5 minutes until the vegetables have softened.

Add 1 litre of hot vegetable stock to the pan and bring to the boil.  While it heats, chop up one head of broccoli (stalks and all).  When the stock is at the boil, add the broccoli and cover.  Cook for 10 mins.  Chop/crumble 200g of sharp, strong blue cheese while you wait.  (I love traditional stilton here, but most blue cheeses will work, although something very creamy like a dolcelatte will make the end product extremely rich, and an orange blue like Blacksticks will affect the colour!)

Add a couple of fistfuls of chopped kale leaves, cover again, and cook for a further 5 minutes.  Wilt in 2-3 handfuls of washed spinach, then remove from the heat and blitz with a blender until smooth.  (A stick blender will do the job fine, IMO, but my husband is fussy and whines about lumps, so we use a counter top.)

Put the soup back on a very gentle heat.  Pour in 250 ml double cream and add the blue cheese.  Stir until melted through, and the soup is silky.

Ladle into warmed bowls, and serve.

(Optional extra - finish each bowl with a small pinch of red chilli flakes and/or a few drops of chilli oil.  Not for everyone, and you won't lose anything by not having the heat, but I love pairing spice with blue cheese, and it just helps to cut through all that heavy creaminess if that's something you enjoy.)

i was born     at the rupture the root where     i split from my parallel self  i split from     the girl i also could have been     & her name / easy / i know the story     all her life / my mother wanted     a girl named for a flower     whose oil scents all     our mothers /     petals wrung     for their perfume

i was planted     land became ocean became land anew     its shape refusing root in my fallow mouth     cleaving my life neatly     & my name / taken from a dead woman     to remember / to fill an aperture with     cut jasmine in a bowl     our longing     our mothers’     wilting     garlands hanging from our necks

The formatting is far from perfect (it shouldn't really be in a table...) but this is the best I could do on DW.  Here is the poet performing the piece.