February, 23

The last pumpkin of the year that waited long in a hidden corner of the fridge still shines brilliantly in orange, but after making a soup of him with two apples, an orange, Cayenne pepper and half a tin of coconut milk and a slice of ginger that still today got lost in the fridge as well, but the pumpkin soup did not taste the same as in October or November, with its rich thickness, its roasted aroma, its creamy yellowish surface, when the seeds roasted in a hot pan for a few minutes before they are crackling in the mouth salty and rich as the pumpkin himself. Now its brilliance has faded, the seeds are soft and weak now. The pumpkin does not taste good nor bad, his taste is just gone, a lost reminder of better golden autumnal days. But the bread, for the first time in weeks came out well of the oven, did not shrink in, nor was too dry,or wet in its middle but smelled when just in the oven, wonderful and Queen Cat and me went back and forth to the oven, to closely supervise when it would be crispy and brown just as it should be. I am deeply convinced that the first slice of every fresh baked bread must be buttered at least two fingers thick, but not an inch less, coarse salt must be on top and then with closed eyes, the first bite is a revelation. Of course Queen Cat joins the chorus of praise in this case. On the second or third slice you can add fresh and sweet scenting goat cheese or a handful of fresh herbs and in the next morning a good two spoons full of honey, which I like at most. Then you you can lay back in the cushions, cuddle your self up in a blanket or two, warm up your hands at a steaming hot cup of tea and deeply breathe in and out. Good is then, to sit on the armchair and listen to the gales forces blowing outside, and for a long hours, the world is just hidden behind a curtain and deep engulfed am I by Richard Flanagan’s horrid and deep, long and breath-taking, gruesome and beautiful, obscene and poetic book, „The Narrow Road to the Deep North.“ And still it is a wonder that the bread, the pumpkin, the world, the beautiful and the dreadful still exist- despite everything.

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