enough to feed me.
enough to keep creative juices flowing...
each dish must be seduced to submission.
so i may eat in peace.
the seductions come heavy.
aroma-wafts of kinky fish sauce, the dark mysteries of hoi sin,
kiddy soya and its alter-ego-
a toylike grindersprinkler of sea-salt and man-coarse mountain pepper.
options to use oil of rice bran or sydney's old classic-
tetsuya's oyster vinaigrette, spoilt for choice,
even tzatziki will do...
ready as dips on bread.
baby spinach and prehensile rockets
cling on spanish olives, luscious asides to a voluptuous avocado
and red-cheeked smiles of sunriped tomatos...
they garnish the raw salmon
make beauty a morsel more tasty for the eye.
there are other rare servings to make-
stone-grilled swordfish, sambal skate and the untypical monkorjew fish layered
for another week's dining where fish
becomes religion.
warm on the tongue;
bouillabaisse on ivory clams, perfect for pasta-mix
perhaps.
when asian cravings come
wolfberries, dates and seaweed
on bone-chops of meat, are wholesome,
bestowing cooling philosophies of ying and yang,
purging the australiana heatsun
stains of my inner skins.
bouquet garni is the name
a bag of assorted herbs locked in bag...
ready to be dipped in a panful of boiling water.
my nose sits on wild fields of thyme,
on the side,
a emerald bed of basil leaves,
hedged by the roast spice of rosemary,
ancient sage and
orange-oregano;
these scented lyric calls of an old summer song
where fragrance comes christianed in
many more unknown names.
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