An attempt to use food as a subject in writing..
On a perfect sunny day, her experiments finally made a turn towards success. The taste of both sweet and savory more pronounce by her warm gentle hands. A feeling of great bliss it created, the image of being in a mother's arms it inspired. A true beauty indeed none have discovered. Little by little she began to understand the beauty of such cuisine. Its structure unchangeable but a hidden experience lies to be uncovered beneath the crispy surface. Slowly but firmly she captures the heart of so many.
I ask her once how to make such rare taste. She makes no secret of her discoveries and kept no grudge on those who follow suit. She smile in warmth and taught me how. Poetry she made for a simple yet perfect recipe;
On the powdery white flour
Add two of your best chicken eggs
Melt that soft yellow butter
Pour them into the mixture that begs
For your hands to knead its dough
Pour more of that ghee oil
And the assortment will follow
Just don't leave your kneading to foil
Keep your fingers at a pace
Take hold of a small portion, stay calm
Rush not your hands for this is not a race
Roll the dough in between your palms
Capture all the crumbs that break away
Fell the round sphere forming a ball
Then place them neatly in a tray
Keep your hands straight don't it fall
Remember the oven is piping hot
Don't let your eyes travel astray
Once you place the tray, forget not
In the mother's oven your biscuit lay
See the colour change to pale brown
Prepare the snow colored icing
Spread the sweet sugar like a crown
Roll it over and I will bring
A plate set, for us to share.
I called my father, brothers and sisters out to eat the delicious biscuits for everyone's treat. There we sat for hours with a cup of tea in one hand and a snowball biscuit in the other. A perfect cuisine fit for a family get-together.
Poetry by syer
Read 1037 times
Written on 2009-05-02 at 10:36
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Family Cookie
It's been known as the beginning, a perfect traditional delicacy to start of a new future for my family. A recipe passed down to my dear mother in search of inspiration in life. Something only she could do to prove herself worthy. Gifted with the warm sun's hands, she sets off to make, the perfect delicacy that will sell. It is rare to find one so talented and to discover it at the perfect age. Such dedication I saw in her eyes, a blazing fire ready to conquer. With a small quantity she tries to capture the perfect essence of the biscuit. Calling out on all her knowledge and our imaginations, she strives to create a different taste to traditional taste shortbread.On a perfect sunny day, her experiments finally made a turn towards success. The taste of both sweet and savory more pronounce by her warm gentle hands. A feeling of great bliss it created, the image of being in a mother's arms it inspired. A true beauty indeed none have discovered. Little by little she began to understand the beauty of such cuisine. Its structure unchangeable but a hidden experience lies to be uncovered beneath the crispy surface. Slowly but firmly she captures the heart of so many.
I ask her once how to make such rare taste. She makes no secret of her discoveries and kept no grudge on those who follow suit. She smile in warmth and taught me how. Poetry she made for a simple yet perfect recipe;
On the powdery white flour
Add two of your best chicken eggs
Melt that soft yellow butter
Pour them into the mixture that begs
For your hands to knead its dough
Pour more of that ghee oil
And the assortment will follow
Just don't leave your kneading to foil
Keep your fingers at a pace
Take hold of a small portion, stay calm
Rush not your hands for this is not a race
Roll the dough in between your palms
Capture all the crumbs that break away
Fell the round sphere forming a ball
Then place them neatly in a tray
Keep your hands straight don't it fall
Remember the oven is piping hot
Don't let your eyes travel astray
Once you place the tray, forget not
In the mother's oven your biscuit lay
See the colour change to pale brown
Prepare the snow colored icing
Spread the sweet sugar like a crown
Roll it over and I will bring
A plate set, for us to share.
I called my father, brothers and sisters out to eat the delicious biscuits for everyone's treat. There we sat for hours with a cup of tea in one hand and a snowball biscuit in the other. A perfect cuisine fit for a family get-together.
Poetry by syer
Read 1037 times
Written on 2009-05-02 at 10:36
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
