shhh... a midnight snack.

Shhh, shhh. Such a calming noise.  It's the sound of waves lapping the salty sand, reminding us that gentleness is our home.  Hush now.


Hush now.  It's a midnight feast.  I eat too much when Husby's not here, filing the empty space that can never be satisfied a-lonesome by wine, food or heartfelt telephone calls.  I want to cook for you, and let us eat together.

egg white smoked salmon, greek yoghurt,shallot on cucumber. with pepper. 12am ~s.

This, earlier.  we have a tiny health food store in port erin, and it's not pretty, but it's yields can be glorious: local tomatoes, gomasaio (is that how you spell it, Andrea Beaman? gobsmacked to find it here!) and laksa paste- in a commercial, processed way yes; oh but how long has it been between laksas?- too long, it was never time ago, in Neutral Bay, was that authentic deliciousness.


not wanting to tempt fate.  never do I do this.  I created a Chicken Quinoa Laksa.  You don't want the recipe.

she wasn't Laksa.  ~s.

Laksa should be smooth. velvety. languishing over a bed of noodles like a supermodel drenched in creamy, lengthy asian sunshine.  This beauty was an isle of man bit o'pretty trying to soak up the last of the summer rays.  I did admire her gentle warmth.  Her hope and sustenance.  But she wasn't Laksa.  






Yet oh.  midnight and a feast of leftover bits-on-cucumber discs.  At midnight, alone, fork in hand, I like to pretend I'm sophisticated, oh so thin, and that a properly glamorous life is still just softly, gently, waiting in the wings.