something quiet profound can happen
to a man when he has delivered
homemade
korean fried chicken wings
with that gorgeous gochujang paste
for dinner, corn on the cob,
and a few spare fries...
and homemade mango, apricot and lemon
ice-cream, strawberry, mango and passion
fruit... with a salted caremel sprinkle...
i don't know...
a way to a man's heart... blah blah...
almost like the rich...
home cinema, home swimming pool,
a home pool table...
which implies: no point going out...
but if you look much further down on
the societal hierarchy...
an ice-cream maker beats a swimming
pool... a 30 quid 20 by 20 deep fryer...
hell that beats a home cinema and
a pool table...
perhaps in the 1950s stereotype
the women "belonged" in the kitchen...
these days?
they probably belong more on the sofa
playing candy crush saga...
and i would gladly take over the kitchen
chores... after all:
what hell with no kitchen
and no devil busying himself with meals
for the gluttonous?
as i constantly repeat:
i wouldn't trust a lean chef if i ever saw one...
a lean chef would probably be afraid
to use lard...
and what good recipe could come
from a head filled with a calories calculator?
it's profound though...
homemade ice cream and homemade
korean deep fried chicken wings...
it no longer just fill the stomach...
it fills the head...
you might as well have been labouring
in the sun on a tar roof for all i care...
a labour of love, truly:
a labour of love.