Category: culture

Visceral Valentine

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This year’s take on the Chocolate, Red Wine, and Roses theme- aka, every girls favorite indulgence for valentines days, a concept that I like to muse with on this date driven day.  Dinner for two, with all the decadence that cupid’s charm can provide.  Here, you get all those pesky whimsical factors in one delectable plate.

The Red Wine Velvet Cake- flavored and colored with a robust red wine, cut cleverly into 3 parts rhetorically inquiring how good you are at sharing, this chocolate laden cake is topped with candied cocoa nibs for added texture.

This light cake is embellished with red wine pearls,  enhancing the taste and mouth feel of sipping on a glass of your favorite red wine.

To highlight the natural dark fruit flavors and robust floral note in red wine, I added red rose petals and pomegranate juice.  The delicate wine pearls are marinated in a red rose petal and pomegranate glaze.

Light candied almonds are added to highlight the nuttiness in chocolate, to add a very subtle caramel note, to enhance the almond tasting notes found in wine.

Lastly, this red wine velvet cake is carried by a lightly toasted white chocolate mousse.

Eat your visceral hearts out.

Breathless

Diving back into the icy depths of work so quickly after the plane brought me back to a place that is so utterly unlike my vacation reality, so cold and stress induced, I practically tripped over my shoes laces getting back to frontlines of the job to prepared for the holiday weekend, I am understanding a new type of fatigue, like all the sectors in my brain have been powered down, saving all my resources to funnel into the multitude of tasks that are stacked up for a weekend dedicated to celebrating love through food, more specifically embodied in one ingredient, chocolate.

 

Transatlantic Transitions

Aboard a transatlantic aircraft, on a western-bound red eye flight, the sun does not ever rise. Those pastel rainbow glowing rays do not ever pinnacle the horizon.  It is nighttime for 18 straight hours as we collectively hide from the sun.

We are vampires in a plastic flying coffin, afraid even of the illumination from a small orb reading light situated above. It is icy cold, a fitting temperature for the cult of the undead. In the absence of fresh food, we eat things out of plastic, on tiny trays with plastic cutlery, sip tiny amounts of water out of individual plastic cups. The choice is limited to meat protein or veg, and what is under the foil wrapping, what lays on that semi-warm plastic shell is anyone’s guess.

In order to cross the mighty Atlantic in the span of one day, I will happily morph into a vampire, I will skip a day of seeing the sun, I will greedily eat my allotted plastic foods, I will freeze and undergo frequent muscle spasms because the seats are more uncomfortable the a coffin buried underneath the cold earth, long forgotten by anyone except a few close loved ones.

They stopped at improving the design of the aircraft seat, leaving it to be more uncomfortable than decade old Ikea furniture because vampires don’t have feelings, vampires don’t deserve luxury. They should cut out the whole chair concept and stack us in coffin-like boxes for the journey. Just hand out straws and we can go without the whole sitting upright concept.

Blind in Flight

Lost over the dark sea,

The pitch black swallows

Completely engulfs with its impenetrable hug

Indistinguishable with its black dimensions

Infinite circle of nothingness

Yet so close to the flickering stars

The constellations are magnified

Those once far off blinking binary dots

Seem close enough to wear on your finger like a diamond

 

Maritime’s Melody

The shores of the sea sing a strong song with its rhythmic sonic surges.

The lullaby of the waves draws you into a hypnotic daze as it pounds out its worries against the soft sandy beaches.

The force of the slashing waves sucks you in, spits you out.

Simply and surely as your breathing, this marine metronome mimics the earth’s internal clock, keeping time so you don’t have to.

 

Monkey’s on Fire

Today marks the beginning of the Chinese New Year, so you get another chance to tackle a new year’s resolutions, another chance to start over again, another chance to hope for better luck, richer prosperity, and a more lustrous future.

We are now in the dawn of the year of the monkey, assigned to the earth element fire.  If the monkey was not spunky enough, this witty, intelligent, resourceful, curious, and self-preserving animal is deemed with an extra boost of hyperactivity.  This creature, rambunctious like a wild child, more clever than the proverbial fox, has been given the gift of flames this year- a combination of manipulation and energy that is inherently unstable, careless, extremely flammable.

If you are not careful with how you play, you will get charred.  I am sensing that this year will either be extremely fun and fortunate, socially and personally enriching, or it is going to quickly get out of hand, like carefully stacked dominos that fall over in a slight breeze.  I am not sure this is the year to gamble; this is the year to outsmart, investigate, and plan.  Don’t get too carried away with the joke, be mindful of the spark waiting to be ignited like a match at the gas station.  Don’t get out charmed, be careful of the power behind a seemingly innocent game.  Things are deeper than they appear, the dualistic nature will be carefully hidden in the simplest of games.

You don’t need luck this year, you need wisdom, foresight, and a cool demeanor to put up a fair fight with this feisty energy.

The Willing Prisoner

Locked behind the tall cement walls that are topped with a barbed wire crown, you keep yourself in just as effectively as you keep the desperate out.  Mingling with the neighbors is not an effortless coincidence, it is a planned activity in a fortified neighborhood.

Maintaining this separation is keeping the everyone back, it is drying out the culture.  We limit ourselves by denying access to people who come from different backgrounds, with different stories, with different interests, perspectives, and forms of art.  We don’t get the full range of what this world of culture has to offer locked behind our fear, our insecurities, our greed.  Remember when drums were banned as music in the United States?  Can you even imagine what we would be missing if this law stated into effect for as long as apartheid existed in south Africa?

Being afraid of people, and being afraid of competition, being afraid to not socialize with people who share a different world view is not keeping them out, it is keeping us in the cage.

A Point of Hope

The city in the clouds, the city in the shadow of the stars.

Kissing the clouds not with the sky scrapers ambition, but with the bust of the mountains pride.  This city does not need a white façade to provide the enchantment of magic, it does not need a magician to orchestrate the cohesion of nature in this urban environment.

Cape Town is the yearning to kiss the cloud line, trying to match the ambition of the sky scrapers modernity.  Yet, still, this 400 years of industrial motivation cannot compete with the dominion of the natural stature.

The collective magic gathers around the peaks like a forming storm.  I just hope the storm clouds do not continue to darken, I hope that it doesn’t form a tremendous downpour that washes away all potential of this blooming new culture.

Over and Abound

The overabundance of beautiful scenery,

The euphoria of delicious sustenance,

The synergy of shared adventure.

A cold ocean dip goes a long way to chill

The hot mind and red sun body.

With magic behind every bend in the road,

With imagination as far as the eye keeps looking,

I cannot keep digesting this wonder of the landscape,

I cannot stop my mind from blinking.

I cannot stop hiccupping with curiosity,

I cannot calm my dauntless spirit.

How I can still find the energy to dream after so much speculation

Remains one ostrich of a mystery

To this stuffed soul.