Fennel Pollen Panna Cotta with Honey and Caramelised White Chocolate

Fennel Pollen Panna Cotta with Honey and Caramelised White Chocolate

“You realize she’s so made that it’s as if at any moment, at her own whim, her body could cease to live, could just thin out around her and disappear from sight, and that it’s in this threat that she sleeps, exposes herself to your view. That it’s in the risk she runs, with the sea so close and empty and black still, that she sleeps.” – Marguerite Duras, an excerpt from ‘The Malady of Death’.

Here. The perfumed hour, the still one. Salacious musk and orange-blossom scent. Irreverence and nightshade. Golden light flickering through the terror in the ceiling. Sills, full of flowers. Light, sensual in every creeping movement. Toying, tempting. Devouring. The savage, onset of Winter, doing similar to the flesh of I. Violencing. There’s bloodlust in these eyes and the thirst of the sea in this head. All thoughts exist only to be drowned. I, am willing to become stifled by my own hand. Come, into my mind. And drown with me. I promise you it will be tragic. And how the cold, eats. Winter filling my soul with its shivered bite. Frostbitten tongue, a reminder of this fragmented love. A love rooted in a desire for escapism, a pull towards romanticism and modern neurosis. Winter. I, could sleep inside of you.

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Flourless Chocolate Olive Oil Cake with Citrus Coffee Cream

Flourless Chocolate Olive Oil Cake with Citrus Coffee Cream

“Enraptured, and enraptured, in broad daylight, dreaming…”- Marina Tsvetaeva, from ‘Selected Poems’.

I apologise for my absence on this space. Something I, often say. And deeply feel. The fact is, another project has been consuming my all. Devouring. A word I’m all-too intimately familiar with. I can’t wait to share the details soon. It’s big. But, for now, there’s cake. A Flourless Chocolate Olive Oil Cake with Citrus Coffee Cream. And a picnic in celebration of The World Fairtrade Challenge too.

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Gather | Autumnal Supper

Gather | Autumnal Supper

The vast night. Now there’s nothing else but fragrance.” – Jorge Luis Borges

I’ve spent the past few weeks, absent. In more meanings of the word than one. You know you’re doing something right when something, someone, consumes every moment of your existence. Every waking thought and feeling. Every drifted dream and sleeping movement. It’s always been that way though. I choose something, someone, to love, and allow myself to fall into complete absorption. Utter submission. Both mental and physical. That, for the most part, is the reason why commitment and I can never co-exist. I lose myself in the consummation of another. Neglect. Savagery. Desire. Its bloody work built for the brave. Stomaching the entire flesh of a person, devouring every inch of their shrunken soul. It’s no easy feat, to navigate between the impulses of passion and thirst. Creation. I starve for creation. We burn together, brilliantly. And flame with it. Until the remains of decayed being are singed blackly wax enough to bloom into a new form of heightened living. I cling to the light, the white heat found in the crevices, the cracks, the fragments of self. And again, I rise.

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Brown Butter and Hazelnut Chocolate Chunk Cookies

Brown Butter and Hazelnut Chocolate Chunk Cookies

I burn, I shiver; out of the sun, and into this shadow.” – Virginia Woolf, ‘The Waves’

It’s the little things that bring joy. Entanglements of flowers. Cookies wrapped in bows, shared or devoured alone. Details and thoughts that last for longer than just instantaneous pleasure. I’ve always managed to live between two extremes. Living in a catatonic state of violence or softness. And, it took me years to realise how to balance out both the light and dark aspects of my personality. My life was once withered, and now, it’s coated in roses. Kind of like these blooms. More precious the light than the all-consuming darkness. The shadows in these images, the shadows in myself, wear darkness so beautifully. Meant for me, and me alone. The suffocating entanglement of wild, so beautiful, so abandoned, so delicate. Choking everything that comes close. Strangulations of floral, ivy, vines and opalescent blossoms. Each strand, competing for breath. Intimately engulfed within each other. Both beauty and ugliness, light and darkness, existing in all aspects of life.

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Apple and Rose Pie & Buttermilk Honey Custard Pie with Lavender and Crème Chantilly

Apple and Rose Pie & Buttermilk Honey Custard Pie with Lavender and Crème Chantilly

“June and I have paid with our souls for taking fantasies seriously, for living life as a theatre, for loving costumes and changes of selves, for wearing masks and disguises. But I know always what is real. Does June?” – Anaïs Nin, December 30, 1931

The past few weeks have been spent in a turbulent state of desire and upheaval. My mind is thriving elsewhere. That’s for sure. I doubt it will ever arrive. I’ve never felt whole in any one place. It’s like this hybrid, this disassociated fragment of myself that I never could quite control, exists in an entirely different world. And then comes the night.

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Italian Orange Blossom and Almond Cake with Orange Curd, Mascarpone Swiss Meringue Buttercream and Salted Caramel

Italian Orange Blossom and Almond Cake with Orange Curd, Mascarpone Swiss Meringue Buttercream and Salted Caramel

But spring is mine. In the heat trapped between our cupped palms, I hold every spring on earth.” – Dulce Mariá Loynaz, from ‘Absolute Solitude: Selected Poems.’

The writer lives two lives. The first self, the living, the experience, the pure impulse and instinct. The second self, the creative, the slowed psychoanalysis, the agitation for heightened living, the poetic madness. Each fragment of identity, culminating into prose destined for written page. Dissolving into atmosphere, blossoming into illusion. And loving. Loving everything. The point of loving being pure, unadulterated ecstasy. The modern romantic infatuated with all that blooms, engulfed with literature, with song, with poetry, with people, with cities, with jazz. The many faces of light, darkness, agony and pain. An unwavering passion for life, and all its mysticism.

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