If facing the paper, your thought is 'I am an artist', you have no clue what to do. If the concepts of your function are, 'I am a shape maker, an entertainer, an expressive symbol collector'...then you have an explicit road map. Edgar Whitney

Monday, September 5, 2011

apple strudel

My mum and aunties stretch it with their fists. They coax it thinner and thinner stretch it until it covers the whole laminex kitchen table and I can see the check of the cloth through the membrane of pastry. Stretch out their pride in their children stretch out their cackles of laughter at the stupidity of their husbands stretch out their tears for the sister who died young. At 15 they let me have a go, I try to mimic their hand over hand and rip a big hole in it they laugh at my clumsiness and shoo me away. When I’m 20 they laugh at my university-learned hochdeutsch even though I can stretch the dough as good as them “ooo la di da” they screech taunts at my posh accent and it thins the pastry a little more. Taunts add tartness to the apples they scatter. They add the finely chopped bitter rind of  long standing family feuds, a sprinkle of spicy sugar gossip and roll the whole thing up using the cloth, lifting it so that fold upon fold of pastry swaddles the apples and all the ancient history.

1 comment:

  1. It's how families jibe and spar, just like cooking things. Sometimes you whip and stir, sometimes you blend and shirr and soothe the taste into the food.
    Meals have became a rarity in family life, whereas they should be the hub. Now a family may watch TV together eating a microwaved supper! Does life in the jet lane prove anything, but that you can gobble up life and like a fast burger?