i'll give this titling business a shot. i am a fan of titles, after all (whyever else would i have bought cocquelicot asleep in the poppies: a variety of whimsical verse yesterday?) and names and subject headings and the like. putting words into relationships with one another and with things. this occurred to me today, as i was washing dishes for about the hundredth time this week, as one that would work well after the pattern had already been established. but it will have to serve as an inception instead. no promises about how long i keep this up.

this is yesterday we're talking about. we ran, we walked, we shopped, and then we minced, well, actually maybe nothing, but we did dice onions and carrots, cube apples and sweet potatoes, julienne (perchance?) leeks and peppers. the garlic we just roasted, along with the squash and the pumpkin, and later their seeds. and then we blendt, or more precisely pureed, frapped, liquefied, whatever, the summa, each batch a shade more autumnal than the last.

as it simmered further, something (the same malevolent household spirit who, immediately subsequently, caused an ice tray to fall on the floor and disperse, and then a fridge-door-retaining-bar to give way?) incited the pot to launch a pellet of orange-hot potage directly into my right cheek, narrowly missing my (admittedly glass-protected) eye but spattering also onto my right upper lip. now, thirty hours after the fact, my upper cheek is disconcertingly raw and purple, looking like i was attacked by something rather more aggressive than soup. (the good news is it looks a lot worse than it felt or feels.) [update; seventy-two hours atf: still purple, but starting to scab, prognosis positive -ed.]

i'd kind of had it with cooking the soup by that point; even though it could use and eventually did receive additional spicing, i was ready to eat and be sated. and so. we supped. i was pretty psyched about it for an improvised recipe, especially garnished with salty seeds (squash were clearly superior to pumpkin) and that feta, and a pumpernickel toasty. mmhm.

does that account for a whole blog entry? it accounted for an impressive amount of the day. the logic of hunger does not apply anymore - without breakfast, i can happily last a day entirely outside of the kitchen, but the more i cook and eat, the more i just want to keep cooking and eating (garlicky broccoli rabe, fried excess pumpkin for breakfast, eggs in various forms, orts aplenty - both soups, sweetbread, bread pudding, still!rice, peanut sauce, and a pair of moo shu pancakes from germantown monday that only grew more indescribably delectable in the fridge.) m'wave seems inferior for reheating of soup, but this has yet to be methodically tested. other people's dietary requirements come to me in the form of culinary challenges. food is better than politics.

[coming soon!: top ten songs; election eve photo series; slugabed notequals lazibones; damn louisa and her FOXINESS; i don't believe in bad weather.]

today i have achieved absolutely naught