Search through previous entries

Monday, April 9, 2012


So I've been reading by the ever amazing Mazloum, and when he put fiction in today I realised 2 things, I haven't written a short story in about a year or so and that I can't write fiction like he does. I don't know how to explain it but I have a different approach to how I write things.

So I decided to copy and paste some old piece that I think I didn't show to people and fish out comments and see where to go from there; so without further ado:

the water bubbled under the hot stove, boiling temperature finally, he added the salt and broth and stirred intently, he always liked to add the salt later and the broth just adds an extra kick. it always needs an extra kick, flavour is what it's all about. he poured the pasta into the now murky boiling water and watched it soften under the intense heat.

spaghetti always reminded him of Carla, such long strands of thick hair flowing to their own rules not bound by what ever binds the rest of the world. a good spaghetti flows endlessly, and refuses the fork's binding making eating it as well as cooking it an art to behold.

to properly make a spaghetti it has to be cooked for a certain time, overcooking it would lead to a limp soft mess and undercooking it would just be crunchy. it's all in the flame, if you balance the flame all works. Carla had a flame of passion that one had to endure. if it's one thing she has more than the world it was passion, dive in without caution and you would burn into a hapless mess, and she'll throw you away, limp and defeated. turn it down and you undercook her love, as she walks away you would hear your semi raw heart crunching in pain.

cook it for the right time though and you'll enjoy the surge of flavour that would always want you coming for more.

Then comes the sauce, warm and red like Carla's blood, flowing and unforgiving,, overwhelming. a good sauce is rich and thick, for a proper Bolognese meat has to go in there, ground meat. The richness came from the butter. Richness, thickness and meat, those three factors were what reminded him of his voluptuous lover the most. She was full by all standards, full of life, full of laughter, full of passion, full of lust and full of figure.

He always felt like her curves spoked to him, begging him to embrace them for eternity and never let them go. whenever he left her he would always want to come back. The essence of Carla are what made his restaurant so special for it's spaghetti. it beckoned the people to come in for more. The smell itself drove grown men mad, and made women drool. Carla was no exception many a man and some women claim to have been taunted by her sensual temptation.

they never have enough of her, he for sure never did. her memory still haunts him today, he pours it out into his cooking, but a broken heart never truly heals now does it? Spaghetti was the first dish he ever truly learned how to make, and Carla, well, she was the first woman he ever truly learned how to love. He serves up the spaghetti and looks at his next order, chicken parmesan, great choice, Bianca, now that's another story for another time.

No comments:

Post a Comment