Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Burn To Live
"We broil when we have hope; we broil when we have lost it." Tamalehawk considered the resonant truth of these words and whether a semicolon could feel more perfect in a sentence. They echoed down from his winged elders as he hunched in the cold light of the fridge. We turn to our broilers when we have a good idea for dinner, and when we do not, we put a slap an array of weird things together and broil it still. The broiler offers a sheer will power not emitted by the omnidirectional blasé of the bake mode. It turns doubt into victory, the terrestial into transcendence.
Put on a willing pita: leftover parsley pesto, leftover chicken, cheddar cheese, feta cheese, chopped olives, garlic powder, and salsa. Add more and variant cheeses and you see fit. In fact, your success is directly proportionate to the number of cheeses added. Skirt this mathematic certainty at your own risk. Broil it until it looks meant to be. Do not put your camera to close to the coils, as they bite like the angry milksnake. Keep a reverent distance.