’86’ Clothes

’86’ Clothes

It was a feeling from day one, indescribable in a single word. So many different words came instead: So many words came and come to mind looking into wondering eyes with wandering eyes like hers.

I want something to eat. And if there isn’t anything leftover when we’re finished, we’ll simply make more.

When things were still withheld and unsteady. When imaginations ran wild, unchecked. When a tension that could be cut with a knife was used instead to make Japanese udon noodles from scratch and prepare dishes we knew would taste both different and the same, familiar and new, every time we sat down to eat.

But when words fail it is fingers and toes, the breathlessness of beating hearts, the inexhaustible passion and heat of the kitchen that reminds us why we always stand so close to each other. Why we fall asleep intertwined, all knees and cheeks and sweet words left on pillows.

Because feeling and flavor are inextricably linked.

Some people, many people, other people don’t need much to be happy. Some people, many people don’t need decadent meals, the time spent over stoves and ovens, the plates so well composed they beg to be put on the same plane of existence as Vivaldi, Mozart, Beethoven, Liszt. So beautiful they could be placed on walls next to the likes of Van Gogh, Dali, Renoir.

But we do.


A recipe for candied orange peel


2ea large oranges, 1/4in cut off top & bottom

4 cups sugar, in 4 different cups

3 cups water



Cut the peel of each orange vertically into 4 pieces

Remove each section and cut into segments 1/4in thick

Cook for 15min in a pot of boiling water. Drain, rinse, then drain again.

In a medium saucepan, bring 3 cups sugar and 3 cups water to boil. Stir to dissolve sugar.

Add your peel. Return to boil.

Bring down the heat and let your peel simmer until tender (45 minutes). Then drain.

Toss peel and 1 cup sugar on a baking sheet. Separate strips. Gently move your peel from the sugar and place on a soft bed of foil.

Wait, leave it, until the coating is dry.

There is an understanding about what this means, and maybe it is the same people that would never experience passion the same way that don’t understand this and have no need to. The clawing and needing and wanting that translates across kitchen to between the sheets of pulled taut across the mattress.

Vanilla people. Indecisive people. The “No, thank you, I don’t think I’ll like that” people.

The feeling that makes mornings start with a kiss and espresso and toast with butter and fresh fruit, together lost completely. Why breakfast in bed maintains the allure that it does. No clothes necessary to dine.

It starts with a feeling deeper inside. A low rumble, asking. Not begging yet, but soon. This leads to the heat of the fire on the stove. This sets the mind and body in motion. A shiver. The blast of the refrigerator and all the colors inside. The sound of cupboards opening, closing, opening again. The breath. Behind, in front. The pan on the stove getting hotter. Red rings and sizzle.

The cold metal of silverware that makes you wonder, if only for a moment, if it would be better to just eat with our hands.

Reach deeper.

A dash of salt, a little sugar.


Push everything aside. The table covered in mixing bowls and melting butter.

There’s a German word that  one which has no real English equivalent/translation.


{n.} The joyful, intense anticipation that comes from imagining future pleasures.

In this state we stay, perpetual, permanent.

And it ends with a taste. Something familiar. The taste of strawberries. Not only. The smell of something so sensual simmering in butter. Not always. The corks of champagne bottles rocketing endlessly towards unreachable ceilings. Tripping backwards into bed covered in chocolate, flour, cream, crumbs, candle wax.

But these are just words. And how these words pale in comparison to the actual feelings they’re meant to capture/describe; unworthy of their creation. How little these words can do to tell the world what it is we actually want, or need, or desire.

The reason why we fall in love.

The reason why we crave the taste of strawberries.

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'86' Clothes