From 3 PM until 7 PM, I have all the time in The World to myself. My parents are getting in bed in Hawaii, my loving boyfriend has fallen asleep in New York, and my sleepy friends in California are deep in dreams by midnight. No one in Europe will try to contact me.
I discovered this wonderful vacuum of time today. As I hung up the phone with Jazz, I pressed a young coconut to my lips, draining the rest, and then set myself to gutting it open. I tore off 3 chunks of chewy farmers’ market bread, and popped them in the oven. I grabbed a mango from the counter and sliced two halves, leaving the thin seed in the center, ripping off the green skin around the oval. Mangoes in Indonesia are green, with a seed so slender you leave almost nothing behind.
First to the mango - teeth sinking into sweet flesh and juice dripping on my allergic lips - natural botox. By then I could smell crumbs burning and spun the oven timer off, hot potato-ing the pieces onto a fresh plate. MMMM.
The bread chunks needed something else, so looking into the fridge I found some old Indonesian butter that smelled sweet. Considered the peanut butter instead. But I like my bread salty. Sprinkled rosemary salt and a tiny spoon of brown dirt-looking pepper onto my plate. Added a teaspoon of olive oil and pressed the soft side of a hunk of warm bread into the ceramic, hearing the crackle and grinning.
Lastly the coconut. Pushing a spoon into the small hole I had hacked, I scraped sweet white slivers into my mouth. Still haven’t learned how to cut a coconut in half like the boys.
What a feast.
Started reading an article about God and reincarnation in a skate/surf/lifestyle mag and got inspired. And now I’m here.