Stewed pears, cloves and coconut with soy yogurt and honey.
Fresh mint and ginger tea.


today i bought a beautiful french pocket knife, basilicum olivier tapenade, a bunch of watercress, fresh mint and carraway seeds, from the markets. it was raining and i wore my overcoat like a cape around my backpack. tomorrow it is my birthday.
wide eyed and broad focus
warm textured beats and choral singing in the dark
such is a pleasure of warm rice milk with honey and cinnamon


compelled to lie down because all else is gone and taking me over
carrying a sack of clothing on our heads, scarf wrapped like a gypsy, a plastic bag full of yogurt and sultanas, small hunting dog on a leash and gloves on our hands, because we are always out and it is always cold.
walking along an old dirt road, dust and vineyards, the cold fog of winter overlapping the sunset painting.


Sourdough bread made with sprouted barley, cooked barley and three kinds of rice: rouge, marron and blanc. Homemade 'old boy' jam and amazing french soy yogurt (sojade).


Alaskan sourdough pancakes (very thin but spongy like the Ethiopian injera bread, and crisp like a crepe)
with homemade baked beans (with apple cider vinegar, fresh tomatoes and carrots) and tahina sauce.



the drawings oliver and i did in amsterdam sitting on the cold cobblestones.
i feel like there needs to be some text here to break things up a bit.


We have been overtaken by some sort of bread making fever. And inspired by the recycling stories of Sandor Katz (who wrote my bible, if I felt like I needed a bible, Wild Fermentation), Cloe made this incredible sourdough bread. The main reason that the dough is pink is due to a whole cooked beetroot inside, when the bread cooked it became a more banal looking bread colour, which was a bit disappointing.
Ingredients in the bread included leftover rice pudding (with banana and coconut), sprouted hommous dip, cooked barley, beetroot and wheat flour. Our tiny friends of the micro kind (sourdough culture/yeast) digested all that we feed it and though it deffinately had a complex flavour the bread tasted rather normal really.


a change in emotional state through physical movement or awareness.


Millet, carrot, coconut and sultana cake.
Aduki bean, brown rice and hijiki millet pie.
Millet and maize and thyme sourdough bread.
Rooibis, ginger, cloves , ground nutmeg and slices of orange
I feel like a part of me has already gone and left here, and I need to go and find her.

I spent six hours making this pie. The base is made with millet, rice flour, lemon juice and salt, the filling is aduki bean, brown rice, hijiki seaweed, miso, ginger, zucchini, fried carrots and onions and topped with a lemony mashed potato.
It was very delicious and the base went crunchy and hard like a biscuit.


i just had a strange experience where i was drawn into a bakery towards a particular fruit pie and discussed its worth for awhile before ordering and eating it. it wasnt very nice at all and just brought disapointment. after i finished it my friend brought the situation into light that i had actually pointed at and purchased the wrong fruit pie and also eaten it without realising that it was the wrong one. after eating it i became less real and by steps upon cobblestones blurred, as if i had split off from my original destiny into another reality...


Weight, mass and breath become movement, become landscape, become story, become question, become idea.


I wanted to write about the tart,
invented in the mistake making of an apple pie.
A layer of caramelised sugar toffee. mushy cooked apple slices and short crust pastry on the downside. The pulling of chewy smoothness in sweet
. A delicious blend of texture.


lost in a dreamy morning of brioche, white china and paper napkins.
a red sun filling into a golden dipped moon
blood orange juice on a white tablecloth
illuminated butter on toast
and a we are driving through the cold windy night air held safe inside the windscreen.
fried plantain banana chips with tahina and freshly sprouted pea and radish sprouts.


I baked a hummingbird inspired cake
carefully mixing and cutting and spicing
throwing in musical compositions
and stirring just enough to mix
modest mouse - lives
the last poets - wake up nigger
Mashing two large ripe bananas with two eggs and the juice and rind of a lemon,
crowded house - pineapple-head
half a cup of oil and half cup of sugar.
cocorosie - japan
Sifting well, many times, the flour of three and a half cups, two tablespoons of hazelnut meal and one of walnuts,
beth gibbons - sand river
half a cup of desiccated coconut and the spices of cinnamon and nutmeg.
the shins - kissing the lipless
Layering in the cake mixture and then a full platform of sliced fresh pineapple
clouddead - twenty
and sprinkle of coconut and rest of the batter
the books - ps
and baking


lost in a trance of tiny dots, h stklla ,e arks of repetition.

(unstoppable marks of repetition).


then it went black. all of the light taken in an instant into
power failure in a storm
The noise in my head is too great to write clearly.
Somehow there is a golden light that illuminates everything, even under a sky heavy with darkened rain clouds. A dreamlike quality falls inwards from all edges.


crying in an internet cafe, dim and bleary eyed, my brother came in carrying a bag of apples wet with rain.
I bend between the discovery of the moment with the unknown worry to come.
“with this music it feels like an opium afternoon”
dark and rainy and so we stay inside all day under the light of lamps by the fire, the looping repetition of recording guitar lines all day is our soak.