All great ideas are inspired by a muse, sometimes that muse is less than motivational. Your work week has been hectic, you’re tired and you’re hungry; the last thing you want to do when you get home is think up a culinary masterpiece. You want something simple, but delicious, perhaps with some leftovers for your lunch the next day.
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Sherry; that fortified wine sipped by senior citizens in small stemmed glasses or guzzled from brown bags under bridges by varicose vagrants. Sherry is produced the world over, but only those wines that originate from the Cadiz province can take they name Sherry, all others must take the name Apera.
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What is a dumpling? The definition varies; some say it can be made of flour, others potatoes, maybe even rice or bread. It can be a ball of dough or a thin piece of pastry. It may have a filling and contain cheese or meat or vegetables, or it may stand alone. You can fry it, boil it, bake it, steam it, and stew it. In essence, a dumpling is whatever the hell you want it to be. You could just about fling a bowling ball into a hammock and call it a dumpling if only you can find a unique way to serve it.
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Some of the best things in life are the easiest to obtain like, love, laughter, friendship, or the sacking a monastery on Lindisfarne. You don’t have to try too hard to be happy, simply take the easiest route or the path of least resistance and you too can sail home with a swag bag chock full of golden religious relics. While you’re out at sea, why not cast a net and see if you can drag in some dinner to share with some friends on the journey home.
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You have dinner planned; the table is set, your candles are ready to be lit. You have a lovely surprise for your beautiful and yet, heavily pregnant partner, who has returned home from work wearied by the toil of industry and exhausted by the travail of carrying your still forming man-child in her womb. You tell her to relax and put her feet up and you slip in a DVD of her favourite girly television show.
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Conformity? It’s just another word for towing the line. Being just another sheep in the flock. Playing the proverbial game. I can understand the desire to fit in, the gods know; social recognition, friends, fame, fortune, but why do that? Is it not better to love what you love to hell with those that disapprove? Did Peter Rosendahl bow to peer pressure when the world told him that there was something missing in his life?
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So you’ve swiped right on your Kindling App and met a special someone. You’ve been conversing for a while, and you’ve checked out her/his profile on the Twitbook and MyFace and maybe swapped a picture or two on Clicktalk. You’ve somehow convinced them that you’re not a psycho and you’ve even gone for coffee and a mug of ale. All has gone well, she/ he doesn’t mind your smell and hasn’t let on that you’ve worn your only good shirt out for your first two dates.
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