pentagons don’t tesselate
that title, by the way, will be the name of my band if i ever form one. we tried to fit these okra slices into a pattern like a honeycomb or a soccer ball, but discovered, and later confirmed online, that pentagons don’t fit together like that. they don’t tesselate. on the other hand, just look at them. little pockets of lacework. who cares if they don’t tesselate. just let them be their beautiful selves.
these are not eyeballs with optic nerves, but slices of kohlrabi, possibly the least interesting vegetable on earth, except that its husk is the most perfect asparagus green. so go ahead. enchant us, kohlrabi. just don’t make us eat you in the form of crunchy white batons tasting of nothing.
the first time my husband and i ate artichokes, we were reminded quite vividly that it is technically a thistle. we were served in a california restaurant when i was still in grad school, and we simply began eating the leaves whole, which was like swallowing small triangles of sheet metal. we decided we did not like artichokes until many years later, when someone taught us the right way to eat them. we’ve eaten many of them successfully by now, but my favorite artichoke was that first one, as we laughed together over napa valley wine, and swallowed thistle leaves, and took another step toward falling in love.
globe artichoke (Cynara cardunculus var. scolymus)
i started the day slicing purple potatoes, and i ended up with a beach full of veined marble pebbles. i’ll take that. yup. i’ll take that, dammit.
limes should be easy
i mean . . . limes. they are everywhere online. they’re always pretty. they make you think of beaches and rum drinks. or gin drinks. or vodka drinks. or tequila drinks. it should be so easy to make an arrangement of limes and end up with something striking and pretty. nope. it’s not. this is what you get. i’m kinda tired now. think i’ll go home.