Dedicated to a person who's passion is cooking knows no limits! And a very close friend of mine to make me burn a few fingers trying to copy her cooking (it happens)
P.s the theme is horror based but she's a sweetheart, I can ascertain it myself.
"Thunder roared endlessly through the kitchen window, a smirk plastered all over my face, I open the cupboard window and take out the small dark bottle at the end. "time to use this old spice to good use" *thunder cracks*... The air seeps in between the dusty wooden backdoor, the downpour makes it stained with the stench of soaked mother earth ... Just the perfect aroma addition to this secret concussion.
The pot comes to a slow boil... Thick red paste with a drop of magnificence everywhere. The storm stains a grey dullness, my paste taints a blood stain to this page of colourless atrocity. Droplets from the sky above, the nonstop rain tones of a silent battle cry. The pot is all done, the banging of spoons on the table in restless eagerness, war on hunger has finally begun.
Mystery is the gift of darkness, we seek it to the depths of hell just for a spark of the unknown. so curious in our nature, we crunch chili just to get a burning sensation to 'spice' up a meal perfected and spewed in the most tender way. It is with such obnoxious behavior that we do not show value to taste, its that lost desire that leads to our ultimate destruction.
some believe the human race is fading beyond salvation... Satisfaction is the lost attribute to our daily forthcoming. We seek what's beyond the stars, we see not what mother earth blessed in our backyards. The storm's thrashing... My pot's almost empty, darkness engulfs my little table of plates. Every fork to the hand, knives stained stop sign red, while lips curl a bloody joker smile as eyes turn towards me. 'It maybe their last meal' keeping thoughts to myself as I turn towards the kitchen, 'or maybe... Am their last... Meal' suddenly I can feel my heartbeat in my ears.
Her blog:
Jikonikwasabs.blogspot.com
