The Chef and her Muse:A Conversation

"The art of being a slave is to rule one's master"(Diogenes)

The Chef and her Muse:A Conversation

The slave of my Master...The  Master of my slave.

The witchness of my craft suits me well.

Here I sit alone,I am surrounded protected by my cook books. The well of knowledge that I sip. The challenge call trumpets  and floats through the musty air;mold aging paper and parsely,thyme and rosemary.The scents of my memory searing me, haunting me with the lingering wisp of remembrances of home

I with my eggshell face in my kingdom by the sea. The pungent aroma of cedar, fern,rain and salt air perfuming long ago dreams of a lifetime. The game a foot I sense form the shadows the presense of my master. Dark of night, under the razor sharp tip of a cresent moon or light of day when the sun's burned my throat with it's taste. I feel the touch of my master from the depths and recesses.

I smile the forbidden smile.

Welcome, Merry met.

I was wondering when you would arrive. I see by the clock you are late.Did have you another to torment?

Who is this other?

Someone I should fear......

No.I think someone who fears me or should fear me,I can picture  you dropping hints,I'll rephrase that,threating the others professional standing with rumors of my skill.

Mayhap rumors of my failures trying to lure me with vain glory.

Are you not?

No, I am no fool,when you came to me was I not adorned in a cap, bells, and punchinello scepter,

Silence. Ah, the silence of anger my master or the silence of guilt.

"Sniff, sniff, Do I smell rotten fish lingering in the air?"

Silence.I was saying you never call"Merry met" greeting to me on arrival.

"Lady, Fool.Lady jester craven jester freshen your state of dress. I wish to be amused,freshen your happy cap!Bring forth the first dish."

Milord,you are pulling the tail of the tiger,Milord there is nothing more dangerous than a bored kitchenwitch....An angry kitchenwitch or a kitchenwitch in any other mood other the culinary bliss.

I do not fear you.

I embrace you Milord,I thought you knew this part of the tale  thrice upon a time from a land far, far away far from the realm of water in the dingly tingly land that never was.....

What!I bore with the narration expressing my disillionment.

I was saying....As you very well know by now. I was a young chef in this game between us eternal but forever new nightly. A primal struggle for power I offer what I can and have bounty of....to nulify my debt to you.

I the chosen slave to my master. I am who chooses you the slave to this master.

I like you,dwell in shadow,only stepping into the light when wielding the blade.These are the words of truth I've chosen

no other craft above my own.

No craft.

No me.

You My Lord are the blank behind and beneath the shadows.The vacuum that waits at the bottom of every breath.The end, the bottomless pit which denies success, the door with no key.