Stewing

Yesterday was National Braai Day. I should be making my awesome potato salad. Or researching salsas for wors. Hell. I'm a coocoocook. I should be MAKING the flippen wors. But I don't want to. I'm stewing.

What I had to do this week was horrible. It was good it was right but it was horrible. What I have to feel after this week is good. But I don't. I'm not sure what I feel. It's stewy - a whole bunch of hodgepodge feelings all mixed up together. 

(Some kind of spin on atchar would be good. Lots of chilli of course. Not too chunky or it won't stick to the wors. Of course I'll have to bake bread. Maybe I'll try that one with the roast fennel inside. Depends on what you're braaing of course, pork is more peppadewy than fennelly.)

But I'm not making braai side dishes. I'm making a stew. Not even a happy stew but a sad, confused, angry stew. And I don't even want to make it. Who put ME in charge of the bloody stew anyway? Why couldn't all the other people make the stew? Why did I have to be the one to do the horrible deed while everyone just stood and watched?

So I'm stewing. I'm stewing. I made what in theory should be a perfect stew but it oozed and wilted and tasted bland and bitter. I'm so stewing I can't cook.

And THAT, people, in my world, is a sign of a broken heart.

xx
J