a jockey having apparently lost his horse

Kanna

I have latterly discovered the joys of fermented foods: sauerkraut, kimchi, kefir. And now, something new has appeared on my ‘if the bushmen of Africa can do it—why can’t I?’ radar screen: Sceletium tortuosum. Let me start at the beginning so that you may try this at home. I realize, parenthetically, that even though designations such as ‘under the bridge’ do not have a physical address or a shiny red mailbox (next to some plasticine effigy of a jockey having apparently lost his horse), they can still be, and I say this in all humility, construed as a home). The seeds are tiny, and can be purchased from any shaman (look in the yellow pages, or, as the director of Sun Haven Sanatorium used to would say to me, the urine soaked pages). The seeds, as tiny as your average star seen from a distance of five to six light-years, will take eight to fourteen days to germinate and require no special treatment, other than using an ingenious device, said to be invented by Leonardo Da Vinci–probably an apocryphal attribution–to keep rodents (the malefic ones) and itinerant neighbors in their ‘dark as Beelzebub’s cellar’ places of residence).

Now that the sowing (Ariadne, tangled in an ungainly mass of threads, interprets this as ‘sewing,’ as she has great difficulty with homophones, for which she spent several years at Sun Haven) is done, we wait. After about one year, we have the plant seen in the photograph (well, not exactly that one, but your own version of it). But what about the fermentation? Yes, I’m getting to that. But I must say that the next part is difficult because one gets attached to plants, particularly those with crystalline leaves and talismanic properties. And since the following is brutal, send the children to their dungeons—as one should always protect those under fifty from life’s barbaric truths.

The plant is deracinated, stomped on, and the pulpy mess is stuffed into a soda bottle, whereupon it is kept at a temperature that makes the dry sands of Dante’s inferno (Seventh Circle, Third Ring) seem cool and delightful. And with all the naked, near-dead bodies lying around (something so attractive about purulent flesh), aren’t you glad you sent the children away (without supper or prepaid wireless)? After a week, the fermented slop is dried in the sun. That was easy. Now it’s your turn. Hope your results are as good as mine. Don’t forget to return in a year to post a comment on your success or failure.

Kanna

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9 Comments

  1. My dear Prospero—Importunate as it may seem to be posting this comment before a year is up, I must tell you that like all good cooks you have—perhaps purposely?—left certain tricks out of your recipe as you pass it along. What, for instance, is the DaVinci device? And just how is the fermented slop served, or used? As a salad? A chewing gum? Snuff?
    Actually, my winter has been too depressing and, as my Scottish Hottentot neighbor (the one with a plasticene riderless horse in his garden) is wont to say: I kanna wait that long. I hear you can get selenium tortuosum in gel caps, via the internet.

    Liked by 2 people

    • Oh, Cynthia!

      Kanna, also known as kougoed (try to make a crafty and punctilious pun with that!–and for this special assignment you may return in a year, if only to coincidentally report on the progress of your lonely, sickly-green twig in an earthenware pot) is to be used in a salad, as a chewing gum, or as snuff. (The illimitable joy of writing a blog purely for entertainment purposes is that facts are almost always the first casualty.)

      Genealogical, you have an interesting neighbor, but how–and more importantly why–a Scottish lad or lass could have been paired with a Hottentot or Hottentotess (or some combination therewith–it’s so hard to know these days) I’ll never truly understand.

      Liked by 2 people

      • L’amour est aveugle. Kougoed? I can’t even pronounce it. (Does the pronunciation require any of those consonantal alveolar clicks some Africans are fond of? ) It will be at least a year before I see anything punny in that one!

        Liked by 1 person

      • “Does the pronunciation require any of those consonantal alveolar clicks some Africans are fond of?” Ask your neighbor.

        Yes, the best puns must gestate, sometimes for years. They, like a fine wine, are best when aged in the sugars and acids of the mind.

        If you think a year is not sufficient for you to work your poetic magic, I am amenable to extensions. Nothing past 20 years though, as there is a limit to everything (except obsessions, naturally).

        Liked by 1 person

      • “Yes, the best puns must gestate, sometimes for years.” – And are known to repeat in an unfortunate manner every now and again I find

        – esme laughing upon the Cloud and due to return to this very piece when she has a moment’s peace

        Liked by 1 person

  2. Okay you got me on this one Prospero – I think I’ll leave the brewing of this delightful concoction in your hands.

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  3. I don’t pretend to understand every nuance, but how delightful to savor each word, each sentence. And you even can make me laugh…

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I’m playing dominoes with my most trusted (you never can truly, madly, deeply, really mind) Shaman – Cyril Skinwalker this very week and so shall have him muster some of those seeds up, and though this is very fortuitous, it’s nowt compared to the fact I have an ingenious device! It’s in the shed. *nods*

    Once successful (*she knows she will be for she is ‘Esme the Successful’) I shall report back to you sir, and send you and Ariadne a jar of the gunk, along with some home-made acorn squash and Black Russian tomato chutney.

    If it tastes like soot and poo it’s going straight in the bin mind you.

    – Esmeralda of Success fame upon the Cloud.

    Liked by 1 person

    • I’ve posted a new picture for Cyril to study.

      Cyril the Successful ought to be able to take it from there.

      Like


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