Category Archives: Hchom

My apartment is cold, and what I want more than anything in the world, right now, is a onesie made with panels of magical self-heating fabric. I would never take it off: not in the shower, not when I journey into the outside world to hunt for rations, not for the nocturnal mating call of my lovelorn man-friend, not ever.

I’m sure the heated sections could be placed more helpfully, but I guess I was going for an aesthetically pleasing effect. I realized only afterwards that I gave it a heated crotch. Ahem.

My sister, being generally a model of sisterly perfection, sent me a package of tasty things from Lancaster, where she’s been staying this last month. Best sister ever.

From the Whole Foods hot bar. As called by Claire, a trough. Looks like not that much in the photo, somehow, but I assure you it was enough to bankrupt me for the week, and it feels like a tidy little basketball, now, in my stomach.

I happen to know, puny mortal, where chantarelles grow wild and unnoticed. My mother brought me the single one she had found this weekend, because she is a goddess of mercy and abundance.

Greatest food in the world. Especially with eggs, other greatest food in the world.

I’m at my aunt and uncle’s place on Bowen Island for a week, taking care of these bad babies.

They have all this food growing in their yard (that is, my aunt and uncle do). I’ve just been wandering around all day stuffing my face. The best are the plums, but even the lettuce tastes ridiculously good. I so hear you, flopsy bunnies. I so hear you.

These weren’t grown here, but apparently they’re some kind of weird, prickly cucumber.

Oh man. My sister made the best pie ever created by the smooth and practiced hands of man or woman. I ate about two thirds of it, all in one day. I wish my sister was a souless kitchen drudge who lived in my closet, and baked me things constantly. Like in the Dark Crystal, that machine that sucks out the life from the darling innocent puppet people, leaving them haggard willing slaves. I want that to happen to my sister.

I also had a store-bought cornish pastie, just to roll onward with the pastry theme of my life, but it tasted like dust by comparison.

I bought champagne grapes, on a whim. Best idea ever.
Dessert and breakfast.

The view outside my window last night was so thrilling, I kept having to stop my work in order to gape at it.

Crackly summer storm turned the sky increasingly impossible shades of orange.

I bought a selection of tasty things, for my last, desperate week of lettering and formatting Beast. Also eggs. Eggs are the best thinking food.

Jewelled grape bread. Which made me want to examine my hoards of shiny things.

A lot of these are random bits of glittering plastic I’ve picked up off the street. People are so careless with their shinies, these days.

My attempt to make something elaborately and ceremoniously tasty with things I had on hand ended with yogurt and honey and chopped pistachios. I’m in the middle of a yogurt fixation. But really, what I want to do more than anything is get chauffered to some distant and magical pasty shop, like maybe this one, in North Vancouver, so I can buy some expensive tiny pastry succubus that will bankrupt me entirely, and yet wrap me all up in its sweet-scented buttery thrall.

A mysterious person of ill repute left a lizard on the edge of my easel.

It is unreasonably hot, today. It feels like I’m living inside my dog’s steamy dog mouth. It’s grinding to a halt all my plans for getting work done, and more importantly, my plans for guiltily shirking work in order to go in search of tasty things to eat, and tasty books to read, along with.