Try as I might, I can't string a handful of sentences together without the line looking like it was painted in tempura.

I guess, I will write about work and that will be okay for now.

Tuesday in the kitchen are glazes and sauces, Wednesday will be cakes, pastry and event production.

I stand over my blackberry plum compote and it takes on the color of a serious bruise. The aroma lifts its head to me, one of my indications of how close we are to the end of the path, and I catch the smell of something sweet, herbaceous and something like a subtle poison.

I attribute this to the tannins from the plum skins or perhaps the red wine.

There will be a touch of lemon to brighten the sauce, but it will remain wild.