Sushi Thoughts

I have been having a bad few days; therefore, I have been craving sushi and lapsang souchoung tea. Courtesy of last weekend's expedition to Wallace & Gromit: Curse of the Were-Rabbit with gaudior, rushthatspeaks, and nineweaving--a delightful thing--I have possessed the latter for upwards of a week.

Burnt leaves ghost offerings
Still under glazed mound dust hands
hold cup. No tea comes.

Not, so far, the former.
There is takeout sushi at the cafeteria at work. I eyed it, but I'm not a huge fan of utterly standard sushi fare (california rolls, I feel, are only good when consumed in summer or at Aoi), and though I know that the place that made the sushi is by the fish-market, I don't know how long it took to get from the market to the counter, or how well the truck was refrigerated. And it's pricey, so I've been staying away.

But I attempted something like it. Mango on tuna, wrapped in seaweed, is very decent indeed.
Though it needed tuna that wasn't from a can--something drier, firmer, overall of a better grade--and wouldn't be good with oily fish like eel.

[A note to the uninformed: I cook sporadically and experimentally. Most of the dishes I cook this way are passable, though they would be good with more tweaking (apricot chicken in yogurt sauce). I am proud of the fact that I make quite good soups by putting all the leftovers fit to cook in a crock pot, stirring and adding pepper. A few times--vegetarian borscht ("meat is for the Tsar!"), grilled oshinko (Japanese pickled vegetables), halved red grapes with ground black pepper--the results have been outstanding. This is what happens when one cooks by one's nose: "Does this smell good when I wave it next to this?"]

So, mango and tuna. Something definitely to try again.

Slow Orrery

Hickory Dickory Dock.

This reads like something from a dream, or that novel I haven't written yet, or visions of saints.