Full Frontal

Last week as late summer brought Atlanta its first cool delightful mornings I stepped eagerly out the kitchen door toward the garden and into the brightening air. And right through the massive overnight cobweb that had until then filled the doorway. The Gulliverian distress of soft clingy fibrils enveloping face and neck and arms was worsened by suddenly not knowing the location of the giant spider.

I guess that's my culinary rambling for the day. It relates, I suppose, to the kitchen (which in French is "la cuisine"), or at least the kitchen doorway, but somehow it doesn't inspire me to put down a recipe. Only croquembouche might be apt, that pretentious French pyramid of little cream puffs enmeshed in a gossamer of caramelized sugar strands. And that one takes hours, plus it might imply that I, ensnared in sticky strands, was somehow a cream puff. Which I sort of was, flailing around to get the cobwebs off and to get the spider before she could get me. So no recipe for now; I'll have something tasty in the next posting. Meanwhile I feel like I need another shower.