So what’s in the pot? A black murky pond of liquid, beneath its impeniterable surface lies my dinner. As I plunge the spoon into its depths I pull forth the riches my wife has created. Black turtle beans, soaked and then slow cooked over a low heat till they are as tender as boiled corn. Bits of irregularly cut carrot, now purple from the long immersion in the broth. Absorbing the flavour of the beans and what ever mysterious spices Luz has added to the mix. Tendrils of onion peak out, again infused with the spice laden broth from the beans.
This is no quivering white virgin bound to an obstinion altar, offering to a dark God. It is a dark offering of nutritious bounty, lovingly placed on a white altar of steamed rice, an offering to this mere mortal, who, with its sacrifice is given entry to the heavens of carnal delight. I adorn this alter with my own offering of black sesame seeds like a garland of flowers around its base.
Somehow Luz can magically transform beans into a masterpiece of flavour delight that never ceases to amaze me, I can eat plate after plate of this dinning paradise without pause. Somehow these simple foods touch some lonely unfulfilled part of me and cocoon it in what can only be discribed as love.
Not a sexual or desperate love, but a gentle encouraging love, that only a motherly hug, or cuddling pet can impart. That warm fuzzy feeling of safety and contentment is somehow injected into each soft bean to be consumed like tiny happy pills by the forkful.
I don’t know how she does it, her witchcraft is a mystery, but I am happily under her spell.