Tonight's Poet Corner: Vegetable Oil
Vegetable Oil by Belinda Roddie People play a big part in washing the soul with quietly dying meats and X-ray looks into a pot of rice, a leg of chicken, a yellow-spotted liver just sizzling and waiting to be greased. The zest of a high-class meal does not taste as good as the meltdown of the angry man who cooks it in the kitchen. Unless the angry man is a father or brother who serves the head of the vicar or the priest with relish and a cooling spot of toxic fury. Cooking is a welcoming but absolutely desperate form of science - the mixing and yolking of eye whites with the need to entice or invent before the food is even tried. Zeke the chef makes lamb no differently than Franky the farmer, who pulls up carrots with aggressive hands and more aggressive heart. Go beyond the kitchen and you will find sad boys and girls crying over too much salt. Have yourself a slice of cake bought from a store. Call it storebought, but it was made by someone, iced and fros