gemtactics : a journal

It's January. Seven days into it, it hits me.

I wonder if recipes can be copyrighted. Today I blithely copied one and sent it to my sister, unattributed. They have a less rigid existence than some other forms of writing.

Recipes are transformational. They can be made. I think they are superior to poems in this way. A poem can never get so close to reality.

I know my way around my kitchen. The floor supports me. I collaborate with the appliances.

I rescued the barley. It had congealed into a nasty grey glob, neglected in the crockpot. Here's how: I scooped up two or three chunks of it and stirred it gently into vegetable broth. To cure its blandness, I added mushrooms sauteed with garlic and butter, salt, and touch of sherry. Edibility! This would never work as a recipe because it starts with failure.

I stripped an orange of its natural skin and then I couldn't eat it. I tried to save it in a plastic bag, poor substitute.

My son wanted to know why we didn't name the dog "Gustave."

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	January 7, 2001

	It's January. Seven days into it, it hits me. I wonder if recipes can be copyrighted. Today I blithely copied one and sent it to my sister, unattributed. They have a less rigid existence than some other forms of writing. Recipes are transformational. They can be made. I think they are superior to poems in this way. A poem can never get so close to reality. I know my way around my kitchen. The floor supports me. I collaborate with the appliances. I rescued the barley. It had congealed into a nasty grey glob, neglected in the crockpot. Here's how: I scooped up two or three chunks of it and stirred it gently into vegetable broth. To cure its blandness, I added mushrooms sauteed with garlic and butter, salt, and touch of sherry. Edibility! This would never work as a recipe because it starts with failure. I stripped an orange of its natural skin and then I couldn't eat it. I tried to save it in a plastic bag, poor substitute. My son wanted to know why we didn't name the dog "Gustave."