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Friday, May 14, 2004

The last time I blogged I was thinking about rice pudding, in anticipation of the next Is My Blog Burning event ( recipe to be posted May 23rd).   It’s funny.  You can go around for years thinking about rice pudding, without running into a single literary reference, and then precisely the same day you blog on the topic, you run into a salacious paragraph about it later in the day.  If these days I’m thinking of rice pudding as pure diabetes in a bowl, one of my favorite Latin American writers, Isabel Allende, has made me think that I have forgotten the point altogether.   From Aphrodite: A Memoir of the Senses (translated by Margaret Sayers Peden)   One January night in 1996 I dreamed that I jumped into a swimming pool filled with rice pudding. . .where I swam with the grace of a porpoise.  It’s my favorite dessert—rice pudding, that is, not porpoise.  I love it so much that in 1991, in a restaurant in Madrid, I ordered four servings, and then a fifth for dessert.  I ate them down without blinking, with the vague hope that the nostalgic dessert from my childhood would help me bear the anguish of seeing my daughter so ill.  Neither my soul nor my daughter improved, but rice pudding remains associated in my memory with spiritual comfort.  There was nothing, however, elevating about the dream:  I dived in, and that delicious creaminess caressed my skin, slipped into all the crevices of my body, filled my mouth.  I awoke feeling happy and threw myself on my husband before the poor man realized what was happening to him.  The next week I dreamed I was arranging a naked Antonio Banderas on a Mexican tortilla. .  .   comment []10:38:29 PM

© Copyright 2004 L. L. Adams. Last update: 6/1/2004; 11:14:43 PM.