A Bowl of Spinach

I find the weekends that I spend away from the city, and in the little village where I live and work, very relaxing indeed. I have no want of electricity, flowing water, internet, and even World Cup action, which I can catch on an ancient and fuzzy television at the staff pub. Not to mention fresh produce, cheap fruit and more fresh air than anyone can use! The best part of these weekends is the opportunity to try out new recipes, but even better, to dust off old endlessly modified favourites, and this weekend was no exception. On Friday afternoon I bumped into a villager selling fresh spinach and I wasted no time buying myself a bunch, thus setting myself up on a date with some creamy spinach for lunch on Saturday.

Midway through my lazy Saturday, I get up from watching the final season of 'Ugly Betty' (riveting stuff!) and quickly dice the spinach, wash it and stuff it into my biggest saucepan (which is not all that big to begin with). I have some left over rice in the fridge and figure this will go well enough with the spinach and cut cooking time. I cut up some onions and tomatoes and add them to the spinach. In deference to my housemate, I desist from the garlic; she is not even home this weekend but that girl can smell garlic on you one week after you eat it; and since I have been eating liberal amounts of the stuff for a whole week, and given her gracious suffering through the ordeal, I am prompted to go easy on the garlic for a little while.

I grind some black pepper and rock salt over the spinach, and finish with a sprinkling of mixed herbs and a drizzle of olive oil. I plonk the pan on my one burner gas stove, turn down the flame and return to the Ugly Betty. One episode later I return to put the finishing (and essential) touches to the spinach - it usually tastes pretty good without these but I am in the mood to treat myself: out come the cream (a modest dollop mind you) and 'Royco' - a wonderful invention if you ask me: it is a soup thickening agent made up of God-knows-what, and probably a healthy dose of that salty stuff you find in Soy Sauce what's-its'-name. Once things are bubbling away again, I take one of my airtight freezer food-keeping-containers (what are those things called?) and fill it up with some of the spinach, leaving just enough for my lunch. I take the cold rice and, wanting to minimise dirty saucepans, plop it into the spinach that is still simmering on the stove - I know - I am losing the gastronomical plot here but hey - it will all end up in my stomach anyway. The rice proves to be too voluminous for the spinach left in the saucepan so I reach for the one in the food-keeping-container so that I can add some more to the pan but suddenly the stupid container begins to slip out of my hand and a frantic heart-stopping second later the container is face down on the floor!

With a gut wrenching 'NOOOOOO!!!' I dive to save some of the spinach by turning over the container and feverishly picking off the leaves on top and back into the container. 'No, no, no...' I whimper. I subconsciously wonder when my floor was last swept' but block out the answer and step up my efforts by scooping the creamy sauce off the floor with both hands thinking the spinach was hot when it poured so it must have sanitised the floor - ouch, ouch - hot, hot. When I can scoop no more sauce off the floor, I turn to the walls but stop myself in mid-reach; only then does the smell of burning penetrate my awareness. I pick the container of rescued spinach off the floor and spin towards the stove, knock off the cover with my bare hands and pour some more spinach into the rice, vigorously scraping the sides and bottom of the pan to dislodge the sticking rice. I cover the pan and turn back to the carnage to survey the damage.

Spinach is clinging to the wall and to the curtain hanging over the door that leads out of the kitchen into the backyard. There are smears of sauce on the door itself, and splotches of sauce and spinach on my trouser bottoms and on my leather sandals. I hold up my hands and seeing the layer of sauce on them, briefly consider flicking my fingers dry into the rescued sauce but abandon the idea. I take myself to the sink and wash my hands, then take a kitchen cloth and wipe down the wall and door, all the while inwardly mourning my creamed spinach - that stuff is seriously delicious.

I take my warmed rice & spinach mixture (or gunk, if I am honest) off the stove and pile it, steaming, into my soup bowl, and kicking off my soiled sandals climb back up on my bed and resume watching 'Ugly Betty'. I take a moment to reflect over what I would normally consider mad, unhygienic behaviour and feel not the least bit of concern - if you had ever tasted that spinach, or if you could have smelled it as it cooked, you would have done the same.

So: I watch my show, and sure I occasionally bite on some grit, but I still enjoy my spinach very much :-)