The Elephant and Butter

Here in the quickening chute of autumn, The Elephant and Butter cannot put together paragraphs, so sentences will have to suffice.

Two poets came to visit this weekend, instigating grandiose love and a production line of challah. 

The recipe, famous to us all because it belongs to a wonderful poet friend, calls for 5 lbs. of flour, so I made it with 5 lbs. of flour -- the abundance is sacrosanct, and couldn't be reduced. 

The bearded poet explained to me that challah is technically the name of the small bit of dough taken from the loaf and sacrificed, not the name of the bread, so we took off a small bit of dough and threw it out the window.

There was a great proliferation of bread in the kitchen.

And risotto.

Later, the bearded poet and I took a walking tour of the alleys and other interstitial parts of my town, during which we stared directly into the sun for long periods of time and laughed about it wildly.

The next morning I became the Jorge Luis Borges of chefs by hiding the leftover risotto meal inside a frittata, which we all quickly hid inside our stomachs, the fact of which I am now hiding right here on this blog.