Rain. A beautiful concept, one which brings about thoughts of refreshing, cleansing, petrichor, mingled scents of grass, water and earth. Certainly, it’s a beautiful thing, rain. One which transforms the landscape outside to smears of blurred landscape. Yes, it’s mesmerizing, it’s magical, rain.
But only when one is indoors.
Yesterday, the clouds were grey, muggy masses looming overhead, as they always say, threatening to crack like eggs and spill their contents. And they did.
The first drops hit the bus, splattering upon impact then streaming as the wind chased them backwards. I groan inwardly.
The past few days have been rainy ones. Ones where my skirt has been soaked stiff and reduced to a chattering ball. But somehow, with some strange logic of mine, it's worth it. Worth seeing the individual droplets. Worth seeing an entire sheet of water against the window. -
The frequency of the drops increase as I hasten my footsteps. I break into a jog. The drops fall more rapidly. Yes, it’s unpredictable, rain.
I slow to a walk. Surprised, aren’t you? There’s little point, really, in rushing any longer. There’s little point in slipping on pavement slick with water.
For once in ages, I bask in rain. Like it, I am effervescent, I am euphoric, treading light steps, doing a twirl, uncaring if anyone were to smirk or smile.
There’s a reason why rain always crackles as it shatters on the ground in splurts and splatters. Acute stabs against skin, stinging of the eyes and other orifices. Pinpricks of wetness. Yes, it’s beautiful, beautiful and painful, rain.
I step in, drenched and dripping, shoes squelching, hair slick with rain. The clouds are soon gone, the puddles seeming evanesce. Rain, an enchantingly ethereal experience.
A week ago, when the rain began pelting down and running down my nape was rivulets of droplets, I decided to seek shelter in the bakery opposite my house. I stepped in to the warm fragrance of soups, pastries and breads, along with the chatter of people talking animatedly. My glasses, however, were too badly fogged to discern what those who produced the chatter looked like. As such, I trusted my instincts and went for the racks holding freshly baked delights. What my tongs reached for was a Danish - a lemongrass almond Danish. The rain had reduced to a slight drizzle by then (see how fickle it is?), so I walked home taking occasional bites, warm pastry in hand and crumbs lining my mouth. It was a good pastry, that.
But the title of this post is not 'Walking home With Warm pastry'. No, it's about bostock, which is fortunately, not some kind of stocking, nor something drenched in stock. No, it's toast. Toast that's like rain, which crackles and crisps. However, unlike rain, it's good, solid stuff that nourishes the mind and fuels the body. It's good, toast, with a solid crust and firm crumb.
So here, I've got toast, with a good, relatively-stiff covering of cream and almonds
Lemongrass Bostock Toast
makes 2 slices
2 slices bread
1/2 c water
2 tbsp. maple syrup
1 tsp lemongrass leaves
1/4 c greek yogurt (or soy/coconut for vegans)
2 tbsp. almond meal
1/2 tsp almond extract; optional
1 tsp maple syrup
pinch of salt
1.5 tbsp. almond silvers
1.5 tbsp. pomegranate arils
1 tbsp. the hunters' kitchenette almond butter
1. Bring the half cup of water to a boil with lemongrass leaves and 2 tbsp. maple syrup.
2. Peel your oranges and add the segments to the boiling water. Let it boil over medium-low heat for 5-10 mins.
3. Preheat oven to 170c and grease a plate. Set aside.
4. Soak your toast in the orange 'syrup' until absorbed.
5. Mix yogurt, almond meal, maple syrup, almond extract (if using) and salt.
6. Slather mixture over toast and bake for 20 mins. Add the almonds on the toast on the fifteenth minute mark.
7. Drizzle on almond butter and pomegranate arils. Serve and enjoy.
- to be continued -