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Friday, December 19, 2014

The Kafka Cookbook

It was late in the evening when K. began to prepare the evening meal.  Outside, the city was deep in snow, veiled in mist and darkness. The kitchen, by comparison, could be described as well-lit though illuminated by a single lamp; it was a glimmer of light against the emptiness of night.

Into two cups of water he added chopped onions, pepper, mushrooms, and crisp leafy kale that he’d bought from the neighborhood market as he returned from the Land Surveyor’s office.  He poured in a measure of beef broth and lemon juice and waited for it to boil.

Suddenly he was aware of a great muttering in the other room.  The gentlemen gathered there had waited in silence for several hours for him to return, but his long delay angered them. “He’s wasted his time, and ours, by pursuing this Land Surveyor,” a stern voice croaked.  Mumbled assents followed from others. 

K. wondered if they knew that he’d overheard them.  “Do they know that I am here?  Should I explain all that I have achieved?” he asked himself.  K. added a pinch of salt to the bubbling broth.

I saw this book last night and was sad that it wasn’t Franz Kafka, decided I had to write it up for myself…Then after I was finished I discovered Kafka's Soup

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Muted Hosannas Muted Hosannas
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