tonight we are making chili. it is brooding on the stovetop, waiting for dinner. yesterday was the laying-in of chili supplies. we went to
el inka (tu tienda latina), which is astonishingly in the whitest of suburbs, to purchase dried chiles.
at el inka we bought these types of chile: guajillo. �rbol. pasilla. chipotle (seco). chipotle (en adobo). ancho. pequ�n.
we came home & put all the chiles into jars or ziptop bags. at night i dreamt that my hands were covered in chile oil, that i gave myself burnt lips & nosebleeds from touching my face, that i cried from the incessant heat of my dangerous hands. in the night i woke & clamped my hands together, on top of the blankets, in case my wanton subconscious got any ideas about my chile'd hands & further places they might rove.
(when i woke i took a shower & after the shower i noticed there was, yes, a tiny bit of blood under my nose.)
i think the chile pequ�n is one of the most gorgeous things in my kitchen right now. i want to put it in my cocoa.
(also we saw frida last night. the first fifteen minutes i shivered every time someone said "bus." when she got onto the trolley i shook & shook. by the time the crash came i was flailing in my seat. i scoff at biography but i know it's all bravado, it's all because i am totally affected, i am flailing in my seat when the crash comes, i am not distant enough.)
