|11:23 pm - The coldness of the Monday|
It's November cold and grey, but the inexorable allergy cough has begun in earnest- not just me, but several of our toddlers as well. At least I can have cough drops.
My mother used to make a dish of green beans and green onions fried in butter that was delicious. I could duplicate it handily in the early 80s, but lost the knack somehow when I was in Japan. Managed a good facsimile today, quite by accident. The secret seems to be to use fresh beans, not frozen- even if my mother used frozen. Also started by frying mushrooms first and then adding the green onions, which may have helped.
The western Goodreads commenters are right. Nothing happens in The Famished Road but it happens over and over again. Maybe it's meant to reflect the timeless feel of childhood? It's My Life in the Bush of Ghosts, which had no plot either, intercut with Soyinka's The Interpreters. Then again, I'm missing all the cultural referents, because the African commenters are blown away- 'My mother used to tell me these stories!'