Browse Nourish Stories by Keyword

A Blessed Afternoon Tea

Maggie Mackay

The table is set, clothed in embroidered white doves
and matching napkins. There are silver pastry forks
beside bright Royal Albert plates, three places,
my mother not quite sure where she should sit.
The room fills with scents of dried fruit,
Ruth and Miriam’s familiar sweets,
and home-made raspberry jam’s modern sweet,
wafts of white sugar and farm butter.

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A Feast of Marzipan

Tim Sinclair

A grey-haired man pauses in the kitchen doorway. He is lost in wonder as he looks across the room to the two ovens, enamelled in a cooling duck-egg blue. The pale colouring contrasts dramatically with the black of the cooker top and the polished steel of the hotplate lid. It is no larger than any standard cooker, but this is cast-iron and it's a new design. It stands serene beside drab kitchen cupboards and the ubiquitous white fridge. It is a marvel.

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Baked Gold

Hendrika Wilhelmina Psaila

The oven, the smell of firewood.
Window open looking through.
Almonds crushed, slightly roasted, grounded and mixed with egg white.
The yolk as a fallen sun left aside.
Pastry of flour, butter, sugar and a hind of lemon rind.
Kneading in love, the texture soft between fingers.
Shapes as individuals lying on the baking tray.
Slightly brushed with yolk for the finishing touch.
Heat as the door opens gone as the chemistry unfolds behind a closed door.
Time, a moment of wait a moment of thought.

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Keywords: 
Poem, baking, home cooking

Biscuits at Dawn

When we were growing up, we loved staying at my grandma and papa's house. For that night, my sister and I would soak up their attention, away from our noisy elder brothers. By day, we would run circles round the garden, which went all the way around the house so it seemed to go on forever.

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Bridie

Kevin Addies

I jumped off the bus at Kirkcaldy and straight into the bakers to get a couple of steak bridies. Even in the rain, I wasn’t caring as I did the Scottish version of al fresco dining - eating hastily on the hoof - biting into the first bridie, savouring every fibre, every molecule of the meaty pastry perfection. I paused for breath and that small second was all it took for a seagull to swoop straight in and swipe the bridie right out of my hand. It was so deft I barely saw it happen and the next thing I knew there was the said gull across the street, tearing into the remains of my bridie.

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Cake and Family

Whenever someone needs to know I care, I reach for the mixing bowl.

If you’ve had a scary diagnosis: it’s brownies, made with Muscovado sugar and a negligible amount of flour.

If you need donations for your fundraiser? Chocolate chip cookies. With golden syrup dripped in for a crystallised chewiness.

If it’s your birthday: of course, I’ll make you some cake. You get to choose. Lemon Drizzle? Marbled? Chocolate?

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Cake Bribe

Daniel Brady

A note from the Author:

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Crazy Muffins

Audrey Biscotti

Such anticipation in the rising of the goo
They watch the best show in town
Two small girls’ hands on knees bend down to watch their alchemy
Mouths water at the magic medicine evolving
What a hoot
Mustard and marmalade
Olive and strawberry lace
Caper and choc chunk chip
Little legs on dragged chairs
Small arms search the back of cupboards
Fingertips finding treasure
Lonely forgotten candied pineapple and pickled walnuts
Those hard to find ingredients searched out again
Disgusting glee abounds at the witchcraft

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Keywords: 
Poem, baking

Croissants for Breakfast

Rosalind Newton

Lucy was thrilled that on Christmas morning she was not alone; this the first festive season since her mother's death.
She busied herself in the kitchen - the croissants were heating in the oven and she fished out from the back of the cupboard the French apricot jam which Mark liked. The aroma of coffee from the cafetiere smelled good.
“Wake up Mark! Breakfast's ready.”
Lucy laid out his three Christmas presents on the kitchen table. Each was gift-wrapped in gold paper and tied with a matching ribbon.
Mark appeared, his auburn hair tousled from sleep.

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Finger Food

Sam Elder Gates

His final year: not the best time to switch teachers. And it looked as if he had little in common with the new appointment, an Italian pianist who sounded ancient; there were three of his recordings in the college library – all Beethoven, all on 78rpm. And this was 1970!

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Keywords: 
baking, bread

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