Wednesday, 7 March 2012

Pineapple upside-down cake

First prepare your pineapple.  With a sharp knife slice down the sides to remove the peel ensuring that you remove only the peel that exists and none that does not.  Decapitate.  Defundamentitate.  But do not capitulate.
The pineapple is now undressed and exposed to the world in its dripping sweetness.  Do not let its liquor intoxicate you, but recognise it for the yellow lump it is and understand that the sweetness is only the ephemera of pleasure taken now instead of the sustenance of pleasure delayed.

Slice the pineapple thickly and remove the woody core from each slice.  Layer the slices into a cake tin.
Question each slice as it is revealed by the action of the knife.  Ask it if it truly deserves to be here, demand that it assert its very essence.  Sweet, yellow, essence, with just a hint of decadence about it.  If such a thing exists.

Place the tin to one side, but do not take your eyes off it.
Things that are not observed may cease to be.  If a pineapple falls in the jungle, does it still exist in the moment of agony before it strikes the ground?  If the cake-tin is not watched, does it disappear, slowly fading away until the pineapple once more falls to the floor?

Combine a soul's ache of flour with a disproportionate pain of sugar and sufficient butter to ease the agony.  Mix violently until your spirit knows surcease.
The result will be soft and creamy and cakey and will make the suffering worthwhile.  As all suffering validates existence.

Add eggs until the hen cries.  Fish the shells back out again.
The shells should be discarded into the void.  Do not watch them, for what observes the void may be observed by the void in turn, and the shells will be thrown back.

Salt with enthusiasm but discretion.  If it would kill a slug, it will drain the vitality from life.
I have known slugs....

Tip the batter into the cake tin and heat with the ferocity of your passion and the vibrancy of your lust.  When the cake turns golden-brown with embarassment it is done.
The necessity of the oven is inversely proportional to the passion of your belief.

Invert, pervert.

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