Three parts of water and oil
And one part of yellow grits
Salt and twenty minutes on the stove.
You don't have grits, throw in rice.
You don't have cornedbeef, throw in hamburguer
Or merguez mutton sausages. Or mix them both !
The secret ingredient of Scheharazade's Island Kitchen's Fire Engine is love.
She harbours in her smile
That grin of the kind of instant wild grits
Boiling for immediate bubbling,
Waters exploding from the ***,
Swelling, flowing, bursting,
Simmering until the point of bliss is reached.
And from an imperceptible move in her nostrils
You can guess the bulls in her cornedbeef mew the thyme of Heaven.
Her love is the kind of consistant batter
Blessed with okra, pumpkin and goat pepper.
— The End —