Aubergine, you have been my nemesis, my bette noir.

I can not fry you properly, aubergine, but it’s all that I want to do.

I dont like ovens.

I don’t like grills.

I don’t want to leave you alone, out of my sight.

I want to be able to touch you myself at any time.

I can’t trust you with the oven.

Who knows what you’ll be like when you come out?

Unrecognisable, and all the secrets of your cooking hidden from me.

Your secrets hidden inside your flesh, not visible on your skin.

I’d only find them by eating you, but then it’s too late and you’d be gone.

I want to control you as you transform.

But you’re impossible. You’re always too thirsty, you stay dry for so long, you threaten to burn, you soak up disgusting amounts of oil.

And then all of a sudden your watery insides break down and you go wet like a leaf.

By then you’ve already drunk so much oil, you taste slimy like a fish and chips wrapper.

Raw, you’re the most promising looking vegetable in the fridge,

With the beauty of a fruit, your skin like polished black granite,

You seem soft to touch but your flesh has tricked me time and again,

Self contained with your own irrigation system.

You remain independent, and I am so thirsty.


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