# ~Pottàge du Pauvres~

2020/05/26, made this night.  This uninspired concretion of ingredients somehow begs to be reported.  It is edible; as far as I know it is a novel preparation.  Thus it may enable others to dig into the bowels of their pantry to remedy languishing cans.

## ~Ingredients~

```
1   Yellow Onion
1-2 Kosher Dill Pickle
1   Can of Chickpeas
Spices: black pepper, garlic, Italian herbs, yellow curry
Sauces: olive oil, soy sauce
```

## ~Procedure~

Chop up that onion into a small pot.  Hims will make you cry.  Don’t take it stoically.  Onions are a universal invitation to depth of feeling.  Pour your anxiety and abandon into it; really dig deep.

Likewise the cucumber pickle.  Between the sting of onion on the eyes and the sour of the pickle on the nose, you may be in for some real tides of emotion.  Make friends with the food.  They are not your enemies.  They are here for you.  Soon they shall become one with you.  These vegetables tell the truth to you in a way no human can.  The pickles bend to your blade of cruelty and whisper, “Hush, hush...  It will be alright.  Just not today.  No, not today.”

Open the can of chickpeas.  Drain by keeping the lid on with a tab.  Glug, glug, down the drain.  The juice is a banal waste.  It runs so easily, just like the frail love of man.  Set the can aside.

Pour the oil and soya upon the onions.  A good drenching now, none of this “health conscious” mincing about.  Toss in a good dose of herbs and spices on top as you fire the heat up.  You’re using real flame aren’t you?  Good.  By now your tears may be drying.  And the pungent aromas will summon up days long gone, joys never to be seen again.  And just beyond one’s conscience apprehension, the dreadful regrets.  You know the reason those halcyon days will not return is you.  There again, make friends with the food.  “It’s alright,” bubble the onions, “we won’t hold it against you”.

When the onions have caramelized and the pickles have exuded their juices into steam, the oil will thicken on the pot.  Stir briskly now.  It’s time to let out your frustrations a shade.  As you do with one hand, pour in the chickpeas with the other.  You may be tempted to remove the dish as the chickpeas cool down the bowl.  Resist that.  The chickpeas are obstinate and want for punishment.  This is a good occasion to meditate on how we externalize our pain by interpellating others.  Get those chick peas scortched as you can, lathered in olive oil.  When they begin to squeal in agony, they are ready to become one with you.

Serve hot on bread or rice.  Drink unfiltered tap water on principle; its bleak tang will teach you your place in the world.

 -EOF-
.