TRANSCRIPT - Episode 234: Kitchen Witch

May 29th, 2023

Kristen Zaza

[Eerie theme music plays]

[Your Narrator:]

[a little meow; a cat]

Hey, buddy. Hello buddy. Oh, did you miss me? Hello hello. How is my good boy? Ooh, I missed you too.

Give me a moment, bud. I gotcha. I got your dinner coming. Just a minute buddy.

Hell of a day. But I'm home now.

The place is a mess. We're moving soon. Everything's in chaos. And I'm behind. I've been working a lot, it's been hard to pack. But it will happen. It's all right. It will all happen.

But tonight, I just want to have some soup.

[The sound of cat food going into a bowl. Cat meows.]

There you go. Some dinner for my best guy.

I'm going to get started on mine, too.

Maybe a little music...

[Some music. A slow ballad, folksy, modern. Piano, bass, voice, wordless.]

Little olive oil in the pan.

Let that heat up a bit.

Now, just going to chop up an onion. Slice it lengthwise. Then through the centre. Then slice in the opposite direction. Perfect little chunks. Right pal? [Meow]

Throw those in and let them start cooking gently.

Going to wash up some mushrooms. Dry them off. Cut them, not too small.

Throw those in, too. With a little salt.

This is one of my favourite parts.

Grabbing some garlic bulbs

Smashing them down the flat side of a big big knife, crushing them

then slice slice slice very gently and finely

And in that goes, too.

It's not really something I think about much anymore

No matter what I'm cooking, it becomes a pattern; something I've done lots and lots of times before, something I will do time and time again

And it seems banal, it seems like it should be a chore, but it's not

It takes my full attention. And I think about what I want to eat

I want to eat strength and patience

I want to eat power and surrender

I want to eat joy and love

I want to absorb those things

I want to be what I eat

They say that's the case, do they not?

If so, then let me imbue each little mushroom, garlic bulb, grain of salt, with lovely little ideals.

Huh, that's strange.

It was still light out just a moment ago, I could tell from the balcony

Now it's...

well, it's not dark

It's just

kind of purple, out there.

Raining?

No, that's not rain.

I wonder what it is?

Oh well.

I haven't thought about what should go in the pot next.

What kind of soup is this?

I just wanted soup; I didn't plan it ahead.

I think, a little grain. Rice, quinoa, something like that. Yes, that sounds good.

Rinse it,

toast it up a bit first,

Hear the crackling in the pan, let the mushroom and garlic soak into it a little

You have to let it take its time

There's someone on the balcony.

But I think you knew that.

I did, too.

It doesn't really phase me anymore.

I see the shape standing there.

The door is unlocked and he knows it.

It's just kind of crowded here with moving boxes and loose pages of sheet music and suitcases and half-finished bottles and a broken guitar and old winter boots and books I can't bear to throw away

There's a lot in here. Much of it will be let go of. Some of it will come with me.

But it doesn't leave a lot of room for beloved ghouls, I will say that.

He knows he can come in if he wants to.

You know you can come in if you want to, right?

I think so...

I kind of wish he would.

Oh well.

Here we are and here we go.

There is a communion of tiny golden specks in the air

Which I appreciate because for some reason the lights have become quite dim

They don't normally do that, and with the purple sky outside, raining golden sleet from above, the steady throbbing of the golden light hovering within the air is most welcome.

Outside, it's falling to the ground and then rising from it, as though it were boiling hot or acidic, so that when it hits the ground, a sort of mist, a sort of steam rises from the earth

I think that's what I'm seeing all around me - just specks of it here and there - like spores

But these golden molecules just hang in the air

Like heat

A little more dense around me and my cooking because, well, me and my cooking both produce heat

Some hang around the cat too, for he's a warm little thing

He just sneezes and swats at them a little before going to rest on the couch.

All right, I think everything's sauteed long enough.

I'm going to throw in a splash of white wine; let the grains and veggies soak that up a little, pull the flavour up from the bottom of the pan.

The steam that comes up smells delightful and strange and a little sharp, from the burning wine

I see little gold particles dancing, skittering about the kitchen when I do it, excited, combative, confused, who knows.

Shhh, it's all right.

Just a little cooking wine.

I put in a little stock and mix it all gently.

Clockwise.

Slowly.

And a whirlpool forms that I can't take my eyes off of

The soup has a golden colour too. It's almost hypnotic.

As it swirls and swirls and swirls, I am made to think of a castle

A castle with wonderful, lovely, horrible, mysterious and unknowable things within it.

I wonder what the kitchen is like, in that castle?

It must be an enormous and magical place

Not like this place.

Just normal.

Unremarkable.

Stove. Soup pot. Fridge. Toaster. Bottles. Herbs. Salt. Pepper. The usual.

I have all that I need in here, though

To create something

That will feed me

That will feed me...strength and patience

power and surrender

joy and love

And I am very grateful for that.

I love this song.

Who wrote it?

I wonder.

It's quite long, isn't it?

That's nice.

I like chanting the same thing over and over again

It brings me a kind of peace. Gives my brain something to chew on mindlessly, and my heart something to sing about mindfully.

As I stir the soup and feel the chant working its will in my mind and heart

I think about the things I want to eat

Strength and patience

Power and Surrender

Joy and Love

More and more golden mist has gathered around me and this pot

I will leave this place soon

And though I love it dearly, I know I will be taking everything that's important with me

I am grateful for that

I desire that the leaving the old and arriving to the new goes well, so I sprinkle in a little dried basil

I desire that I can stay healthy and strong enough to make the going go well too, so I add a bay leaf

I desire that I can remember joy and sunlight and brightness in times of stress, so I squeeze the juice of a lemon in

I desire times of rest and rejuvenation throughout this process, so I pull the leaves off a stick of thyme and drop them in too.

And always in the back of my mind as I drop in, stir, drop in, stir, drop in stir, is the idea that while I desire these things what i desire most is to remember always that I need not desire anything for I have it all here

In this pot

In these ingredients

In my hands

In my heart

The spell happens and yet I am not performing it for deep down and truly, I just am

And that's magic enough.

Is that why you're here?

I ask it to the particles hanging about me, the golden fog around me and my lovely soup

Or are you just everywhere?

[An odd, high-pitched voice]

"I see them too. Not always. But right now."

Did you say something?

"Yes, I did. Now, I'm going back to sleep."

That was the cat. His name is Vincent but I call him buddy. He doesn't usually talk, that's strange.

But this is all a little strange, I think. Maybe.

"Oh, and would you do something about these guests? I don't know whether or not I like them yet."

I glance at him on the couch from the kitchen, and for just a moment, just a millisecond, as though seen only in a glimpse during a flash of lightning, I see the silhouettes of three winged things. One standing behind the couch Vincent sleeps on. One sitting on the adjacent one. And another by the window, staring out at the figure who is still on the balcony.

But it's like I only saw them briefly, as though in the middle of a blink. They're gone. I couldn't tell what they were holding or what they looked like. but it's all right. I know who they are. Were. They appear to be gone, but who knows if they are, really.

Though the sight of the one on the balcony remains. He remains there, as he always will. Sweetheart.

I turn back to the pot of soup

Watch it boiling and roiling and churning and swirling

And with it I see it all evaporate

Worry, control, despair, fear, desire, need, power, magic, grasping, grabbing, wanting, designing,

I remember suddenly there's a little spinach in the fridge. I go and grab it, and when I open the fridge there is a woman in there, she is beautiful and strange and fearsome and dark and she smiles with such mischief that I know she is Chaos, she could break the fridge, set the stove on fire, cut the power out, burst the pipes, make me become ill and miss work, overwork me so I miss family, she could ruin it all with a snap of her fingers

I would love her either way

Maybe that's why she just hands me the spinach, for now.

Her breath fogs in the cold of the fridge, and she closes the door for me.

I think about opening the fridge again to check if she's still there, but I better not, she let me leave unscathed this time.

So I just add the spinach to the soup.

Meanwhile, my phone is sitting on the toaster, playing the same music it's been playing this whole time,

and the screen is lighting up with text messages, e-mails, tweets, all saying one phrase:

"ARE YOU THERE?"

Over and over and over:

[Overlapping]: "ARE YOU THERE?" "ARE YOU THERE?" "ARE YOU THERE?" "ARE YOU THERE?" "ARE YOU THERE?"

I'll reply later

But I know I am here

I'm just not sure what here is right now

But I certainly am, while Here is happening

the air is thick with golden spores now

The three figures in here with me and the one on the balcony are clear as day now and staying, though they're still only silhouettes against all this gold in here and the deep purple out there

The cat is sleeping though, and so I know I am safe

The fridge opens its door slowly and Chaos' hands creep around it, they're joined by two hands that are ghastly and undead and I know it's her love and I feel only happy for her.

I too easily fall in love with undead things.

She and I have always understood each other well, and yet I feel the reason for that is painfully obvious.

I stir a sigil into the soup with my big steel spoon

It means something to me but I do not wish to share it with you, I'm sorry

But I do

Stir three times clockwise first, draw the sigil in, stir three times clockwise again,

and as I imagine drawing something in towards me - what, I will not share, but I do imagine drawing something in towards me, or should I say more accurately, into the soup -

As I do it, the golden particles all around me pull themselves into it

First slowly, then faster and faster

The winged shadows come closer, they come to the outskirts of the kitchen and stand there, watching the process, one moving to stop it, the other holding them back, and the third watching curiously

And the figure on the balcony cranes his neck to see it better, too, from outside the glass.

The golden mist is gone soon into that soup and all is silent and still.

I take a ladle and lovingly spoon myself a bowlful.

I bring it to the couch

smell its aroma

Mm, perfect.

I turn on the television

and there is a singer there; a musician; strumming a guitar or playing a keyboard or whatever on earth it is, and singing along with the song that was playing on my phone

It takes off from exactly the same point

I can't see a title, a name, nothing, but there they are; just as I imagined them.

Wait a moment

Didn't I write this?

[A huge sigh]

At the moment I realize that the power all goes out, all at once

and the door to the balcony flies open, my beloved shadowy one standing in the frame, wings extended as his arm reaches out to me desperately

Behind him, the sky - purple before - is now emptiness only, the rain of golden bits now replaced with a full on meteor shower of them now, bouncing off the concrete of the balcony

One of them strikes him in the back of his head but he doesn't budge, it doesn't hurt him at all

It just lights his skull from the inside as the light pours out through his eyes, normally a cold blue but not a very very hot orange

It streams across the apartment, shining light here and there and finally on me

and my little bowl of soup

His hand is extended towards me, not to stop me but to encourage me

As I bring the bowl to my lips and drink deeply.

I close my eyes.

And when they open, I am not here watching a musician on tv with my winged gentleman nearby

I am instead in a great hall, sitting on a strange ebony throne of carved roses

A musician, beautiful and melancholy and magical, playing for me, entertaining me

And my beloved stands as far from me as he was when he was on the balcony - much closer, it seems, in this great hall

Not close enough to embrace, it seems, but so it must be

We are in my castle again

And I can't help but think about how I came here.

I was not escaping

There was much to be done in that other place

There still is

But I am not afraid of it.

I was not controlling

Though there was magic in the soup that I pulled into my own body,

It was already there to begin with

And I would have been happy to remain there. I didn't want anything.

It's more that, there are things I need to do. There's no way around it. There is work that must be done and a very persistent part of me would like to escape all that if I can, be whisked away by angels or monsters or chaos or magic, but I know that can't be

Because

I guess it's a lie?

Is that what it is?

I don't see those things I described.

Not with my eyes, anyway.

I wanted to write a story about what it feels like to make soup when I am in need of strength and everything around me is challenging.

And a part of me feels untrue, deceiving, manipulative, in telling you these magics

Because I don't see them.

I don't see that magic.

I want to. I very much want to, but I can't.

Do I believe it?

I'm not sure.

But what I do know is that I want to see it, I want to believe it, and so the only option - the only thing to do - the most logical and practical coping mechanism for such fancy -

Is to create it.

In creation lies magic.

So I made a soup.

To remind myself of that.

You know something funny? 

I was wrong.

The kitchen in this castle

Looks exactly like the kitchen in that apartment.

Isn't that strange?

I suspect that, when I move, it will change a little to look like the new kitchen.

That is fine.

It's not really about which kitchen, so long as it is mine.

A place where I can keep all the tools to create something that will feed me all the things I deceive myself into thinking I need.

When really, it's inside

Can't see it with your eyes or taste it with your tongue or smell it with your nose or feel it in your hands.

I can hear it, though.

That song is still playing.

No matter where I am.

Another creation. Another magic.

Along with this, dear listener.

This…episode.

Is there magic here, too?

Would you like some?

Are you hungry?

[Eerie Theme Music.]

(Host speaks as Kristen:)

Hello everyone, and thank you so much for listening to Episode 234 of On a Dark, Cold Night. This is your host, writer, narrator, composer, podcaster etcetera, Kristen Zaza. I hope your June is approaching gently and kindly. Another month wrapping up, another season starting to change. Adventures and challenges alike on the horizon. I hope you can create something to give you strength and joy for all that, my friends.

I would like to thank everyone who supports the show on a monthly basis through Patreon - I'm so grateful for your continued support, my friends, and I appreciate you deeply. If you'd like to support the show in a similar way, you can visit patreon.com/darkcoldnight , where every supporter of $1 or more a month US receives access to my complete soundtrack, while everyone who pledges $5 or more gets that, a bonus "Quick Moment" meditation episode every THursday, and a monthly Tarot reading video every full moon. Again, you can visit patreon.com/darkcoldnight to learn more. You can also access the meditations through Sonar+ on the apple podcasts channel, where for $3.99 a month you can get bonus ad-free content from a whole bunch of awesome Sonar Network shows. You can search for On a Dark, Cold Night or the Sonar Network on Apple podcasts to learn more. You can also support one-time only with no perks by donating at ko-fi.com/darkcoldnight, or buying a t-shirt or hoodie at bonfire.com/on-a-dark-cold-night.

I would love it if you left a rating and a review for the show on iTunes, Spotify, Facebook, or wherever else you like to rate and review podcasts. You can follow me on social media on Twitter @ADarkColdnight, instagram at darkcoldnightpodcast, on Facebook and YouTube under On a Dark, Cold Night, or on tiktok at kristenzaza. Follow me and give me a shout - if you have any questions you want to hear me explore in an upcoming episode these are great ways to get those to me.

You can also listen to my show album, "Favourite Little SOngs from On a Dark, Cold Night" by searching for Kristen Zaza on Spotify. That album has 17 tracks including each version of the theme song, and 14 of my favourite songs from Seasons 1-3, so do check that out if you're interested.

Thank you so much for listening this week everybody.

If you're in the middle of something stressful or intense, or even if you're not,

I hope you have time to make something for yourself

Something that feeds you

Something you love

Something magical.

Take care everyone, and sleep well.

[Eerie theme music]

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