Take the Ginger Out by by Diana Bloem

The ginger rhizome was placed carefully in the fridge. I examined it. At first it looked like turmeric and then cardamom. It smelt like the Frenchman I met in South Asia. Mother clustered the Asian buds in white plastic bags. She wanted to sprout the yellow sour figs. Father was landscaping the sherry and mother was washing the sliced oranges. She used subtropical vinegar for fragrance in the kitchen. I had to scrap my reed buds before they withered. Mother began to peel the flesh from the lemons. She brewed lemon juice, palm sugar and ghee to make soup. I added lentils and father removed the frozen wine from the cookie stand. The ginger oils egged the plums and the aroma mildly tasted like clotted fish. The ginger rhizome began to ferment and looked like black salt in candy boxes. The type of candy box the Frenchman gave me in India. The box left him with a cataract.