Retrieving Bread
This part of the overall activity is the most sonorous of the three. Sound is probably the defining aspect of this portion, as I see it as the non-physical expression of the material that I interact with.
Sight
The plastic bag has a certain way it sits on the bench. The twists of the plastic and the many folds of the plastic winding to the top of the bag reflect a lot of the light behind me. In the bag, the bread looks a little strange, as the plastic distorts my view. As I pick the bag up and spin it from the top to unfurl the bag, it continuously flashes light on my chest. The simple colour scheme of the bag, as well as being mostly clear, does little to hide the true prize inside it.
Smell
As soon as I open the bag, the smell of the slightly dry, definitely-not-fresh bread wafts up to me. It smells promising, and yet slightly empty too, as if it were waiting for something else to embellish it. The slightly yeasty aroma mixed in with a sweeter smell tempts my nostrils.
Sound
The most defining part of retrieving the bread from its bag is the sound. The very first touch of the bag betrays how loud the plastic can actually be. Once picked up and opened, the sound bursts forth, the rustling, plastic sound we all know so well fills the kitchen. The bread softens the sound slightly as it removed, but not that much. Sneaky sandwich making is not an option.
Touch
The plastic shifts and displaces under my finger. Little to no resistance is offered as my hands descend on the plastic pouch on the bench. I pick it up, and with a mastered flourish spin the bag to unfurl it. The plastic stretches slightly, and the feel of it completely changes from uncomfortable and lacking resistance, to smooth and full of strength. As my hand descends into the bag, I can feel the heat from my skin reflecting from the plastic back to my hand. It feels like a descent into a creatures stomach. The bread at the bottom of the bag has a soft, textured feel to it. I can easily feel where the crust begins and where the bread ends.
Chopping Onions
This experience I always find a toil, despite doing it almost every time I cook for my flat mates and I. The onions are experienced opponents, and no matter how I shield my eyes, the stinging is always a reminder of the vegetables expired existences.
Sight
The visual aspect of onions is fascinating. As I pick one up, the brown, papery looking skin gives way to a bright green succulent looking flesh beneath. Twisting my fingers around the onion tears the brown outer skin so delectably, and a flash of light green appears to take its place. Piercing the skin of the onion and cutting through, the knife then comes up slick with the blood of my feared opponents. The toil begins.
Smell
The earthy, dry smell of the onion is quickly replaced with a sharp acidic smell that cuts across my nose hairs. The onions smell eventually becomes pleasant, despite the introductory aroma. The smell reminds me of other times spent cooking.
Sound
The outer skin of the onion has a sharp crumpling noise, just like when a piece of paper or a receipt is scrunched up. Once I turn the blade on my foe, the onions makes a flaccid crunching noise, inundated with liquid. This crunching gets less and less pronounced as the onion is chopped finer and finer, eventually being overtones altogether by the noise of the knife on the chopping board.
Touch
The papery texture of the outer skin has a dust on it. A slightly course, dry earth type of dust. When the outer skin breaks, it doesn't tear, it cracks. It suddenly all gives way to a slightly spongy, but still markedly hard flesh. The stinging on my eyes as I chop the onions begins slowly at first, until it intensifies to the point of tears. Slowly, they well up in the corner of my eyes, until, given enough onions and enough chopping, the tears well over and leave wet, warm trails down my face.
Taste
There's a pantry taste to the air when I crack the skin of the onion. A dry, aromatic taste. This completely changes to an acidic, almost acrid, cruel taste in the air. But this is the taste of promise.
The visual aspect of onions is fascinating. As I pick one up, the brown, papery looking skin gives way to a bright green succulent looking flesh beneath. Twisting my fingers around the onion tears the brown outer skin so delectably, and a flash of light green appears to take its place. Piercing the skin of the onion and cutting through, the knife then comes up slick with the blood of my feared opponents. The toil begins.
Smell
The earthy, dry smell of the onion is quickly replaced with a sharp acidic smell that cuts across my nose hairs. The onions smell eventually becomes pleasant, despite the introductory aroma. The smell reminds me of other times spent cooking.
Sound
The outer skin of the onion has a sharp crumpling noise, just like when a piece of paper or a receipt is scrunched up. Once I turn the blade on my foe, the onions makes a flaccid crunching noise, inundated with liquid. This crunching gets less and less pronounced as the onion is chopped finer and finer, eventually being overtones altogether by the noise of the knife on the chopping board.
Touch
The papery texture of the outer skin has a dust on it. A slightly course, dry earth type of dust. When the outer skin breaks, it doesn't tear, it cracks. It suddenly all gives way to a slightly spongy, but still markedly hard flesh. The stinging on my eyes as I chop the onions begins slowly at first, until it intensifies to the point of tears. Slowly, they well up in the corner of my eyes, until, given enough onions and enough chopping, the tears well over and leave wet, warm trails down my face.
Taste
There's a pantry taste to the air when I crack the skin of the onion. A dry, aromatic taste. This completely changes to an acidic, almost acrid, cruel taste in the air. But this is the taste of promise.
Toasting & Eating
This is obviously the most pleasurable part of the experience, however, it is also the most disgusting, when viewed objectively. The cheese melting is a chemical oddity in my mind, as the oil separates from the milk solids. Once eating begins, the noises of my smacking lips and the look of the food in my mouth is nigh revolting when left without the taste.
Sight
Putting the sandwich into the toasty-maker immediately releases a compact cloud of steam. Shortly after closing the lid, a small stream of bubbling cheese exits the front of the machine, and tracks down the brushed, slightly reflective metal exterior. The cheese stream leaves behind an oily trail, which clings disgustingly to the machine after it is turned off. Looking at my creation, the only thing keeping me from not eating it at all is the knowledge that it will taste so good. As soon as I start chewing, I eye up the interior of the sandwich, with the cheese forming strange oily stalactites, and I imagine how terrible the food must look in my mouth.
Smell
The smell of the cooking food is intoxicating. The cheese melting out of the sandwich brings it into contact with the element, and it immediately releases a potent, cheesy, oily smell. This is substituted by an acrid, carbon smell as the sandwich nears completion and the edges burn. I can smell the mustard, blackberry pickle and onions that I put in cooking slowly.
Sound
The sizzle of the margarine on the outside of the bread touching the element sounds mildly musical. This noise intensifies twofold when I shut the lid of the machine, bringing both sides into contact with the heat. As the sandwich cooks, this soft sizzling is replaced with a far louder bubbling noise as the cheese leaks out of the two slices of bread. The crunch of my teeth piercing the crusty bread is closely followed by a noisily munching noise and a loud smacking as I consume the food.
Touch
The harsh metal of the machine starkly contrasts with the sandwich, which feels greasy after putting the margarine on the outside of the bread. After the sandwich is cooked, the bread has taken on a totally different texture, a hard, oily exterior, which gives way to a soft, gooey, hot interior. This contrast is exquisitely scrumptious, and makes for a deliciously textural dinner.
Taste
As soon as I bite into the sandwich, the sharp bite of the onions and mustard becomes apparent, but is quickly followed up by an oily, salty sweet layer of cheese and pickle. Rapid chewing combines all the flavours into one smooth mess in my mouth. The oils seep out of the crunchy bread, and my tongue acquires a strange coating of it, that is continually rinsed by the sharpness of the onions and the mustard. Delicious and disgusting at the same time.
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