Tug, his chauffeur, the guitar and the breadtree, or how the Blues was born

Tug was a small, very energetic dog, that in spite of his bad manners, had become the mascot of the Gypsies. They called him Tug because he usually tugged behind him his chauffeur, Rick, who reluctantly followed, mind you he had no choice, as when Tug seized your pants and started pulling, you got no option. So Tug's chauffeur, bon gré mal gré, followed, usually dragging his guitar, which also reluctantly followed, but she had no choice either, since when Rick held his guitar, he wouldn't let go. However the guitar always got her revenge when the gypsies gathered for a feast: she had a life of her own, and she played faster than her master could move his fingers along the strings. So whenever Rick grabbed his guitar, she soon started moaning about the tough life her master submitted her to, and that's called the Blues. That's how the Blues was born, don't believe all the other crazy stories you hear. However, the guitar had many things to tell about the sordid life she had to live: First she had no name, have you ever heard of a guitar with no name? Then Rick made her live on a tugboat, which would periodically cause her to catch a cold and therefore she'd be out of tune. The only thing that would then revive her would be the gypsies campfire. Then she would, for a while, be able to sing the blues.
In the meantime, Tug's main activity during gypsy gatherings would be to run around in circles, like a circus horse, but way faster. I think the purpose of that infernal manège was to keep Rick within the circle and make sure he wouldn't try to escape. The other thing Tug loved about gypsy gatherings is that there usually was abundance of food, and especially his favorite, bread. Tug LOVED bread. So he started thinking of how to make sure he had a constant supply of bread, and started thinking he should grow a bread tree. Since a bread tree couldn't grow on a boat, one night as the gypsies were gathered around a campfire on shore, he subreptitiously abducted a big loaf of bread, the biggest he could find, and buried it in the ground on a veggie patch. Therefore, he thought, the future bread tree would get plenty of nutrients. He planted the bread tree in a state of the art fashion: just deep enough to allow roots to spread, but not too deep so it could receive the light of day, and he covered it and surrounded it with a mound. From then on, Tug would have something to care for.

Bread, oil and harissa

Reading on my friend's blog http://ablogeclectic.blogspot.com/ about the highly refined pleasure of crackers and sardines reminded me of similar tasty experiences with my father, peace to his dear soul. One of our shared pleasures was to have a Tunisian trash snack consisting of bread, olive oil, tomato paste and harissa, which is a Tunisian hot pepper paste. So the refinement is to put out a small plate, put in it some tomato paste, harissa, and olive oil, and to scrape it with the bread. The best bread for this was what Tunisians call Italian bread, a big, thick bread, very dense, with a cracky crust. Of course you have to get high quality olive oil for the experience to be complete. My dad would often get up at night to have a snack, and whenever I'd hear him I'd sneak in the kitchen to share this deli. Of course Mum thought this perfectly disgusting, which made us giggle, so it was our thing. Like two kids plotting, we'd prepare the gourmet snack, me still half asleep, and we wouldn't leave the kitchen till the plate was all scraped from its content. The middle of the night is a perfect time if you want to tempt the experience.

The giant aluminium eggshell

No it's not a plane, though it was originally meant to be a transportation device, with springs as propellers to hop around the planet. However the giant aluminium eggshell arrived one night out of nowhere and painfully landed in the very heart of The Village. Its springs were getting so rusty it couldn't hop anymore, so it landed there, unnoticed, at the back of a building, and there it lay, hidden behind an extravagant flora. Shortly after the landing its sole occupant ventured out in The Village, willing to explore new ways to survive, as he was now doomed to remain there. Melchior, for that was his name, soon found different sources to get all he needed: A grotto where he could connect with other stranded travellers, gypsies, and poets. Some fields where he could find the most beautiful vegetables he'd ever seen. And the unique sacred cafe fountain in town, which would spurt the precious beverage if you were willing to sing a tune, dance a gig, or say a poem for the audience. This is how bards, dancers and poets and their muses became popular at the fountain, as everybody knew the day we'd have no music or dance anymore would be the end of it. Melchior endeared himself to the population, and made a modest living, by carving miniature replicas of the sacred cafe fountain. Once back to his now sedentary home in the aluminium eggshell, Melchior would dedicate himself to nesting. He first surrounded the aluminium eggshell, that was stuck between the back of a building and a bunch of trees, with tall plants and extravagant flowers that would allow him to remain concealed. He soon also introduced some of the local vegetables he was so fond of, so as to have his own food. I can't tell you how he made these grow on concrete, but it is now a jungle. He then spent some time making his aluminium eggshell, now his permanent home, a warm and comfortable refuge. He counselled by telepathy with the best interior decorators available, read about Feng-Shui-backward, the latest craze in home decoration, which consisted mainly in rebelling against decluttering and in regaining your nesting instinct, and found a way to make it work, which was relatively easy, as Melchior himself, like his aluminium eggshell, has an ovoid shape, with two big wheels as shoes, that he puts on when he wants to venture in The Village, and hangs outside the door before to come in. So he just had to arrange everything inside to fit his particular shape. Outside, the giant aluminium eggshell had pipes connecting it to the earth for feeding, cleansing and regeneration, which, it is true, made it look like a plane getting fuel. What potions went through these pipes is a mystery, however I remember one of them was a thick, pink potion that Melchior would press in large quantities out of a noisy little machine and feed into the tank, so as to have enough for the season, as he consumed that one daily. One day the grotto and the sacred cafe fountain had to close, as not enough people were ready to dance or sing for the sacred beverage, so the sacred fountain got rusty too, and finally ran out of service. Since then, in the regenerating pipes connecting the giant aluminum eggshell to the earth, you now also have a dark brown beverage, concocted daily by another noisy little device, that constantly has to be fed beans, for Melchior got the lesson and knows Gypsies are unreliable for dancing and singing for coffee, you never know when those guys are gonna show up, if at all, so he designed this sacred coffee machine that you feed with beans. Now you know why Melchior has those tall, very tall pole beans growing in the little jungle outside the giant eggshell...