Oh Clafloutis

I had no cream
nor milk
nor any vanilla

all I knew was
that in my fridge
lay a huge bag o cherries
heck, they didn't even belong to me
but I just knew, I had to make clafloutis

and so it became..
I relieved the cherries of their stones
brought the butter to room temperature
I improvised
added orange yoghurt drink
in place of milk and vanilla
desperate measures, I know

then I sat by the oven
my face burning by the hot glass pane
as the clafloutis begin to grow
custardy, creamy
the cherries grew a plump and robust purple
the batter thickened and puffed
a beautiful golden brown
It was done.

All I wanted was a mouthful
One mouthful,
to take me back to a cool summer morning
a quaint B 'n' B
in the breathtaking town
of Niagara-on-the-Lake
A french chef-turned-owner
(not quebecois, parisien mind you)

Even with the improvisations
the job got done
I went to bed dreaming
happy north-american-road-trip dreams

Ice-wine and pierogies
dining by the vineyards
on a dish that cost an arm, a leg and probably a bottle of Bovril
backyard barbecues despite the chill
hunting down the best wanton noodles in the world
at 1 am in the morning.

Padding down the hall
in my double layer of socks
to put on the coffee
and make the kids a breakfast
they would only eat half of.

the next day,
I had the rest of the clafloutis
missing a mouthful
a chilled tub of vanilla yoghurt
poured over.