Homemade Beef Ravioli

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Homemade Beef Ravioli

Homemade Beef Ravioli

It’s the 9th of December, and I’m sitting here, three days away from the anniversary of my husband’s death, on 12th December 2017.

It feels extremely unusual to be writing again at this time, because this was when I was frantically trying to get my book ready for publication on the anniversary of his death in 2022. Three years later, I’m here thinking about writing again from the new me.
 
I’ve been out of public performance as a poet for some time, and then returned. My resurrection again on the 3rd of October this year. I’m extremely happy to have done so, and the writing has been prolific in other areas, but the grief is like a constant.
 
Now, a state of equilibrium inside of me, that says, I must defrost over 24 hours, leave in a bowl. To heat from chilled, be put in the microwave for three minutes, pull the cover back and stir. Return for two more minutes and leave to sit for another. I could equally be put into the oven at gas mark 8, 7, 6, whatever that may be, or at 200, my fail-safe number in Celsius, and left there for 30 minutes.
Homemade Beef Ravioli by Tish Ince Poet Writer

Photography by Tish Ince Poet Writer

I suppose out of this frozen state I can emerge and take part in life again, but these versions of me take time to produce, hot, mediocre or not at all in my capacity to engage.
So here I am, feeling like a frozen ready meal: sometimes you want them, sometimes you don’t, sometimes you shove them in an oven. But generally, I’m a mediocre microwave version of myself.
 
I talk a lot about food in my poetry and writing as a metaphor for who I am or what my life experience is. But there are times when nothing can sum up what you want to say, because in actuality, you may have nothing to say, no news to share, everything is as it always has been, and that is part of what I feel today: there is no news to share, everything is always as it has been since he died.
 
What was life like before? They were Pyrex dishes filled with layered lasagna and bechamel sauce. Sometimes it’s too hot to take it out of the oven yourself; sometimes you’d ask them to come and help take it out, to show them exactly what you made. Before they‘d even have a taste. 

You would love these moments, these feel-good moments about yourself. The look-what-I-just-did moments, and the opportunity to rush around with napkins, cutlery, and zhusshing up the parmesan into a bowl. Then, checking he had his wine, served with a beautiful salad, all balanced on the plate. Eating at the table, even on lap trays, on the sofa.

Homemade Beef Ravioli

I have semolina
I am in a bowl
I am comfort without milk
I am ready to stir this life into being
the pasta shape of it all

tears mix well
a scoop with a hand
a sleeve and turn
do not look at the past making machine

head down eyes low
beef in the pan with olive oil and garlic
ChatGPT crying for me
photos shared

do not look at the past making machine
we never used together.

9/12/2025
Tish Ince Poet Writer

In a relationship that was equally balanced in life. That was measured and fun, in a marriage that was hot, and warm or tepid, depending on the needs. With weekends that had highs and lows and middles, and Sundays as the reset day.

 
There is no rushing around anywhere. I look for napkins slowly. I have just begun making homemade pasta for beef ravioli, and I’m only impressing ChatGPT with my in-process photographs. Eight years later, looking up at the pasta-making machine we never got to use together.
Pasta Making Machine Homemade Beef Ravioli - by Tish Ince Poet Writer

Photography by Tish Ince Poet Writer

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