© 2010 RC deWinter ~ All Rights Reserved
Yesterday I was mulling over my dinner with Gustav when there was an abrupt rap on the door. Lo and behold, it was the man himself, looking natty in a gray fedora and belted trench coat.
I invited him in, but he declined and boomed, “I have a craving for a cabbage salad – come along and help me choose a good one.”
Although l never eat cabbage, I’m always ready to spend time with the great Klimt. I threw on my blazer and off we went.
Arriving at the store, we made a beeline to the fresh produce section. There, cradled on a bed of rhubarb and flanked by rosemary and watercress, were three crisp ripe heads of the awful stuff.
I urged Gustav to buy the smallest of the three, which was almost completely hidden behind a very large one. He snorted when I told him I despise cabbage in all its forms and colors and told me I was provincial and finicky.
Now, I may be a bit fussy about food, but provincial? What could be more provincial than cabbage, the peasant food of the ages? Not wanting to argue with Gustav, however, I merely frowned at him as he reached for the medium-sized cabbage, hefted it to his nose, took a deep sniff and exclaimed, “Ah – this will do _perfectly!”_
Digital oil painting with Klimt elements and random canvas texture throughout. Based on an original photograph shot April 13, 2010.*