I recently had the opportunity to sit down and discuss my occupation with the young and striking Margaret Cavendish. She is such an ambitious and eccentric human which has given her quite the reputation (although I do believe her work will be remembered for centuries to come). She spoke to me about her fascination with death and how she wanted to write a poem about the work I do. We spoke for hours! I told her my favorite ways to kill humans and I was genuinely shocked she didn't flinch one bit. She wrote down my stories and we laughed like two old friends catching up.
I think I really peaked her interest when I revealed how juicy and tender the flesh becomes after humans battle a fever for days at a time. The ever so slightly increase of temperature does absolute wonders. Margaret was a little surprised that I was responsible for all the death on the entire planet, including animals and plants. It is an art if I am being completely honest. And keeping up with constantly evolving humans can be a challenge. Every once in a while they find cures and ways to heal themselves. I have to constantly alter or worsen diseases to combat the lower mortality rates and longer life expectancies. But it remains interesting and I still love each moment.
She asked what my favorite dessert to make was and I was more than happy to share. Blood Pudding. Oh it is to DIE for- literally. It is a classic and adding a little human to it makes it far better than any old chocolate or vanilla pudding. I told Margaret my process of making the blood as thick as possible. Blood coagulation is 100% necessary for the recipe to work. We quickly whipped some pudding up and were able to enjoy it before our interview came to an end. She was a little hesitant, but loved it and even had a second helping.
Her poem was published shortly after and it was beautiful. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did.
Nature's Cook
By Margaret Cavendish
Death is the cook of Nature; and we find Meat dressèd several ways to please her mind. Some meats she roasts with fevers, burning hot, And some she boils with dropsies in a pot. Some for jelly consuming by degrees, And some with ulcers, gravy out to squeeze. Some flesh as sage she stuffs with gouts, and pains, Others for tender meat hangs up in chains. Some in the sea she pickles up to keep, Others, as brawn is soused, those in wine steep. Some with the pox, chops flesh, and bones so small, Of which she makes a French fricasse withal. Some on gridirons of calentures is broiled, And some is trodden on, and so quite spoiled. But those are baked, when smothered they do die, By hectic fevers some meat she doth fry. In sweat sometimes she stews with savoury smell, A hodge-podge of diseases tasteth well. Brains dressed with apoplexy to Nature's wish, Or swims with sauce of megrims in a dish. And tongues she dries with smoke from stomachs ill, Which as the second course she sends up still. Then Death cuts throats, for blood-puddings to make, And puts them in the guts, which colics rack. Some hunted are by Death, for deer that's red. Or stall-fed oxen, knockèd on the head. Some for bacon by Death are singed, or scalt, Then powdered up with phlegm, and rheum that's salt.
Works Cited
Villarreal, Allegra, and Editor. “Margaret Cavendish: Selected Writings.” Go to the Cover Page of An Open Companion to Early British Literature, 22 Jan. 2019, earlybritishlit.pressbooks.com/chapter/margaret-cavendish-the-blazing-world/.