Category Archives: poem about food

Day for Night

2:45 P.M. Sent a message that I was coming up from the studio to get some lunch and evidently lay down for a minute on my bed to rest before going back down to the studio.

8:15 P.M. Awakened, not sure if that was the sunset or the sunrise. Discovered it was the sunset of the third longest day of the year and went to the kitchen to feed the cats. Raining hard. No swim tonight.

10:25 P.M. Sent a message to Forgottenman that somehow the trip to feed the cats had resulted in my cooking a chicken curry, now in the oven and a pot of barley, now in the steam cooker. (Yes, it really did take that many dishes to create the chicken curry and barley!)

11:11 P.M. Sitting down to chicken curry and barley 

11:23 P.M. It was delicious!  Now, do I go to bed or am I up for the day?

 

 

 

Yoga and Chocolate Chip Cookies in a Time of Shelter in Place

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Yoga and Chocolate Chip Cookies in a Time of Shelter in Place

I   stands alone at stiff attention,         cooking to release her tension.
 S   does curls to contradict her             tendency toward getting thicker.
 O  shows effects of chocolate chips     on her tummy and her hips.
 L   just sits there in her hut                   trying to compress her butt.
 A   Hands on knees, head on floor,      “A” vows that she will binge no more.
 T   spreads her wings but cannot fly.   “Eating in Place” the reason why.
  I   folds her wings tight by her side.
 O   eats more cookies, growing wide.
 N   sits on butt in yoga pose.
       Each hand on floor behind her goes,
       feet raised up, point to the sky,
       resisting the effects of pie
       on tummy, waist and hips and thigh.

 

For NaPoWriMo 2020, Day 23, the prompt was: “to write a poem about a particular letter of the alphabet, or perhaps, the letters that form a short word. Think about the shape of the letter(s), and use that as the take-off point for your poem.”

Kitchen Queen

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Kitchen Queen

Her souffles are a marvel and her cakes a work of art.
Every single thing she cooks, a product of her heart.
Her kitchen full of luscious smells and openness and levity,
every disaster solvable and noted for its brevity.
She surmounts each problem, opens every stubborn jar,
locates each ingredient, no matter how bizarre.

When she puts on her apron and dons her cooking cap,
she conquers national cuisines from all over the map.
Marinara and béchamel, curries and doro wats—
sauces from every culture simmer in her pots.
From kreplach to pot stickers, she has mastered each cuisine.
When it comes to ruling kitchens, our Dolly is the queen!

 

Go check out Dolly’s blog at koolkosherkitchen. She is presently telling wonderful stories about her grandmother and sharing her recipes as well. One of my favorite blogs.

 

Prompt words for today are marvel, surmount, bizarre, levity and map.

Chopstick Savior: in Honor of National Chop Suey Day!!!

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Chopstick Savior

Faced with rush hour traffic, I was already leery
that any meal I’d cook tonight would turn out rather dreary.
This day was not abnormal. At its end, I was a wreck.
My colleagues in the office? A true pain in the neck.
My story is not poignant, but it’s sad enough, I guess.
Most days I end up bushed once they are finished, I confess.
So faced with thoughts of cooking, once again I murmur, “Phooey!”
And thank the Lord for takeout. Tonight? Egg rolls and chop suey.

Prompt words today are bush, abnormal, poignant and wreck. Since this is National chop suey Day, I’m adding chop suey to the prompt list.

If you feel inclined to help me honor chop suey today, please give a link to your post in comments below. At the very least, eat Chinese today, take a photo, post it and send me the link. Happy Chop Suey. (If I’m not wrong, it was an Americanization of Chinese food, anyway.)

 

Ode to the Shipboard Buffet

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Ode to the Shipboard Buffet

In the hierarchy of buffets, spaghetti is the king
no matter what competing dishes they may bring
to grace the laden, groaning boards: rich soups and shrimp and cheeses.
They advocate for salads, but somehow no Caesar pleases
half as much as pasta, well-laden with rich sauce:
ground beef, basil and parmesan, tinged with just a toss
of fennel and oregano. It simply has no peer.
We gobble it with cabernet, chianti or a beer.
We leave the smorgasbord serene, replete and full and sated.
Our emptiness has been fulfilled, our appetites abated.
No hunger pangs outlast thin noodles topped with smashed tomatoes.
Spaghetti beats out hamburgers and crisp French fried potatoes.
It beats out cured Virginia  ham. It beats filet mignon.
It beats twice-baked potatoes and things put thereupon.
I’m sorely tempted by ice cream and pastries, cookies, tarts,
but such things aren’t exclusive of main courses that are starts.
A plate piled with spaghetti deserves a proper ending.
Just plan when loading up your plate. Dessert is also pending!

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Words for the day are serene, advocate, hierarchy, outlast and spaghetti.

Too Many Cooks

 

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Too Many Cooks
(The Food Critic Invades the Kitchen)

In the guise of  gourmand, I fear that you laid waste
to my soup’s exquisite balance after one swift reckless taste.
You lifted up the salt shaker and ruined my day’s work
by heavily over-salting my consommé, you jerk!
Then you made it cloudy by adding a fair dollop
of sour cream that sat there like a tumor or a polyp.
The soup base that I’d toiled over for many an hour,
you squeezed a bit of lime into, transforming sweet to sour.
So in the end when you pronounced the verdict on my soup,
rating it as less than gourmet food and more like goop,
you neglected to take credit for your efforts at its ruin.
Now I rue the day my lovely soup chanced to meet your spoon!!

Prompt words today are gourmand, base, guise and cloudy. Links are below:

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/05/11/rdp-saturday-gourmand/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/05/11/fowc-with-fandango-base/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/05/11/your-daily-word-prompt-guise-may-11-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/05/11/cloudy/

Advice to a Brand New Stepmom

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Advice to a Brand New Stepmom

Release your indignation. Try to quell your grief.
The air is redolent with clues of the impish thief.
Don’t you smell the bubble gum? Can’t you catch a sniff
of the perfumed hair gel that makes his hair so stiff?
Those two dozen cookies that you’d put in a stack
to package for the bake sale, I’d bet are in a sack
high up in the tree house in your own back yard.
The next time you bake cookies, you’d better post a guard!

 

The prompt words today are thief, release, redolent and impish. Here are the links:
https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/03/27/rdp-wednesday-thief/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/03/27/fowc-with-fandango-release/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/03/27/your-daily-word-prompt-redolent-march-27-2019/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2019/03/27/impish/

Retribution

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Retribution

He built himself a sanctuary in the old garage
to shelter from his mom’s complaints, his stepfather’s barrage
of insults that he spewed out whenever he drank beer
and his teenage stepson happened to be near.
He frequented the shadows of their viral house.
Took shelter in the attic, quiet as any mouse.
Hid out in the garden in a cave of loam.
Anyplace his stepfather was not became his home.

His meals lacked spice and savor also missing in his mother.
Her meals furnished nutrition, but very little other.
No laughter flavored mealtimes. The food rendered no spice.

He secreted small bits of food—a slice of bread, some rice—
to feed to his companions—a family of mice.
It was worth the beatings that he’d suffered twice
when that man not his father saw him hide away
some morsel in his pocket and said he’d have to pay.

 Raising his fist, he said he would take it from his hide
and gave another beating  to the boy who never cried.
The boy who simply stored it up—kept all of it inside—
bore the abuse stoically and then crept outside
to commune with his real family who lived in wall and  rafter
of the garage he’d made his home, and filled with love and laughter.
They came out at his bidding, swarmed around his feet
to eat a bit of porridge, some carrot or a beet.

Some crackers from his school lunch, some lettuce or a plum,
proved the presence of a heart that otherwise was numb.
Mice frequented his pockets and sat upon his shoulder—
every generation seeming to grow bolder.
They slipped into his mother’s house when she was sound asleep
and crept into those places where he could never creep.
They nestled in her shoes and chewed out all the toes,
severed all her bra straps, gnawed holes in all her hose.

They found the belt the monster man used to beat their friend,
dragged it deep under the bed and chewed it end-to-end.
When they crept into the larder to finish off the pie,
it must have been an accident that the can of lye
spilled into the sugar, pouring out in one fine stream
right into the bowl that would be placed beside the cream
on the breakfast table.  For how could it be
that vermin knew only the man took sugar in his tea?

 

The prompt words today are sanctuary, garage and nutrition.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2019/02/09/rdp-saturday-sanctuary/
https://fivedotoh.com/2019/02/09/fowc-with-fandango-garage/
https://onedailyprompt.wordpress.com/2019/02/09/your-daily-word-prompt-nutrition-february-9-2019/

Born-again Dieter

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My vegan concoction

Born-Again Dieter

My corpulent life style I now declare over.
I’ve taken an oath to only eat clover,
apples and carrots and barley and beans.
There will be less of me filling my jeans!
Instead of gorging, I’m going to be grazing.

I know the results will be just amazing.
So if you are willing and if you are able,
be careful, please, what you bring by my table.
Don’t pass near with ice cream or tiramisu

or I’m liable to accidentally waylay you
to survey your provender —those fruits of the cow—
just to “tsk tsk” your choices  with holier than thou
dieting lingo in loud fierce bravado,
eschewing your pancakes or your gado gado.
The world should bow down to my menu of choice

and if it doesn’t, in my loudest voice
I’ll be sure that you know what you could have chosen
that’s macrobiotic. That’s never been frozen.
That’s full of good fiber, sans sugar and gluten.

My mouth will be flappin’, my horns will be tootin’.
For now I’ve decided to be dairy-free,
I’ve decided the whole world should diet with me!!!

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/12/27/rdp-thursday-corpulent/
https://wordofthedaychallenge.wordpress.com/2018/12/27/oath/

Java 101

Java 101

It was 1965, my freshman year at the University of Wyoming, and once again I was venturing out into the world by going home for the first time with a college friend. On our first night in her hometown, we dressed up and drove to the “Halfway House,” halfway between Worland and Thermopolis, for three inch steaks and, even though we were all just 18, because her parents had called ahead with permission, for one Sloe Gin Fizz or Tom Collins each.

The next morning, we awoke with aching heads and fuzzy tongues to the smell of coffee–Pat’s mother at the kitchen table pouring a cup for each of us, refilling her own mug, refilling the pot with water and more coffee and setting it back on the burner to perk.

For the four days we were there, the pot was never turned off between the hours of 7 a.m. and 10 p.m., and it was never empty except for the minute between pouring the last cup and filling it up to perk a new one.

We were a caffeine society predating the caffeine craze of the 90’s. The later craze coincided, not coincidentally, with the formation of Mothers Against Drunk Drivers and stricter drunk driving laws; but in the 60’s and 70’s, we drank coffee as an antidote to hangovers, not as a replacement!

It was a shared vice for which we could imagine no drawbacks. No calories. No fat. Pretty cheap. Unlike the cigarettes we all lit up to accompany our coffee drinking and talks around the table, there was not the least whisper of any negative effects of coffee. It kept us awake during studying for finals and during long nighttime drives between towns in Dakota and Wyoming and helped us wash down our NoDoz. (more caffeine!)

It would be thirty-five years in our future before we turned from those endless cups of hot java sipped from between swirling curtains of cigarette smoke. Driven by morning coughs, short breath and nagging doctors and kids, we would give up first the cigarettes, then, encouraged by aching joints, insomnia or too many trips to the bathroom, we would give up the coffee.

But still, the biting smell of coffee brewing in a pot or urn conjures up memories of Mack’s cafe, where endless chipped white mugs of coffee marked our maturity from preteens to adults. Those first 100 cups choked down while holding our breaths had inured us–initiated us–led to our addiction to and lust for caffeine–until we loved the acrid taste. Black. No sugar. Aspartame was just a future gleam in some chemist’s eye and no one had heard of latte, mocha, jamocha or espresso. No one had ever heard the word cappuccino except in an occasional spelling bee where it was misspelled along with the rest of the obscure words. Although everyone drank coffee, no one had yet iced it, foamed it or whip creamed it. No one had thought to float chocolate curls or cinnamon in it. We just drank it, like truckers, black–from the ever-plenteous pot.

This is a reblog of a piece from four years ago.

https://ragtagcommunity.wordpress.com/2018/09/07/friday-rdp-coffee/