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Poetry of joy of the foods we eat.

Early summer
Time for pure joy of all we are eating.

Expressed with a metric and rhythm
and maybe a rhyme.

No rules on the discourse
except it feel deeply
that it is a poem.

Mine now on handfull of carrots and radishes
as I chomp through
give praise to good teeth.

Garden good guide
of no need for no dentures.

Leaves of the radishes
Larger leaves flow from carrots
collected on morning
in seek of good crunch.

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  1. Love love love this, FF. Now you have me thinking. I must needs write an ode (or read yours, even) to the gustatory and aesthetic beauty of a ripe tomato......that burst, when you bite in; the flavor, the richness that's almost umami.....little crunchies from salt. Yeah, baby. Best foodie porn evah!

    1 Reply
    1. re: mamachef

      Mater patch been real good to me. Had heavy crunches of salt. Have burped upon ecstasy when mixture of maters and salt rode ecstasy, but hey just a kid there

      These days I'd make sure to take calibrated knife to measure my slices of maters.
      Also calibrate salt. Or would I?.

    2. Awakened late night with a really good thunderstorm
      Opening fridge door, with bounty within.

      Thick slice of Stilton
      pulsed in the microwave
      Crackers of course
      And cold milk.

      2 Replies
      1. re: FoodFuser

        Awakened tonight by husband snoring and cat circus right outside the closed bedroom door.
        Opening fridge door, with bounty within

        Crock of pimiento cheese, brought to room temp in the microwave
        Sesame Rounds, crunchy rounds with toasted bursting pod of sesame
        And diet cherry pepsi.

        1. re: mamachef

          Any Californian who eats PC before dawn needs to check out these threads, pumped by real Southerners, about Pimento Cheese.



          But keep mind, this Okie, who was raised in the Delta, holds to the Unity of the powerful Trinity of the three sacred P's:

          Pimento Cheese
          Pepperidge Farm Bread
          Pepsi Cola, ice cold.

          I'll suppose Californians can get away with Cherry embedded in their Pepsi.
          Ain't quite Southern Kosher
          but sounds it got job done.

          Dip your spoon in those two threads if you like good Pimento.

      2. Tuna from can, exfoliated with fork.
        tines to the bowl give feel of good thunder

        Mayo from jar,
        As pickle relish

        Simplest rendition of a good tuna sandwich.
        Also gave add of flakes of dried onions
        and just a teaspoon of mashed potato flakes

        Try it. Might like it.

        Final outcome hinges on bread.

        1. Icy, sweet liquid gold
          bright, tart, lemony delight
          oh so refreshing to drink, to hold
          on a thick, humid summer night

          ...Not exactly about food, but it is consumable, lol.

          1 Reply
          1. re: LoBrauHouseFrau

            Gosh, I like that.

            Cold column of glass
            clinks cold with ice
            with sweetness with citrus

            Hefted in hand on hot summer evening
            Accolade to lemonade.

          2. After June where highs were never below 90
            and ten days were over 100,
            I've worked hard on my technique
            for asphalt-fried eggs.

            Wait until 2 o'clock
            with sun just past zenith
            and find you a safe piece of asphalt
            where sun has been blazing all day.

            Lay down an 8 by 10 thin piece of window glass,
            let it heat for an hour
            while you hunt down your magnifying glass (bigger the better)
            and gather your eggs and your butter.

            Smear thin layer of butter on now-heated pane
            It will softly sizzle.
            Crack egg upon there
            and watch the albumen slowly coagulate.

            The speed up the process,
            it's time for the magnifying glass.
            Aim it and adjust it
            until it shows pinpoint
            of blazing white color
            focused on egg.

            While underside still gets it heat from the asphalt
            move the lightpoint in soft circles
            to distribute the heat.

            Remove when ready.
            It is the ultimate "sunny side up" egg.

            1. Breakfast granola
              measured in cup
              soon to be doled to the bowl.

              Chopped prunes and some raisins
              plumped in water overnight.

              Big bowl accepts mixture of yogurt and milk
              Then the granola, then the soft fruits.

              First bite with big spoon
              gets me to chewin'
              As I settle in to peel
              both orange and boiled egg.

              The triad of orange, egg, fruited cereal
              builds a strong three leg'ged stool
              that will bolster my day.

              1. Iced watermelon.

                Green skin red center holds the cold.

                Cut to two butts, not down the center.
                Cold butt now rests in my crotch and cools off my belly
                As I sit on the deck two months into heatwave
                and savor the cool of just 80 degrees.

                Dark, now, under my elm and my birch tree.
                The fan on the deck sends blessed air oe'r my body.

                Seated, with spoon, I seek to the melon.
                My mouth crunches join
                with the rhymes of cicadas.

                Melon cools throat
                red, cold, grainy.

                Seeds are ejected
                in sync with cicadas.

                Such wonderful evening
                in this hell of a heatwave

                Cool melon cool crotch cool belly cool mouth
                Chewing the melon and fighting the heat.

                1. Was think of an ode, but not so good at this....

                  branches overflowing with grape bunches, some blusing, others still great green. wait for the blush to deepen!!!!!

                  anticipating grape pie...ahhh

                  2 crusts-

                  5 1/3 c grapes and squeeeeeeze their pulp, pits into a sauce pan and SAVE THE SKINS....

                  boil the pulp as is, naturally

                  push through a sieve to remove pits

                  reunite them with their skins!!!! ahh bliss

                  enhance their nature with 1 1/3 c sugar and 1/4 c flour, 1 1/4 tsp lemon juice and 1/4 tsp salt

                  let their beauty fill the bottom crust

                  dab their luciousness with 1 1/2 tsps butter

                  clothe them in the top crust

                  warm them at 425 degrees F for 35-45 minutes

                  let them rest and cool!!!!!

                  taste their sun, their sweetness, and their true nature!!!!!!

                  peace, jill

                  recipe from Betty Crocker Picture Book 1956

                  1. A leftover mac n cheese onion bacon fritatta.

                    I sincerely believe that the key to success
                    is the slicing and browning of the cold mac n cheese.

                    Cut 3/4 inch slices from the cold mac with your spatula.
                    Trim them to ladyfingers, then pan brown them on both sides, remove.

                    Time for onions and bacon, fry to completion
                    (for those wanting crunch, add some whole cumin.)

                    Pour in the eggs, then distribute browned fingers.
                    Easy heat on the bottom, then into hot broiler.

                    Coarse pepper, coarse salt,
                    Coarse rowdy breakfast chorus.
                    And it's also well smelled
                    No matter if fritatta nor frittata
                    is the way that it's spelled.

                    (I remain in compassion to the ridicule of Dan Quayle
                    on his take on the tater potato potatoes.
                    Heck folks, our spelling dishambles
                    are one of the few flaws of English.)

                    Now hand me my fork to pluck macs from the matrix
                    and savor the eggs onion bacon.

                    1. The baking of bacon
                      gives good odors wafting.

                      Slow temp, under 300
                      with attention to turning
                      yields well-rendered strips
                      and also good grease.

                      Though it takes a good hour
                      and time with your turning
                      it's a good way to dance
                      with the prance of your bacon.

                      1. So soon incumbent that he masters the art of the good refried beans.
                        Cast iron kettle is steady
                        well cooked pintos at the ready
                        But will he be ready for season of football?

                        I bring forth my stash of my cumin, oregano,
                        a soft dose of onions
                        and thus I proceed toward the dip.

                        As I mash up the beans, I accede to the median
                        that any good dip gotta have some Velveeta....
                        Acceded, concide.

                        I just hope that a crumblet of barely crushed cumin
                        will hit with coincedence
                        of the feel of the crossing of goal-line.

                        1. I have just dipped my face
                          in warm suckling embrace

                          of an egg yolk
                          gently fried over-easy.

                          Are there others
                          enjoy such embrace and such suckle?

                          1. The Burger.

                            It begins with a trip to the Bun Man.

                            He invested in ovens some twenty years ago
                            and has built thriving business
                            yet he knows every customer.

                            He doesn't cut his buns; he knows that I'll do that.

                            Next to the butcher.
                            Knows his meat, knows his customers.
                            He wraps up some beef from the seven-bone chuck
                            and also some pork from the heart of the shoulder.

                            He doesn't grind it; he knows that I'll do that.

                            Now to the produce for fattest red onions
                            and stoutest romaine.

                            All parts are now home
                            and I put on the music most rhythmic for grinding

                            The beef and the pork, cut, intermixed,
                            get two passes through grinder
                            then hand massaged into patties.

                            Onions, as discs, are the first in hot pan,
                            blackened on surface, but firm in the center,
                            removed to warm holding.

                            Buns, gently split, gently buttered
                            are browned on their faces.

                            Then patties set down for their char
                            while slicing aged cheddar,
                            soon atop for their melting.

                            Each to their condiments. Mine's Mayo.

                            Assembled to layers, one heck of a burger:
                            Travel of teeth:
                            Soft bun, sort cheese, yields to brown crunchy bun face
                            cuts through good onions crisp lettuce
                            hits crisp surface of meat
                            then slides through soft medium center
                            then base of the bun.

                            There is joy in that burger.

                            1. Perhaps a dalliaince
                              with a good morning sandwich
                              where eggs meet with cheese.

                              Talking, of course,
                              of time when the egg hits the bread.

                              Ovums bescrambled, but softly.
                              Brought to two toasted breads
                              that are slathered with mayo and pepper
                              and slab of sharp cheddar.

                              All enfolded in foil
                              to be eaten ten minutes later
                              when coffee has cooled
                              and sandwich has melded to maximum.

                              Gives grin to our travel
                              Cuz its really real good.

                              1. Should one dance in the morning as we break our night's fast?

                                Should eggs oaties bacon give cause to a prance?

                                Should sun now arising add joy to this meal?

                                Should day that awaits us to travel through
                                give height to our appetite to breakfast?

                                As yolk in the pan
                                matches orb in the sky
                                I say yes.

                                1. Not quite what you're after, but on the radio last night I heard for the first time "When the frost is on the punkin", a poem by James Whitcomb Riley, and between that and the "punkin" I had baking in the oven it made me feel very autumnal :)

                                  1. Oh, them hor'douvers ain't they sweet.

                                    A little piece of cheese and a little piece of meat!

                                    The Kingston Trio

                                    I don't want no burgers.

                                    I don't want no spam.

                                    I don't care if it's boiled or fried,

                                    Just give me a big friggin' clam!

                                    Wicked Good Band

                                    I like eels,

                                    But not the way they feels,

                                    Or as meals.

                                    Ogdan Nash

                                    1. Ice cold veggie juice
                                      Ice cubes crowding a tall glass
                                      Vodka and lime, spice

                                      1 Reply
                                      1. re: berkleybabe

                                        Glass preferably frosted in freezer.

                                        I sought these in this recent hot summer.

                                      2. Would we love to have breakfast with Julia Child
                                        and embark with her love of the omelet?

                                        The sound of her whisk as it hit upon bowl
                                        to watching her wrist as she shooked them and flipped them.

                                        Eggs a la Julia.... ahhh.

                                        1. Ode to the Reuben.

                                          The sandwich begins.
                                          Two pieces of rye bread
                                          Within which the Caraway sparkles.

                                          Bread sent not to toaster
                                          but to seasoned iron pan
                                          as befits all grain carriers
                                          of the Caraway clan.

                                          Upon toasted face is slathered both mustard and mayo.

                                          Then the Pastrami, layered to thick levels.

                                          Followed by sauerkraut, and slice of Swiss cheese

                                          Returned to the pan for more toastin.

                                          Devoured with devotion.'

                                          1. To watch of the rhythm as the ladies plant rice.

                                            Bowed to the paddy, strong hats on their head.

                                            Plunging the seedling to root in the mud
                                            in their own special cadence.

                                            Euphony of elbows
                                            flexed upon water.

                                            It has rhythm sublime,
                                            as rootlets in mud
                                            will give rise to good grain.

                                            The ladies in hats
                                            with their feet in the mud
                                            seem to relish their role
                                            in the cycle of grain and of families.

                                            1. It is good give meander
                                              twixt our pickles, our onions
                                              As we set out to con'struct our sandwich.

                                              Our choice of laid layer
                                              whether bread, whether bun,
                                              enmixes us.

                                              Such subtleties of crust
                                              are just one of our issues
                                              but then stout among us
                                              are those that seek crustless.

                                              I give suppose
                                              that as we compose
                                              our superlative sandwich

                                              We remember meander
                                              'tween pickles and onions.

                                              1. Those danged laws of Newton
                                                and his theories of gravity
                                                Keep us inclined in our chairs
                                                in our varying times of our over-consumption.

                                                Had Newton seen universe
                                                in its sweet soft simplicity
                                                He would know that belt-loosening
                                                and occasional farting

                                                Was purely digestive,
                                                not planetary motion.

                                                1. It is of Ogden, and J W Riley
                                                  to give me this speak upon pumpkins.

                                                  Such globular gourds
                                                  by Halloweeners adored.

                                                  So many times we have opened them, scraped them
                                                  of seeds, be replaced by carved face.

                                                  I admire their rotundity, and the fact they are orange,
                                                  and also abundant with edible seeds.

                                                  This season of frost
                                                  it is good to have pumpkins.

                                                  And perhaps more perceive
                                                  from such strength of the pumpkins.

                                                  1. I went down to McD's
                                                    attached to our Walmarttook place
                                                    and ordered the joy
                                                    of their good "senior coffee".

                                                    Heck, I sure wish I had studied more Spanish
                                                    as all elocutions
                                                    took place in that language.

                                                    But I got my coffee.
                                                    It's a really good brew
                                                    that rolls down the gullet

                                                    That rolls down the gullet
                                                    regardless of language.

                                                    1. First finders of Fords,
                                                      the crossing of streams
                                                      which up or down river would be too extreme.

                                                      I wish I could share
                                                      that magnificent moment
                                                      Where scope of the river
                                                      gave clarity to crossing.

                                                      And those rascals of scouts
                                                      Did it on diet of jerky and bacon and beans.

                                                      I accord with all finders of Fords,
                                                      of bacon and beans.

                                                      1. I'm danged if I don't post upon beans
                                                        this fine sterling morning.

                                                        It began with a can, but soon prompted a call
                                                        to get some diced onions right in there.

                                                        Being onions and beans,
                                                        It called for some cheese.

                                                        I now revel in recipe trifoliate.

                                                        1. Now Fall, with commensurate coming of frosts
                                                          I'm musing 'pon using of pumpkins.

                                                          Not those grown for carving,
                                                          but rather for serving.

                                                          We can only give marvel
                                                          to farmers ancestral
                                                          who saved best germplasm
                                                          for next generation.

                                                          Could we wonder of their methods
                                                          of laying hot fire to the gourds?

                                                          Their is talk of skin bags
                                                          laid in pits in the ground, filled with water
                                                          with hot rocks for heat immersed
                                                          to afford a slow simmer.

                                                          But perhaps did they roast them on fire
                                                          without benefits of metals as good grates?

                                                          Might be well we appreciate
                                                          these old keepers and cookers of gourds
                                                          as today we use microwaves
                                                          and calibrated ovens.

                                                          There is room for good praises
                                                          of those passers of pumpkin seeds.

                                                          1. I cannot compete with Thomas Wolfe: 'What shall it be now? what shall it be? A snack! A snack!"


                                                            1 Reply
                                                            1. re: lyden

                                                              Thanks for that link, to remind us
                                                              of the power of Thomas.

                                                              I devoured his literature in my formative years.
                                                              It was prose that did mingle with poetry.

                                                              During same years, I lived near his hometown of Asheville, North Carolina
                                                              and would visit his childhood home, restored, open to public,
                                                              and rock in a chair upon floors built of chestnut
                                                              and just seek of his soul as so great a writer.

                                                              Legend has it that, with his tall looming frame
                                                              He would use as his desktop the top of his refrigerator
                                                              Thus writing while standing.

                                                              Good place to be
                                                              When you're seeking a snack.

                                                            2. There is joy to be had
                                                              from a full tub of chicken livers

                                                              sold in the super
                                                              at circa one pound.

                                                              There is fun just in the schwump
                                                              as tub is delivered to drainer.

                                                              If others are lovers
                                                              of good chicken livers
                                                              then let us meet here:


                                                              1. Musing on JW Riley and his bent dialectual
                                                                and Ogden, dear Ogden,
                                                                with his bent toward the everywhere
                                                                and given the season November
                                                                there must be mention of dear Robert Frost.

                                                                It is season of harvest
                                                                It is time to rejoice
                                                                to lay joy to event
                                                                of morning ice on the ground.

                                                                Hear the knives cutting pumpkins
                                                                just right, at their stems.

                                                                Be part of the shard of those changes
                                                                that we welcome in Fall.

                                                                1. Here on this morn
                                                                  with a breakfast with cheeses
                                                                  mind moves back in time
                                                                  to the old timer cheesers
                                                                  also known as the geezers.

                                                                  Their names sing with euphony

                                                                  There was Ebenezer,
                                                                  whom just from his name
                                                                  we'll assume was a cheeser.

                                                                  Then more of a mouthful
                                                                  was Nebuchadnezzar
                                                                  with broad pastures of goats
                                                                  we must ponder his cheddars.

                                                                  It is good to have geezers
                                                                  ringing peals from the past
                                                                  as we munch on our cheese
                                                                  in the morning.

                                                                  1. We are blessed with abundance of shrooms here in Oklahoma, having a superlative shroom farm about a hundred miles up the highway that brings them in fresh.

                                                                    In my personal meander into realms of the mushrooms
                                                                    I find sweet affinity with them dried up Shiitakes.

                                                                    Always signals good dance
                                                                    of gentle remembrance
                                                                    when I trod Japanese forests
                                                                    designed with a kind of Pine
                                                                    and understory layer of stacked oak logs
                                                                    from which those Shiitake gave growth.
                                                                    Good times... Good forests.

                                                                    I buy them dry bagged by almost the bushel
                                                                    then transfer to quarts size glass Masons.
                                                                    They are part of decor of my kitchen.
                                                                    And their rehydration a part of my rhythm.

                                                                    It is shroom of a dance and a dallince
                                                                    Twixt the dried and the fresh.

                                                                    This Okie feels lucky
                                                                    and blessed by good mushrooms.

                                                                    1. Beans staple becradled
                                                                      upon stovetops

                                                                      Or earlier place
                                                                      amidst roars of the embers
                                                                      finding place in the hearth

                                                                      Now more to the microwave

                                                                      But yet still beans been staples
                                                                      as have always been
                                                                      with place on our tables
                                                                      So blessed buy the hearth
                                                                      Sweet legumes from the fields
                                                                      Have always been beans
                                                                      and gift to our tables
                                                                      However our hearths.

                                                                      There will always been been
                                                                      and always thus also
                                                                      the gift of good beans.

                                                                      1. Be there joy be so singular
                                                                        As contemplation of liver
                                                                        as delivered by chickens?

                                                                        Offered as Orbs
                                                                        with resilience they glisten
                                                                        and shake as take shape.

                                                                        Later bepaired with some all purpose flour
                                                                        or perhaps pours of Marsala
                                                                        the globular liver
                                                                        maintains its integrity
                                                                        Always staying real good;

                                                                        Which is what be expected
                                                                        from so simple a gift
                                                                        as globular glistening livers.

                                                                        1. So where would we be without singers of seasons?

                                                                          Chanters of Spring with florescent abundance
                                                                          of things more than good onions full spectrum of Alliums
                                                                          springing eternal yet somehow ephemeral
                                                                          as gits that give spring.

                                                                          Then Songsters of Summer when mind moves toward maters
                                                                          and we sit in that patch and salted envelope the whole;

                                                                          Then singers to Fall and call to their pumpkins
                                                                          and squashes and gourds,

                                                                          There be room for all singers
                                                                          who conscience all seasons
                                                                          Give their glissade and their roar
                                                                          To things tucked to season.

                                                                          3 Replies
                                                                          1. re: FoodFuser

                                                                            Fuser, I am so enjoying reading your verses. Thanks for the comments on Wolfe. Here is one from William Carlos Williams on plums:



                                                                            1. re: lyden

                                                                              To neglect the great magnitude
                                                                              of William Carlos Williams
                                                                              as a poet appreciate of plums

                                                                              Would be deep negation
                                                                              of those came before us
                                                                              of voice building chorus

                                                                              To plumb to the plum
                                                                              with view admirative
                                                                              to firm of its supple

                                                                              of softness and stoutness
                                                                              of both flesh and of skin
                                                                              when hefted to chin

                                                                              Gives us the gift
                                                                              of simple simplicity
                                                                              of fruit such as plum.

                                                                              Just with tip of the hat
                                                                              our words simply blend chorus
                                                                              of them came before us.

                                                                              Be it so simple
                                                                              as love of the plums.

                                                                              1. re: lyden

                                                                                It was good to have rocked
                                                                                with such mentle had Momma

                                                                                Our oak chairs
                                                                                spent dual rhythm
                                                                                upon hard chestnut of floors.

                                                                                There stroked we together
                                                                                in manner comptemplative

                                                                                of thinking
                                                                                while rocking

                                                                                Of matters of Wolfe
                                                                                of poets of granite
                                                                                and of looking of Homeward
                                                                                as Angels.
                                                                                and of time spent in rivers.

                                                                            2. Crockpot doth extend, in these seasons sans summers
                                                                              Its own gentle heat, while simmers interior
                                                                              Beef seven bladed, pork been beshouldered

                                                                              Nestled together as goodness of flavor
                                                                              and surehaps great gravy
                                                                              so sits enkindled my crockpot.

                                                                              Not much source of strength of good heat
                                                                              in lack of high kilowatts

                                                                              It surely has mingles
                                                                              of warmth and of memories
                                                                              as delivered
                                                                              both warmth and both taste.

                                                                              Still yet it kindles
                                                                              most gentle of heaters
                                                                              prepared for the strength of both beef and pork shoulder.

                                                                              There is awe
                                                                              in both strength
                                                                              and bekindle of kitchens.

                                                                              1. Thanksgiving.

                                                                                The shards of the Feast live long through the weekend
                                                                                with casseroles, hashes
                                                                                and most of all sandwiches.

                                                                                Who not among us has sneaked down to the kitchen
                                                                                in such search of leftovers?

                                                                                Open the fridge door and yes, there it glistens...
                                                                                shreds of the Turkey
                                                                                and some form of Cranberry.

                                                                                Thus we are tasked only with finding some bread
                                                                                to assemble said components
                                                                                in some semblance of sandwich.

                                                                                So pleasant that mission
                                                                                to find perfect combination
                                                                                of bread, and of turkey, and so luscious of berries.
                                                                                With the added good unctuous of Mayo.

                                                                                Just be careful of slippage
                                                                                if you try for the Dagwood.

                                                                                1. Arising way early this morning to almost-frosted dawn
                                                                                  I reach with deep habit for skillets, and growl with soft yawn.

                                                                                  It is time to prepare a big breakfast.

                                                                                  Sausage and bacon be of course such a given
                                                                                  as are biscuits becoddled until they're well risen.
                                                                                  Dense multigrain pancakes with sorghum as season.

                                                                                  Longing for days of quick trip to the henhouse
                                                                                  now finding solace in eggs in their styrofoam cartons.

                                                                                  But eggies be eggies, and be served on demand
                                                                                  as to fried to their doneness or degree of their scramble.

                                                                                  Soon all will awaken from slumber and stumble toward kitchen
                                                                                  Giving stretch, giving scratch
                                                                                  giving unknowing wonder
                                                                                  to beauty of breakfast
                                                                                  and beauty of day and of dawn.

                                                                                  As days beat their march with little no fanfare
                                                                                  when good mornings as this fade in time to be bygones.
                                                                                  There will always be memories
                                                                                  of magnificent breakfasts
                                                                                  of the sizzle of eggs.

                                                                                  1. In Praise of the Pig:

                                                                                    So supple, so handsome, this rumbling beast
                                                                                    been with us eclipsed generations.

                                                                                    Of the Triad of milk cow, egg-laying chickens,
                                                                                    I pick the Pig.

                                                                                    From curly-queued tail, to flatness of snout,
                                                                                    to distinction of snort,
                                                                                    I pick the Pig.

                                                                                    He gives us not milk, but he gives us his meat.
                                                                                    Not just the prime cuts, but also his offal.

                                                                                    It is good to have joy with the jowls and the trotters,
                                                                                    with the bellies most unctuous and the snouts of firm texture.

                                                                                    We have journeyed together some thousands of years
                                                                                    We and the Pig.

                                                                                    1. It was there in the woods, in our wilderness camping
                                                                                      as both rain and winds shook our tent.

                                                                                      It was there, as we ate the pot slowly,
                                                                                      at bottom shone a single macaroni.
                                                                                      Two spoons, one pot, was our manner of camping

                                                                                      Quizzical looks, lumend only by flashlight.
                                                                                      Growls of our bellies not yet fully sated.
                                                                                      Just who would take prize of this last macaroni?

                                                                                      Thunder and wind and hard rain gave shake to our tent,
                                                                                      but paled to the showdown over last macaroni.

                                                                                      Then broke we with laughter
                                                                                      that equaled skies thunder.
                                                                                      We clanged spoons in the pot
                                                                                      and proceeded to rip so asunder
                                                                                      into equal of halves
                                                                                      this remnant of solo of noodles.

                                                                                      God bless macaroni.
                                                                                      God bless good friends.
                                                                                      God bless the lessons
                                                                                      of one noodle in bottom of pot.

                                                                                      1. It is good have relationship
                                                                                        with purveyor supplier
                                                                                        where one can knock
                                                                                        upon door of the shop
                                                                                        and door opens.

                                                                                        This was the case
                                                                                        with most local of folks
                                                                                        ran shop well reknowned
                                                                                        as good noodlers.

                                                                                        If eggs bathed in dashi
                                                                                        were not just quite ready
                                                                                        They pulled out the pans
                                                                                        and fried up some fresh ones.

                                                                                        Always with basket of brass and bamboo,
                                                                                        where swung such fresh nooodles
                                                                                        soon delivered to porcelain bowl
                                                                                        as real kind of ramen.

                                                                                        Just a knock on the door.

                                                                                        1. Would that all kitchens
                                                                                          had embrace of good chickens
                                                                                          to send them
                                                                                          to hot fire of the oven.

                                                                                          Would that all folks
                                                                                          would suckle good yolks
                                                                                          of eggs lightly fried
                                                                                          enwrapped in albumen.

                                                                                          It was never a question of chicken or egg.
                                                                                          Just goodness of concert.

                                                                                          Who to dance first?

                                                                                          Chickens that roar with heat of hot oven?
                                                                                          Eggs in the skillet that bubble on stovetop with butter?

                                                                                          Such questions of chickens and eggs
                                                                                          become quite be-baffling.

                                                                                          And then add to equation the question...
                                                                                          of the crossing of road...

                                                                                          I would much rather sit at the table
                                                                                          with a well-roasted hen, for the pulling,
                                                                                          and a thrice of fried eggs, for the sucking.

                                                                                          Then, with fear of cacophony,
                                                                                          mix bite of the drumstick
                                                                                          with bite of the egg white.

                                                                                          It is there, in that moment,
                                                                                          that bells peal resolution
                                                                                          of perennial questions

                                                                                          Of just which came first,
                                                                                          and why crossed they the road?

                                                                                          There are so many answers
                                                                                          yet un-clucked from our chickens
                                                                                          or their yolks and albumens.

                                                                                          1. Consider the bean.

                                                                                            Ovoid in shape
                                                                                            as it dries as legume.

                                                                                            Consider its power.
                                                                                            Packed full of protein.

                                                                                            As rests there, a single legume.

                                                                                            So rounded in power
                                                                                            lays that legume.

                                                                                            Accordance to proteins
                                                                                            and good polysaccharides
                                                                                            been be in those beans,

                                                                                            I celebrate waft,
                                                                                            That brings home them Pintos
                                                                                            in our farts and our flatulence.

                                                                                            So singular, so supple,
                                                                                            It is be, be the bean.

                                                                                            1. Ramen...

                                                                                              Noodles drift in bowl
                                                                                              Hot broth swirls around my spoon
                                                                                              How my mouth waters

                                                                                              2 Replies
                                                                                              1. re: deet13

                                                                                                GREAT ramen haiku there, perfect to form.

                                                                                              2. Milk.

                                                                                                It is cow in the moonlight.

                                                                                                Sweet dance of the task of unloading those udders.

                                                                                                The grapple of teats, to splash milk in the bucket,
                                                                                                reminds me of others.
                                                                                                Let us bring it to bucket.

                                                                                                Let us not think of others had udders.

                                                                                                Let us just splash with a rhythm to bucket
                                                                                                with good moo to the moonlight.

                                                                                                Rhythm to milking.
                                                                                                Richness of milk.

                                                                                                And beauty of evening
                                                                                                gives to moo.

                                                                                                1. Thoughts just upon the goodness of grits.

                                                                                                  Harmony in Hominy
                                                                                                  of grits on the plate.

                                                                                                  Corn that was kettled now brought to the table
                                                                                                  as plate of good grits.

                                                                                                  So hard to find word
                                                                                                  that gives balance to harmony hominy
                                                                                                  so I let it resolve in its euphony.
                                                                                                  It is just plate of grits.

                                                                                                  Spoon to the plate and the face, I devour them.

                                                                                                  Waitress, who watches,
                                                                                                  asks simple question...
                                                                                                  would I find pleasure had in just one more plateful?

                                                                                                  I order up eggs.
                                                                                                  I order up bacon

                                                                                                  As me and my spoon give good slop to the hominy...

                                                                                                  There is beauty appointed to plate full of grits.

                                                                                                  1. Such wonder of days
                                                                                                    when the Clan got together
                                                                                                    and shared up their gossip
                                                                                                    along with their casseroles.

                                                                                                    It was Uncles and Aunts
                                                                                                    well gathered to table
                                                                                                    with gift of accord
                                                                                                    to Aunt Matron who hosted us.

                                                                                                    The passing of casserole
                                                                                                    in cascade down the table
                                                                                                    is a gift best of given
                                                                                                    by rollick of family.

                                                                                                    Shares of stories of wears
                                                                                                    in safety of good family
                                                                                                    became just incumbent
                                                                                                    in passage of casseroles.

                                                                                                    Beauty of Family
                                                                                                    Gathered to table
                                                                                                    has strength of far greater resound
                                                                                                    than such simple as casserole.

                                                                                                    1. Perhaps it be role of a rascal
                                                                                                      to bring to the table
                                                                                                      such a lowly discussion
                                                                                                      as a can of sardines.

                                                                                                      Cloistered they be
                                                                                                      in stiff cans of aluminum
                                                                                                      yet with lids made for zipping
                                                                                                      and contents devouring.

                                                                                                      So dazzle the deens
                                                                                                      ensconced in tight can
                                                                                                      yet embody the swim of the fishies
                                                                                                      in fullness of ocean.

                                                                                                      1. Engagement with onions
                                                                                                        gives release and abandon
                                                                                                        to soar to the sky
                                                                                                        with goodness of Alliums.

                                                                                                        Whether in mirepoix,
                                                                                                        as beginning of dish,
                                                                                                        or battered and fried
                                                                                                        with full kick of flourish,

                                                                                                        There is praise
                                                                                                        for the taste
                                                                                                        just of onions.

                                                                                                        1. Passion... Ingestion...
                                                                                                          consider collide of the both of them words.

                                                                                                          Then consider... Digestion... Reflection.

                                                                                                          1. This Is Just To Say
                                                                                                            by William Carlos Williams

                                                                                                            I have eaten
                                                                                                            the plums
                                                                                                            that were in
                                                                                                            the icebox

                                                                                                            and which
                                                                                                            you were probably
                                                                                                            for breakfast

                                                                                                            Forgive me
                                                                                                            they were delicious
                                                                                                            so sweet
                                                                                                            and so cold

                                                                                                            1 Reply
                                                                                                            1. re: BananasFoster

                                                                                                              so good and so simple a poet,
                                                                                                              had a way both with words, and with plums.

                                                                                                            2. Good that it be, have so close a neighbor
                                                                                                              Daily dispenser of tofu.

                                                                                                              Good that it be, that she knows me only by smile
                                                                                                              language a barrier
                                                                                                              She be Vietnam.

                                                                                                              Yet daily she grinds her gift of the soybeans
                                                                                                              rendered to milk
                                                                                                              then curdled to tofu.

                                                                                                              Her shop has appeal
                                                                                                              of glisten most stainless of steel
                                                                                                              with bags of beans stacked
                                                                                                              awaiting their curdle.

                                                                                                              Always of smile,
                                                                                                              and wipe to her apron
                                                                                                              that shows well she worked,

                                                                                                              Still language be barrier
                                                                                                              but dispenses with style
                                                                                                              the warmth of her tubs of fresh tofu.

                                                                                                              Such be the rhythm,
                                                                                                              dispensed universal,
                                                                                                              of milkers and curders of beans.

                                                                                                              Yet be there the meetment of smile.

                                                                                                              1. Upon simple as Milk.

                                                                                                                Consider the slide
                                                                                                                betwixt hardness of glass
                                                                                                                and a gladness of gullet
                                                                                                                results from a good gulp of milk.

                                                                                                                Such best of the beverages
                                                                                                                it glides as does silk
                                                                                                                down journey of throat
                                                                                                                that be milk.

                                                                                                                Caseins and proteins
                                                                                                                so sweetly delivered
                                                                                                                just one more gift
                                                                                                                of glissade of the milk.

                                                                                                                In range of its temperatures,
                                                                                                                charges hard as a warrior
                                                                                                                When delivered of crisp and of cold.

                                                                                                                That be the way
                                                                                                                of the most of us
                                                                                                                give drink to it. Cold.

                                                                                                                Yet savor the flavor
                                                                                                                of Milk at room temperature
                                                                                                                with such subtle yield
                                                                                                                to fullness of fragrance.

                                                                                                                There lingers aroma
                                                                                                                perhaps of the caseins
                                                                                                                mayhaps the fullness
                                                                                                                of just being milk.

                                                                                                                It is reason kept cows.
                                                                                                                To knead of their udders
                                                                                                                to deliver to bucket
                                                                                                                such marvel as milk.

                                                                                                                1. Drumbeat issues from forest,
                                                                                                                  with rhythm of peal
                                                                                                                  to whatever appeals
                                                                                                                  to your choice of a meal.

                                                                                                                  Constance of drumbeats
                                                                                                                  Constance of choices
                                                                                                                  Ablend with our meals.

                                                                                                                  1. Joy to the munch of so simple as sandwich.
                                                                                                                    Whatever the filling
                                                                                                                    as long as there's lettuce
                                                                                                                    there be crunch.

                                                                                                                    1. Carton of eggs, these days, from modern of markets, are somewhat a given.
                                                                                                                      Sufficient, efficient.

                                                                                                                      Yet those eggs laid freshly, by hens, with their chuckles
                                                                                                                      and their settle with feathers upon place in their nests
                                                                                                                      Be the best.

                                                                                                                      It is good to have friends who are farmers of chickens
                                                                                                                      and share of their eggs upon breakfast.

                                                                                                                      1. Such study of contrasts
                                                                                                                        is beholding in Bean Dip
                                                                                                                        When first has its meeting
                                                                                                                        with the crisp of good corn chip.

                                                                                                                        The guys sort of circle the crockpot
                                                                                                                        in ways not dissimilar to cows at the feedlot
                                                                                                                        when they receive bales of hay.

                                                                                                                        1. Gift, winter evening, of joy of hot chocolate.
                                                                                                                          Sups from the cup have good snort and warm sipping.

                                                                                                                          Why else would botanists have given it name "Theobrosia"
                                                                                                                          As we supple its nectar from Gods?

                                                                                                                          Nights of such quiet and softness of winds
                                                                                                                          of good distribution of chill upon continent
                                                                                                                          are perhaps best time to contemplate chocolate.

                                                                                                                          I sip mine beside the heater that berates cold of winter
                                                                                                                          seeking the essence of so simple the beverage
                                                                                                                          as unveils in hot chocolate.

                                                                                                                          There is swirl to the cup
                                                                                                                          of each every sup
                                                                                                                          to the sediment at bottom
                                                                                                                          causing thoughts Theobroma.

                                                                                                                          Sips to the fireside
                                                                                                                          Sups to the warmth
                                                                                                                          Such be the goodness
                                                                                                                          of this beverage of winter

                                                                                                                          1. Superbowl Wings.

                                                                                                                            With annual gridiron and kickoff of laced pointed pigskin
                                                                                                                            our national passion seems reside with the wings of the chickens.

                                                                                                                            There are pilgrimages to recipes of original Buffalo
                                                                                                                            of just what best hot sauce, and just how much butter?

                                                                                                                            Earlier years I bought styro pack of fresh wings
                                                                                                                            Good feel of heavy cleaver as it slid through the joints
                                                                                                                            Yielding two pieces, plus wingtip for stock.

                                                                                                                            Now times march ahead of us and it's frozen bagged wings.
                                                                                                                            Much easier, but I miss feel of cleaver in patient dissembly.

                                                                                                                            Browned in an inch of hot oil
                                                                                                                            they are ready to cool on the rack
                                                                                                                            and rest overnight in their marinade

                                                                                                                            To be served after hot oven baking, with basting.
                                                                                                                            while NFL diehards are playmaking.

                                                                                                                            I settle to seat, with plate of good wings,
                                                                                                                            and use both my teeth and tongue to dissect them digest them,
                                                                                                                            and sometimes give play with my fingers.

                                                                                                                            1. Grill Man stands heavy from morning of hashbrowns.
                                                                                                                              Flat-top is tired from that run of good eggs and crisp bacon.

                                                                                                                              Breakfast is over.

                                                                                                                              It is time turn attention to matter of onions.
                                                                                                                              Their globes have been peeled and sliced
                                                                                                                              Layers now lofted with tug of good fingers.

                                                                                                                              Some ready for Rings,
                                                                                                                              some ready for Grill.

                                                                                                                              First order comes in
                                                                                                                              and down go the onions.
                                                                                                                              Sizzled to grill,
                                                                                                                              and then comes the magic ...

                                                                                                                              The pounding of patty down deep in those onions,

                                                                                                                              Power of spatula
                                                                                                                              individual attention
                                                                                                                              Brings crisp onion burgers.
                                                                                                                              Smile of mutual intention.

                                                                                                                              Bun roughly grilled
                                                                                                                              Then consummate burger
                                                                                                                              Placed to the plate.

                                                                                                                              Sensuous sear gives aromas.
                                                                                                                              Crust of the onions
                                                                                                                              Give please to teeth tongue and palate.

                                                                                                                              Grill Man done good.

                                                                                                                              1. A pause of applause for strong paws, of them stack our cheddars.

                                                                                                                                They take them from milk, to good curdled caseins,
                                                                                                                                Stirring and salting to bring to a slab.

                                                                                                                                Forearms employed for the folding and stacking,
                                                                                                                                Transport to racks, where, over time, become cheeses.

                                                                                                                                Those of white shirts and white hats,
                                                                                                                                With paddle in white milk in vessels of steel
                                                                                                                                Should engender our praises
                                                                                                                                of their part in our cheeses.

                                                                                                                                1. Poem: Bonito to Dashi.

                                                                                                                                  Visions of days in Hakata bay
                                                                                                                                  as men did their work with bonito.
                                                                                                                                  Skipjackck tuna
                                                                                                                                  Quick knife, they were long quarters,
                                                                                                                                  Transforming those quartered bonito
                                                                                                                                  was slow dance with real rhythm.

                                                                                                                                  Pulling from slow fire
                                                                                                                                  Patience of rhythm
                                                                                                                                  of drying and smoking.

                                                                                                                                  Then the innoculum of sweet Aspergillus
                                                                                                                                  to be molded and rested

                                                                                                                                  It dries the bonito to
                                                                                                                                  us and our shaving.

                                                                                                                                  Praise to those fellows
                                                                                                                                  who have worked the Bonito.

                                                                                                                                  Now in our hand, the hardness and ping,
                                                                                                                                  Katsuoboshi delivered from Masters.

                                                                                                                                  We shave it to flakes
                                                                                                                                  in the thinest of increments.

                                                                                                                                  We savour the hiss
                                                                                                                                  of bonito 'pon blade.

                                                                                                                                  Shavings pile from our process
                                                                                                                                  Deepest aromas surround us.

                                                                                                                                  We are one with the fish
                                                                                                                                  and its yield to the blade.

                                                                                                                                  Good is our dance with the Dashi.

                                                                                                                                  1. Weather is excellent.
                                                                                                                                    Windows allow that the outside
                                                                                                                                    be inside.

                                                                                                                                    Roasted a pork loin
                                                                                                                                    with utter simplicity.
                                                                                                                                    Blazing heat first,
                                                                                                                                    then no electricity.

                                                                                                                                    Slow thrills in the slicing
                                                                                                                                    of pork so enticing,
                                                                                                                                    Some for week's sandwiches
                                                                                                                                    Some today's dalliances.

                                                                                                                                    Curtains are billowing
                                                                                                                                    Taut sheets are beckoning.
                                                                                                                                    Today with tonnato
                                                                                                                                    Ahead of tomorrow.

                                                                                                                                    1. We love Halloween
                                                                                                                                      As the kids do their shuffle
                                                                                                                                      To align at the front porch
                                                                                                                                      And then push on the doorbell.

                                                                                                                                      They open their bags
                                                                                                                                      And I toss in the Snickers
                                                                                                                                      with a wave to the parents
                                                                                                                                      who keep customs flickers.

                                                                                                                                      1 Reply