I've been enjoying this blog thing for the past year now.
I hope you have, too.
So far I've tossed out a plethora of cooking hints, a bevy of kitchen tips, several top ten lists, a smidgen of prose, a wiseguy remark or two...heck, I even tried my hand at some food photography (http://bit.ly/ih1gUF).
But there's one thing I haven't tackled yet:
And if you think about it, cooking is a lot like poetry.
Really. It is.
Except you don't use any vowels or consonants. Unless, of course, you're making alphabet soup.
But I've always been a great admirer of the celebrated poets: Walt Whitman, Langston Hughes, Theodor Geisel...
And especially Emily Dickinson. Or was that Eric Dickerson? (Which one played for the Colts?)
So here's my first attempt at culinary poetry. I've used a classic format to build on (you may recognize it). So pour yourself a steaming cup of tea and snuggle up beside a warm fire.
And if you don't have a fireplace, throw a few ribs on the grill and pop open a beer. It's all good... Now, onto the poems:
FLOWERS IN THE KITCHEN
Roses are red.
Violets are blue.
Cooking is like poetry.
Except when it's not.
Okay. Enough with the wise cracks.
It was a first try.
This one, a culinary haiku, should be better:
If we eat baked beans
Trust me, no one will wonder
If we ate baked beans
Let's forget the Orient.
How bout a stab at some poetry from my peeps. The Irish. And I'm talking limericks:
THE BREAD TRUCK MAN
Old Seamus hailed from Delbruck
He drove a Wonderbread truck
One fine day he wrecked
His boss gave him heck
Said Seamus, "I don't give a f**k".
I think I'm getting in the zone here.
Wrestling down the muse.
Or maybe it's the third scotch kicking in.
Either way. I'm digging this poetry thing. Here's one more:
SOMETIMES DINING, LIKE LOVE, HURTS
"What should I make for dinner," she asked
As they donned black leather and masks.
"Just whip up something nice today
While I pour a Marquis de Chardonnay."
Killer. I know.
And here's another.
This one is called...no wait. I just got an e-mail from YouTooCouldBeAFamousPoet.com. They want to publish my poems in their next anthology! And it will only cost me a few hundred bucks. Boo-yeah!
While I'm getting back to them, do you have any cooking poems you think our readers might enjoy? Bring 'em on!
And while you're at it. What say we open another bottle of Chardonnay? I'll get the masks...