Joys of the Table: An Anthology of Culinary Verse

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Last week my contributor’s copy of Joys of the Table: An Anthology of Culinary Verse arrived in the mail. Edited by Sally Zakariya and published by Richer Resources Publications, the collection includes food-related poems by 75 poets, the majority women but not all women. Some of the women poets familiar to me are Lucille Lang Day, Carol Dorf, Erica Goss, Charlotte Mandel, Andrea Potos, Susan Rich, and Kim Roberts. The male poets include Lawrence Schimel, Nicholas Samaras, Michael H. Levin, and Conrad Geller. A full list of the contributors with bios may be found HERE.

The book is divided into six sections: Amuse Bouche, What We Eat, Food and Love, Geography of Food, Kitchen Memories, and Food and Mortality. I found many mouth-watering poems in this tasty collection. I also found some tempting recipes scattered among the poems.

My own contribution, “Linguini,” is included in the Food and Love section.

From the What We Eat section I especially liked this poem by Erica Goss:


Afternoon in the Shape of a Pear

One hundred pounds
on the kitchen counter,
shoulder- to-shoulder
like sweet, lumpy trolls.
I touch each one, feel
hidden seeds moving
and the hairy tickle
of the blossom-ends.
Something so bland
takes sharpness well:
bleu cheese,
the paring knife.
Perishable flesh
glowing like pearl
leaves sugary grains
under my fingernails.
In its lopsided heart
a lute-shaped crater
hides the worm
who, though blind
knows the importance
of being first.

             —Santa Clara Review, 2013


A favorite poem from the Food and Mortality section is this one by Susan Rich:

Food for Fallen Angels

          If food be the music of love, play on.—Twelfth Night, misremembered

If they can remember living at all, it is the food they miss:
a plate of goji berries, pickled ginger, gorgonzola prawns
dressed on a bed of miniature thyme, a spoon

glistening with pomegranate seeds, Russian black bread
lavished with July cherries so sweet, it was dangerous to revive;
to slide slowly above the lips, flick and swallow-almost, but not quite.

Perhaps more like this summer night: lobsters in the lemon grove
a picnicker's trick of moonlight and platters; the table dressed
in gold kissed glass, napkins spread smooth as dark chocolate.

If they sample a pastry-glazed Florentine, praline hearts—
heaven is lost. It's the cinnamon and salt our souls return for—
rocket on the tongue, the clove of garlic: fresh and flirtatious.

          —From The Alchemist's Kitchen, White Pine Press, 2010


The following recipe, contributed by Eric Forsbergh, sounds outstanding. I think I’d better try it soon.

Pavlovas with Berry Topping

Meringues
4 large egg whites
Pinch of salt
1 teaspoon distilled white vinegar or strained lemon juice
1 cup sugar, divided
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
4 teaspoons cornstarch

Berry Topping
1 pint strawberries, rinsed, hulled, and sliced
3 tablespoons sugar
1 cup each fresh raspberries and blueberries

Whipped Cream
1 cup heavy whipping cream
2 tablespoons  sugar
1 teaspoon vanilla extract

Set racks in the upper and lower thirds of the oven and preheat to 250 degrees. Line cookie sheets or jellyroll pans with parchment paper. Draw 3- to 3 1/2 -inch-diameter circles, well apart from each other, on the parchment paper and turn the paper over.

Combine egg whites, salt, and vinegar. Whip the whites until they hold firm peaks but are not stiff. Gradually add 3/4 cup of the sugar, then whip in the vanilla. Mix the last 1/4 cup sugar with the cornstarch and fold it in.

Spoon the meringue onto the parchment paper in the circles, spreading and smoothing to fill. Use a spoon to make an indentation in the center to hold the cream and fruit. Bake for one hour. Turn the oven off and leave them in the oven with the door open for another 30 minutes.

For the berry topping, stir the strawberries and the sugar in a bowl. Cover and refrigerate for at least a couple of hours. Just before serving, fold in the raspberries  and blueberries.

Whip cream, sugar, and vanilla until soft peaks form. To assemble, place each meringue on a dessert plate. Spoon whipped cream on each and add the berry topping, drizzling the berry juices over all.


This book would make a great gift for friends who love poetry and food. Don’t forget to be a friend to yourself. Bon appetit!

On the Internet This Week

Poet and blogger, Adele Kenny, recently invited me to guest blog at her site, The Music in It (a poetry place). She asked me to write about food poems. I'm extremely pleased with the way Adele did the post. Lovely introduction, good-looking post design, and a number of links. I like the way she put all of the links after the post instead of inside it. My poem, "Linguini," is also included. Read it here. Then go back again as Adele will be posting a prompt based on the guest post. Be sure to bookmark Adele's blog, especially if you're looking for regular prompts which is a feature of her blog.

What a sexy dish of linguini!

Sexy consumption in Tom Jones

I was also pleased to be invited to be the debut Poet of the Month at Your Daily Poem, a feature that site owner, Jayne Jaudon Ferrer, plans to make a monthly occurrence. A nice introduction followed by a 10 question interview. Check it out here.  It has been suggested that this entitles me to an entire month of total respect from everyone!

Seven August Fans

In my sidebar you will notice that I'm offering a Giveaway at Goodreads. One free copy of my book, Temptation by Water, will be given to the winner of the drawing. Goodreads selects the winner and then sends me the name. I then do the signing and mailing. So hop on over to the sidebar and enter.

Thanks to all who signed up for my monthly newsletter. I was amazed and delighted by the response. If you signed up and did not receive the August issue, please check your spam folder. If it's not there, let me know. If you didn't sign up but now want to, hop on over to the sidebar and fill out the simple form and you'll be added to the list. The next issue goes out September 1.


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The Poet's Cookbook

What goes great with poetry? Food! If you like both, this is the book for you. Co-edited by Grace Cavalieri and Sabine Pascarelli, The Poet's Cookbook: Recipes from Tuscany contains poems by 28 poets and a generous number of recipes from the editors' own kitchens. The recipes are for dishes that will satisfy the most discriminating palate but also fit into the busy schedule of today's cook. Even the cover of this collection is delicious. (Click cover to go to Amazon.)

Everything about this collection says Love. Says Care. A quick look at the table of contents reveals that the book is organized the same way a menu might be organized in a fine Italian restaurant. The editors move us through Appetizers, Soups, First Course, Second Course, Vegetables, and Salads, and then to Desserts. Each section begins with 10 recipes. Those recipes are then followed by 3-10 poems, each about food and each appearing side by side with the Italian translation of the poem. All translations were done by Pascarelli.

Here's a sampling of some of the recipes: Italian Mushroom Relish, Vegetable and Bread Soup, Sauteed Porcini Mushrooms with Polenta, Pork Roast in Chianti, Asparagus alla Farnesina, Sweet Corn and Radicchio Salad, and Chocolate Wine Cake.

My poem, Linguini, is happy to be joined by poems from Karren Alenier, Cecily Angelton, David Budbill, Andrea Hollander Budy, Anne Caston, Jenny D'Angelo, Tina Daub, Moira Egan, Jean Emerson, Emily Ferrara, Nan Fry, Maria Mazziotti Gillan, Michael S. Glaser, Barbara Goldberg, Patricia Gray, Carole Wagner Greenwood, Rod Jellema, Calder Lowe, Judy Neri, Linda Pastan, Alexis Rotella, Carly Sachs, Vivian Shipley, Rose Solari, Christine Sostarich, Katherine Williams, and Ernie Wormwood.

I've already sent out one copy as a thank-you gift. I think this book also makes a perfect holiday gift. Put it on your list.

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Writing about Obsessions

I'm a bit obsessive about fruit. I keep coming back for more. I’m often asked why I write poems about fruit—the strawberry, blueberry, apricot, apple, and others. This obsession with fruit is part of a larger obsession with food in general. Of course, it goes back to my childhood. I was a fussy eater whose father insisted that every plate be cleaned. I became adept at surreptitiously getting rid of what I could not bear to swallow. I made unnecessary trips to the bathroom to flush away wads of liver. I coughed asparagus into napkins. I stuffed my pockets with filet of sole. I plastered cottage ham under the dining room table. I risked danger. Food could get me in trouble.

In early adolescence I was a bit pudgy. The foods I loved—cake, cookies, candy, ice cream sundaes—were prohibited by my father who wanted me slender. My cravings only increased. I longed for something sweet and sticky. On the sly I consumed entire jars of Marshmallow Fluff.

I went to Sunday school, racking up eleven years of perfect attendance. That’s where I first met Eve and learned about the garden, the snake, and the apple. I must have filed all of that away for future use. Fruit, temptation, capitulation.

And then I saw the 1963 film, Tom Jones. I was mesmerized by that famous eating scene in which Tom and a buxom woman he meets at an inn sit at opposite ends of a long table and proceed to rip apart chicken legs and stuff their faces with juicy grapes, all the while gazing at each other with—yes!—seduction in their eyes. Food and sex. Of course! An extension of the apple.

I have been punished for my transgressions. Several years ago I developed a cranky stomach. Right at the top of the list of foods I could no longer eat—most of my favorite fruits. I only want them more. I am tantalized by their colors and aromas, their suggestive shapes, their various textures, the seeds, the skin. They are dangerous. They will make me suffer. I only want them more.

Writing about fruit is my way of getting what I want.

Organic Fruit

I want to sing
a song worthy of
the avocado, renegade
fruit, strict individualist, pear
gone crazy. Praise to its skin

like an armadillo’s, the refusal
to adulate beauty. Schmoo-shaped
and always face forward, it is what it
is. Kudos to its courage, its inherent love
of democracy. Hosannas for its motley coat,
neither black, brown, nor green, but purple-hued,
like a bruise. Unlike the obstreperous coconut, the

avocado yields to the knife, surrenders its hide of leather,
blade sliding under the skin and stripping the fruit. Praise
to its nakedness posed before me, homely, yellow-green,
and slippery, bottom-heavy like a woman in a Renoir, her
flesh soft velvet. I cup the fruit in my palm, slice and hold,
slice and hold, down to the stone at the core, firm fist at the
center. Pale peridot crescents slip out, like slivers of moon.
Exquisite moment of ripeness! a dash of salt, the first bite
squishes between tongue and palate, eases down my

throat, oozes vitamins and oil. Could anything be more
delicious, more digestible? Plaudits to its versatility,
yummy in Cobb salad, saucy in guacamole, boldly
stuffed with crabmeat. My avocado dangles from
a tree, lifts its puckered face to the sun, pulls
all that light inside. Praise it for being small,
misshapen, and durable. Praise it for
the largeness of its heart.

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