FOOD

On A Cucumber Sandwich

There is nothing in the annals of poetry for lunch

like a cucumber sandwich in summer.

Its very look is cold mayonnaise

on the finest, softest, factory-made bread.

Lo, someone has cut the crusts off, Lo!

It would have been good to begin with but

now it is Jesus' inner thigh.

The cucumber itself has been skinned

before being sliced (did it melt the knife?)

into verdant tranches,

each containing the moist seeds

of a present delighted to go no further

than thee, become thee, thee, in thy turn,

become cucumber sandwich!

The very name wants embellishment

but there is none finer than Cucumber. Cucumber!

Garnish it, boys, with Scottish and English!

Ycleep it mickle, mickle good!

Throw in the Bible! Praise it full!

Verily is a cucumber sandwich good!

Right now I am having a cucumber sandwich,

and all therein is salt and pepper and,

jumping, refrigerated, vegetable turgidity!

Jesus! What a mickle-moist, mid-rigid middle

of cucumber-flavored cucumber!

This sandwich is winning me over, I say,

to praise every one of God's cucumber sandwiches.

I cannot go long ere I alleluia.

This sandwich is fit for small church picnics!

Alleluia!

Loving Humanity Through Food

When I eat I feel like a blessed being

with super, human intelligence—

not superhuman but super, human—

of The Race, The Species, The Collective Self,

the ones who discovered maple syrup,

lobster and lemons, eggs

and cooking,

potatoes in high Peruvian places,

coffee, wine, pepper.

I feel like a creature blessed by my kind—

that I am its child, and I love it.

I Promised My Love I Would Boil Her A Herring

I promised my love I would boil her a herring

if she came home, and she did and I did;

and with it I cooked a pot of rice

that stuck to itself and our ribs in gobs

of gelatinous white unqualified good.

Man alive! said my love, That was awful good!

My Lord! I have such a weakness for herring!

And those green beans you boiled along side it too!

And those fresh tomatoes and cut-up sweet peppers!

Not to mention a little salt!

I told her to polish off all that was left,

which she did like a cat with half a sardine.

Then we sat by the fire and burped for hours,

and I can taste it still, the love on her breath.

Cold Cream Of Wheat With Barley

I know what you’re thinking: Not for me.

But you haven’t tried it, and I can tell you:

You come home hungry and there it is,

a bowl of cold mash, but you’re good and hungry.

So what if it’s glutinous, congealed and goobery,

the barley like pellets? For as I say,

you are good and hungry and, by God, it’s food,

and when you try it, it’s pretty damn good.

Before you know it, you’ve thought of ginger

and allspice, and you throw in an Indian snack

that’s been sitting around, and wasabi peas.

And, I declare! It is fit for a king!

And not because kings are bad, either,

and should have their head chopped off anyway—

before that, when they were the ones in charge

and got all they wanted that’s fattening.

This is a treat for them then, I say!

And good for you, and extremely delicious,

especially starving— a culinary discovery.

The High-Gristle Diet

My wife and I were Vegan for years;

it worked fine; we had no fears.

But we got the trots, low vitamin B,

some ridicule and a sore knee.

So now we are eating High-Gristle:

sausages, hot dogs— what whets the whistle—

And what really does is the pope’s nose,

smacking and crackling as it goes

Most gratefully down the diner’s throat—

it’s enough to make an apostle gloat.

Or apostate. However, we’re both stronger,

have more patience and sleep longer.

Our advice to others is: Do try it,

while we research the next diet.

Pickled Herring

Is anything better, when you get right down to it,

than pickled herring on a cracker, say?

I like bread, and when I’m out shopping,

have often been known to pick up a loaf,

and I have sometimes admired soup.

But when you’re sitting down to a midday snack

with hot black tea and the urge to bite,

is anything better than pickled herring?

Soup

Truly, no soup can be understood

except in the mouth and throat and belly,

and later on, the bones and blood.

But neither is there so much mystery

that the brain itself cannot get involved

and wonder, Why was that soup so good?

Ladies and Gentlemen, I will tell you:

I put so much garlic in it,

it could have been called

A Garlic Soup.

But it wasn’t, it was chicken

with onions and peppers

and wine in old gravy,

and sopa noodles,

And garlic— an entire fist through the squeezer—

so when you reflected upon it, you thought:

Something like that could happen again!

Theorem Fromage (partly developed)

If we admit, as Joyce said, that cheese

is only the corpse of milk,

and that that is a rigid, stiff old thing,

while milk is lithe and white,

I testify to have seen one rise,

and thus cannot but sing:

O lal the ral the raddy O!

A cheese from France it chanced to be,

a gift of months before,

though even when the cheese was young

it smelt too-long-ashore.

But let us not defame the cheese,

for lo, 't was pure delight:

you just had to take a run at the cheese

to get close enough to bite.

O lal the ral the raddy O!

and here is the crucial part,

I put half the reeking cheese away

in an empty Goodluck margarine tub

with a half a young strong onion O,

and several more months went by.

Then one day, in an omelette mood,

I opened the plastic tub,

and there, as was missing risen Christ,

the two were one and they milk—

milk all white and lither and gay,

immaculate as Mary,

though something of the smell remained,

the downside of the dairy.

But being there at that miracle

I could aught but sing and crow:

‘Milk rose in my own kitchen, mates,

O lal the raddy O!’

Ate I of it in my egg

and it went down so smooth,

there was scarcely need to gnash nor bite,

the miracle to tooth.

O lal the ral, etcetera.

Is onion the spirit of milk?

Is Anything Better Than Baby Beets

Is there anything better than baby beets?

I am speaking here of the thinnings,

copped with copious greens, of course,

well-scoured of mud and stones,

boiled and buttered and bandied about

the table in a big ceramic bowl.

Nothing is better than baby beets.

Is Anything Better Than Butter?

Is there anything better than butter?

No.