Best Tenderloin Poems
Figs stuffed with proscuitto and mascarpone cheese,
a plate of bacon wrapped scallops and pineapple.
French onion soup is bound to please
or garlic steamed mussels with which to grapple.
Artichoke hearts smothered in sherried cream;
pears with sugar and cinnamon in butter sauteed;
pork tenderloin medallions make a demi-glaced dream
while crisped lyonnaised potatoes are made.
Now with a sip of Pouilly-Fuisse'
tastes flush the palate like a gourmet concert.
A toast to good friends on this wonderful day
as ice wine chills to serve with dessert.
A plate of old fashioned Bananas Foster-
perhaps in the morning, eggs benedict with lobster!
COOKING WITH JIM
actually, with him in spirit, in the kitchen
of his quaint brownstone on West 12th Street
in Manhattan, decades after his death.
And quite at home with him, I chop and slice;
bake, twice-baked potatoes — their skins crisping
to perfection; roast, the prime tenderloin of beef
he’d earlier instructed me to hand-rub with
coarsely ground black pepper and kosher salt.
(I used sea salt and that was ok with him.)
Right now, he’s reminding me to stir my roux,
then I should add the crisp bacon bits, made earlier,
to the finely chopped spinach I just finished sautéing.
He says I should wait till the last minute
to toss the mélange of local field greens with
the lemongrette he had me make in lieu of
vinaigrette, because, it seems that vinegar
often spoils the taste of wine. As for the wines
with dinner: for the salad, I’m chilling
a 2011 Seyval Blanc from New York State;
with the beef dish, a 10-year-old California
Zinfandel; this followed by a 2010 Pinot Noir
from Oregon, paired with artisanal cheeses
from Vermont and Connecticut, plus
crisp sourdough rolls and flatbread;
and, in the frig, chilling, a late-harvest, Long Island
Riesling to complement the secret confection hidden
away on a silver tray till dessert-time.
According to Jim, red wine should be served at
room temperature, and since older reds have a layer
of sediment in the bottle, he said the Zin will need
to be decanted, and that, right before serving;
he wants the Pinot to breathe 15 minutes, or so,
in the glass before being drunk.
(The aeration of younger reds will rid those wines of
their chalky tasting tannins.) All this for my guests
who’ll soon be sitting round my dining table akin to
Jim’s 60 inch round green marble slab of a tabletop,
where, before the first bite of the Jim-inspired,
5-star meal, I’ll raise my glass to the big bald guy —
James Beard, “The Father of American Cuisine.”
Rocky Mountains
by Adrian Sutalo
North Park valley where
outdoor adventures await,
Great Lakes to Rocky Mountains
journey, to seal a cervidae’s fate.
Roads past endless cornfields stretched toward the horizon,
acres tens of thousands of rolling golden prairies,
The burning smell of asphalt of North Platte River’s railroad town,
mesquite broiled angus sirloins steaks, rest for travelers sweaty and weary.
Meadows vast as the eye can fathom, like a
view of the setting sun on the sea,
framed of snow-capped western alps,
grueling two-day drive ends with awes of the scene.
Trio of Southern Baptist Preachers,
Locked horn Marines a pair,
old war Soldier, friends rendezvous,
common goal to share.
Some not seen since
journeys of previous years,
happily reunited in fellowship,
thanksgiving and prayer.
Majestic Elk of the Rockies,
coveted target of game,
a harvest of one
cheerfully shared all the same.
Infinite Aspens aplenty for a
stand which to hunt,
all game not pursued, such
as bull and cow moose in my front.
Bugle of bull elk, turns
stomach to knots,
nestled between willows
kneeling, arrow knocked.
With cow elks a harem,
barnyard aroma fills snout,
dozen eyeballs toward me,
imperfect for bow shot.
Evening hunts over,
sun dips in skyline,
strolls out of woods unbeknownst
watched of mountain lion.
Few lucky to put down,
elk on these trips,
blessed ones share mashed
potatoes, tenderloin elk strips.
The five-day hunt over,
the journey home begins,
dreaming of next year,
to pursue elk again.
Chocolate snowballs, apple crisp,
fudge and brownies too.
It's that time of year again
when only homemade will do.
Apple pecan stuffing,
a treat to go with pork.
The tenderloin so perfect
you can cut it with a fork.
There's a streusel coffee cake
I've been making most of my life.
Once again it's time to sharpen
my best chopping knife..
I spend eleven months a year
trying not to cook
but come December out I drag
my favourite recipes book.
The list goes on forever;
muffins, cookies, pies.
I turn into Julia Child
right before your eyes.
Chocolate snowballs, apple crisp,
fudge and brownies too.
Enough to feed an army
or maybe even two.
Hotdogs without the skin is like unrequited love,
all sorts with no where to put it.
Bravery pig with no city to save,
chopped liver makes it the same.
Beef tenderloin
and it followed the stretch to the fryer.
Medium rare
like it should be
but still not what it requires.
Ridiculous. Never have you met a brother to ever have explosiveness. Like a pyrotechnic you know that I will stay blowin' this. Beat up till' I wake the streets up. Because Gary, Indiana needs a spiritual re-up. My city is sobbing and it's looking for some perfection. because it's spirit has left it's body. Call it astral projection. This is how Gary raps. The best thing since Mike Jack. And it can't get no better than that.
And so begins my city's rebirth. The Midwest the quickest rappers ever seen on this green earth. Too rappers try to race us, they need to reverse. Because too many lyrics coming at you upon this mean verse. The G is the city that not a single soul has tested. If they try us then they will see that we can never be bested. So many people hurt. Twice as many arrested. Our natives don't really care. they're born and raised to be reckless.
The rip and the wreckage that you're seeing on every block. And the cops acting hot when they try to run in your spot. Addicts on the corner are always looking for rocks. And these prostitutes are sexing and sucking on every cock. So many have tried but have never made it to fame. Because they're looking at Gary like a sack of some sour lames. So riches is something that we really couldn't attain. That is until today, because I'm on a whole nother plain.
To be glyph here are stories that go with bringing Gary back to it's former glory. If you're squeamish then cut it off. To be honest this is gory. How I'm gonna chop this beat and cook it like tenderloin. Maybe a ghost town but will never diminish. We're bucked up now. It's a fight to the finish. And that's for anybody trying to snuff my city's rebirth. Off the dome sophistication. No, my lines aren't rehearsed. It's Intel.
Millie's drive-in was place
to go for best tenderloin sandwich
in Des Moines, or any place as far as that goes.
Back in the Fifties and Sixies,
if you were anyone at all,
during the summer months
and weekends you were,
seen there with your
buddies or a girl friend,
service there was A-1.
If you ever watched
the TV show Happy
days,
you get an idea of
what Millie's drive-in
was like.
Their tenderloins
melted in your mouth
and left a taste that
lasted a long time.
Sometime ago Millie's
closed down, with
my youth went with it.
Goodbye Millie's
it was nice memories
you left us, so sad,
that your gone.
wrote 8-6-08
Beef Tenderloin
Savoring center cut with drippings of Santa's ripened sauce
Written: November 15, 2015
Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich
I ordered an iced tea but I want coffee now because I am chilling
I ordered a hamburger but Joe’s tenderloin is looking ten times better
We cut our sandwiches in two and both halves are wonderfully filling
I am warming up thanks to him being smart enough to bring a sweater
A waitress just passed us carrying an enormous piece of coconut cake
I thought I could not even look at another bit of food until she walked by
My traitorous taste buds start lighting up, they laugh, shimmer and shake.
One more thing my husband tells her a piece of that cake we will buy
It is wonderful to eat out with a man who knows your taste in food
A husband who understands your habits better than others can
I leave the delicious diner in a happy fancy prance-y eating mood
I think I will keep my crystal ball kind of understanding sharing man.
(buzzfeeding, kickstarting, needling darn noggin)
An effort to recall word, phrase,
musician... indigenous tribe...
most frustrating literary
endeavor to das scribe
aggravating enough to sub
bourbon spur teetotaler to imbibe
and/or nsync, whereby soul searching
devil's advocate demands bribe.
Lil brokeback Engelbert Humperdinck
(born Arnold George Dorsey) bent edict coercion
(think sexual mores)
scaring stripes off blushing zebra
bunched unencumbered vice pliable straw
aforementioned pablum admittedly "fake"
birthed within cerebral tenderloin
of impractical joker,
whereby fifty plus shades
of gray matter (mine)
chafed and rubbed raw
prevarication playfully did overdraw
and tax poetic license writ courtesy this paw
poor putz offal declension
sprouted within mum maw
noun tent to verb (bull eyes - red) to draw
flak, but merely to harmlessly entertain
so accept apologies (mine)
verses calling strong (lanced) arm of law.
I (garden variety poetaster) reckon fair game
media personalities grist for rumor mill, though lame
explanation given (funny first and surname)
adopted by supposed "finest middle-of-the-road
balladeers around," who co opted his stage name
from authentic Engelbert Humperdinck; selfsame
prodigy circa 1 September 1854 –
27 September 1921
German composer, who wrote, I gently exclaim
the opera Hansel and Gretel - a Grimm fairytale
actually frightful saga - read countless times
setting me boyhood imagination aflame
with mailer daemons, who haunted dreams
(mine) 'course in retrospect material tame
compared/contrasted with current pandemic
analogous as if mother Earth -
a metaphorical dame
experiencing long overdue reprieve, cuz shame
on *****sapiens belching pollutants
at any price to garner fortune and fame.
There was a time years ago when the City showed its best.
With majestic hills and flowered streets, the Paris of the West.
Where business types and techno geeks discuss their politics.
While artsy fartsy folks and Hipsters search out their coffee fix.
A City in crisis where long lines form at shelters for the night.
Are overcrowded and noisy and all must leave before the light.
Where tents grow like dandelions to heighten a City's flaws.
While Officials, Tech Tycoons and Do gooders debate the primal cause.
There are addicts, alcoholics and thieves, all there to ply their trade.
While those whose minds are not quite right add to the decay.
They shoot up heroin in the streets unconcerned for any Law.
But no matter how stoned you get, do not use a plastic straw.
They flock to the Tenderloin when nowhere else to go.
And human misery is on display as if in a cattle show.
Where things of value have no value because before the night is sown.
Someone will decide they want the thing and take it for their own.
People of means display a compassion that is really quite compelling.
But draw the line, when told the homeless, might live near their dwelling.
There are disease filled needles and garbage piles not found on local maps.
But rest assured, in the City's wisdom, they have a poop detector app.
A City racing to the bottom where even families live in tents.
Displaced by a growing techno boom and short on monthly rent.
They suffer more in a City where the rule of Law has disappeared.
And their children see the rats and filth causing constant fear.
This happens when rules are banned and the Law has lost its heart.
Don't take me wrong, I see the want but you need a place to start.
So if I may suggest a few hundred porta potties to fight the summer heat.
And tell those tortured souls their time is up, no pooping in the street.
*For those who might be interested, I will be posting a new cartoon called 'Bob's Your Uncle' on my homepage every second day.
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Masquerading
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: November/2014
There you
are
Mr. Williams,
Sir.
I have
to
compliment
your taste
in
clothes.
You are
the
"best dress"
man,
down here
in
the Tenderloin -
where
everybody
is
hustling
to
survive -
Know one
living
down here,
can
afford your
style -
You always
look
casket sharp,
in
your suits
and
Stacey Adam
shoes.
Why ,
if I had'n
ever
seen you
before
Sir -
I'd
say you
where
a professor
of
sorts.
Mr Williams,
Sir,
you are
the
coolest cat,
down here
in
the
Tenderloin -
I, (and the missus)
pleased as punch residing
at this Schwenksville, Pennsylvania locale,
(since july first tooth house
sand eighteen), marks one year
and better with (on site
service) wash and wear,
but most irrefutable attraction
comprises rental assistance,
when upon the merry month of May
first, the dollar figure outlay
to occupy a single bedroom
(at this low cost
housing facility) didst veer
dramatically downward
from an initial charge,
sans five hundred, and seventy two unswear
able legal tenderloin monies,
per twelfth of Gregorian Calendar,
when aye didst tear
away the page signaling June,
thine checking account reduced sheer
lee no misprint (to win unbelievably
rosy, piddly, and giddy)
one hundred and seventy
seven buck a roos,
yet lesser benefits appended, asper
this bucolic, diatonic,
and harmonic rear
opportunity to espy
white tailed non *****
yule less doe ting mama
belonging to Cervidae family app pear
ring to take shelter in a narrow
(sunset) strip somewhat near
enough from mine
inside perch oblivious
to this mad capped (Alfred E. Neuman),
who whiz stumping for elections midyear
essentially to reinstate
"FAKE" King Crimson Lear
on the throne,
who strongly objects to killdeer
for eats or sport,
and silences those hood jeer
his reverence toward gentle creatures
including near extinct albino blushing zebra,
hooves warp and weave interlinear
within said (postage size
token) plot here ~ 1+ hectare
secluded upon a tract
off the beaten commercial
domain and glare
with suburban sprawl,
a hop, skip and jump fair
lee quickly disappearing
"in the name of progress"
though vanishing wild
life eyes find endear
ring, though thine psyche
wracked with despair
no matter ample (spacious
free) parking, a clear
bonus as well un
limited water usage
and to top off the list donated
up for grabs non-sellable (stales) breads,
cakes, fruits, vegetables
about twice a week doth appear.
I have a great appreciation for the song,
"I left my heart in San Francisco"*, and I have
a great understanding of why one would leave
his/her heart in such a beautiful and most
enchanting city.
Ocean Beach, Golden Gate Park,
and the Golden Gate Bridge. Hilly streets,
trolley cars, and Twin Peaks looking down on
Market Street. The list goes on. What's not to like?
But in spite of so much to like, after an 8-year stay,
I departed the city by the bay but did not leave my heart
there. In fact, it could ok inbetter be said that I FOUND MY HEART
in San Francisco. In the Sunset, the Western Addition, and
the Mission Districts, I FOUND MY HEART. In Japan Town, Faith Asbury,
China Town, the financial district, and the Tenderloin,
I FOUND MY HEART. At a funeral home through the words
of a 10-year-old boy, I FOUND MY HEART.
Moreover, while pastoring a small church on Post Street and Baker,
I encountered a homeless and hungry man who became, in my opinion, the greatest key to finding my heart. I was young,
ambitious, and most determined to change the world. I was laden with a deeply rooted arrogance that I never realized existed to such
a degree.
Day after day, Reuben came to the doors of the parsonage
requesting food and taking my attention away from what I thought was my mission. Looking back, before I met Reuben, I AM ASHAMED OF THE HEART I BROUGHT TO SAN FRANCISCO, but it was he who
enabled me to FIND MY HEART in San Francisco. I tell you, it was there
that God began to form a heart within me more like His own.
Their reserved table was already in use
and their solid chair backs were so loose
This refined gentleman diner felt quite rough
as his tenderloin steak was extremely tough
His wife’s jumbo shrimp portion’s so small
maybe the huge serving plate’s their downfall
Her hot chocolate fudge sundae was served cold
and though fresh, there were flecks of green mold
She’s complimentary about the poor food
although the charming waitress is terribly rude
The couple said they’d never come back again
then immediately booked for a party of ten!
Nonsense Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Charles Messina
09/09/21