Best Vinaigrette Poems
In ode to all who succumb
through wayward passages
lined of scribble notes
dripping ink’s savagery,
staining cursive patterns
in Sylvia-like depressions
Jarred bells ring
down lost tunnels
around each dark corner…clang
from steeples we chase
and beds we lie
draped in sadness
and shapes of
poetic happenstance
Tear drop vinaigrette
spiced of leftover lifetimes
drizzled on leafy desperation
bids a tired farewell
before time collects
the deserved rewards
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.”
On a blustery winter night my loved one comes to dine.
The table is set for two in front of a cheerful fire and
a candle flickers in delight beside one perfect yellow rose.
I greet my love with a kiss and a glass of Napa Ridge Sauvignon
Blanc. We sit for a while and enjoy fig and Humboldt Fog
goat cheese crostini, while we sip the sweet nectar of the grape.
Soon it is time for me to serve a salad of grilled romaine with bacon and
cherry tomato vinaigrette. We enjoy our quiet conversation while
listening to a compilation disc I made of some of his favorites…
Chopin piano sonatas, Billy Joel ‘s Uptown Girl, The Phantom Of The Opera
and a few selections from an old Beetles album.. Now the entre,
Lamb Chops with a garlic and mustard crust, haricort verts in browned
butter and potatoes gratin . With our entrée we splurge on a bottle
of Screaming Eagle Zinfindel..A bit later I bring out a huckleberry tart
with homemade vanilla bean ice cream.
It was an an evening of culinary delight, made truly special by being with
the one that keeps me safely in his heart.
Welcome To My Home
I've been blinded by your sentiment,
and awoken by your sweet cologne,
like our sweet morning regiment,
we don't live in a house, but a home.
I see my pugs silly smushy face,
as soon as I open my exhausted eyes,
all night he sleeps in the same place,
on my feet, but I'm not surprised.
I'm in the bathroom brushing my teeth,
I open the door and there he is,
my sweet golden retriever beast,
So darn sweet, how can I resist?
“Time to get up Ella and get dressed!”,
It's Monday, you know how that goes,
As I see her smile I know I am blessed,
Love her from her head to her tiny toes.
Pancakes and orange juice for breakfast,
packing a lunch for my sweet Ella Rose,
These special moments can't be purchased,
Oh, how her beautiful brown hair flows.
Back from school and it's Laura time,
I kick back, relax, and do a little writing,
I'm lucky to have a chance to unwind,
My over sized lounge chair, typewriting.
Laundry piled up I suppose I throw in a load,
mmmmmmm..my favorite fabric softener,
Hot water is off my washer is cold,
But I think it makes the clothes softer.
Eat lunch? Or my favorite apple strudel?
I'll go with the unhealthy snack instead,
Plus I just looked and I'm all out of noodles,
and I have no more of my raspberry vinaigrette.
Uh oh, I forgot to feed the turtle and bunny,
my precious white fluffy piece of heaven,
His name is Lucky and he is very funny,
Pebbles the turtle just turned seven.
I set my phone alarm to go off at four o'clock,
I still can't decide what's my favorite ring tone,
I go to the bus stop right around the block,
It's cold, I would've brought a coat if I had known.
“Hi sweetheart, how was your day at work?
He's finally home, I've missed him so much.
Next it's time to sit down and do homework,
Dinner's ready, we are all starving, I figured as such.
Look inside our windows you will see it yourself,
With our little family of seven we're never alone,
We may not have a lot of monetary wealth,
But we've learned to turn a house into a home.
Written By: Laura Loo
Date Written: January 29, 2016
You go into the kitchen and begin to prepare a meal.
I tiptoe up behind you and tickle your waist.
You jump and squeal with laughter.
You put the ingredients on the work surface.
And pickup your sharp knife and wave it in my face.
Now Keith stop being silly while I prepare your food.
No more touchy feely. I am not in a childish mood.
I put up my hands and put them around your waist.
Giving you a passionate kiss.
You turn and use the cutting board.
I open the chilled white wine.
You take the glass and have a drink.
Then leave it on the side of the sink.
You cut the salad and shake the bowl.
Putting in salad dressing I think it was Vinaigrette.
It was nice the salad was all wet.
You peeled some fruit and took an orange segment.
Turning to me you put it to my mouth.
I bit into it halfway then put my lips to yours.
So we both got the taste.
It ran into our tastebuds.
You laughed and turned away.
I pulled your hair to one side.
And kissed your neck.
The taste of the orange was on your skin.
You laughed and said it tickles so much.
I said I love when you laugh! I can never get enough.
We move to the table to eat the meal.
You begin to rub my leg with your foot.
I say darling what is it you want?
You push closer and whisper.
My lover Can you pass the salt.
I get up and walk over to your side.
You pull back and look in my eyes.
I take your hand and you get up.
Then you sit in my lap facing me.
Your hair covers my face as you lock lips with me.
We can eat our meal later it wont go cold.
Making love to you is always more fun.
A fuchsia sunset,
a vacant room in the inn
with a vista near the sea,
inhaling your sweet scent
that lingered and excited
as we hugged each other on the porch.
The calm sea flowed into the bay,
the fishermen coming in with their catch,
the red mullet, elegant to see,
tasteful to eat as the bar-b-q flared,
the fish sprinkled in herbed oil,
garnished with garlic,
and an aromatic salsa verde,
plus salad and its vinaigrette.
I remember your fragile face,
your tender mouth munching,
spitting the tiny small bones
the red mullet is renowned for.
Your satisfaction of the freshness of the catch,
your pleasure for the craggy crustaceans,
laid out like precious jewels
on a dewy bed of snow-white ice.
Alas I remember,
for it was our last luscious meal together.
Next day you went to war never to return.
29 April 2021
Awaken taste buds
Lovely Linda
Makes food tasty
Um um good
Peach Chipotle BBQ Sauce
Your taste buds won’t
Be the same
Chipotle is the one to blame.
Peach & Apple Salsa
Time to have a siesta
Red Wine Antipasto
Divine
All you need is a glass of wine
Olive Tapenade
Takes you over to a promenade
Fire & Ice Wine
When cooking it’s smelly
That now turns into a Jelly
Cranberry & Jalapeño Vinaigrette
One try
Your taste buds won’t forget
Lemon & Dill
Smells all the way down the hill
I have to tell you
Go on the web
Tasteoftheokanagan.com
Where you will find foods galore
The Best of the sunny Okanagan
You will ask for more.
after all those sleepless nights
i figured it out.
I'm not sick without you
I don't even miss you.
a piece of our sex is stuck in my sinuses;
like a virus is.
i can't remember how it felt to be inside you,
but i can taste it when i spit.
Your sweat a carnal vinaigrette,
lips like mandarin oranges swimming in rose-water.
Soufflé sighs and martini moans.
pallet full, stomach empty.
Your face is a white blur, no black, maybe grey
no
all these are too colorful.
You're a shapeless cloud of vapor
Refracting headlights on winding lonesome roads in my mind.
Perfume.
Au' du recklessness,
an earthy mix of lavender and salamander slime.
lakewater and sublime sing-alongs.
santeria love potion number 9.
(Baldassare Galuppi was a music composer
in 18th century Venice. Johann Pachelbel
came a little earlier. Maurice Chevalier and
Mistinguette were vaudeville artists and
on-off lovers in Paris in the 1920s.)
Your filigree correctly fret,
those perforations, so correct!
And how I love that dying strain,
suggesting sadness, feigning pain!
A twisted, coloured paper chain,
a love both sacred and profane,
your melody's a silhouette:
imperfect pleasure, sweet regret.
Your sharp and sugared vinaigrette
is like a Pachelbel duet,
a sorbet made with fine champagne,
or raindrops on a window pane,
the fragrant soil of southern Spain,
a grief I still can't ascertain -
Chevalier and Mistinguette?
That wistful chime! I hear it yet!
Aesculus hides a sprig of buckeye
longing another lemongrass scene
secluded off in rainy day kisses
washing against the grainy rocks
... of me
A sorrel drenched in vinaigrette
tossed and served cold
Warm weather wishes woven
tied up and hidden with the riches
sparking chestnut driven dreams
Restless amidst arms of ardor
cerulean wisps parasol freely
into secluded sunset horizons
falling slowly into me
A honeydew sculpture of rare succulence
dripping down and living
in the corners of my sky
-Always
Fungus grew between her toes
How and when, no one knows
Perhaps, barefoot in mushroomed fields
This careless walking sometimes yields
It started with a tiny itch
It grew and then would throb and twitch!
Could breadcrumbs quell this prickly ache
She packed her toes, make no mistake
Mystery solved, at last she snaps!
My toes look like stuffed mushroom caps
She soaked them in some vinaigrette
A glass of wine and she’s all set!
Chorus
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
1. A lion with promiscuous abilities
and nothing mind numbling about
his irresistible showcase
to become an indignation in the lips of many.
My indifference is no reason for an outburst
cos hey! I still don’t really know you.
Chorus
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
2. You insist to be an unnecessary vinaigrette
when my life is already appetizing.
You willingly showed me your downfalls
and your success stories
of expelling life’s expectorates,
all to add a rouge to my radiance.
No hurry boy! You’ve trawled,
so give me time to know you.
Chorus
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
3. I’m sober to the brewery of your affection
and to your charm, I am a free born.
Your energy packed efforts
embolden my mind to tame the heart.
A warm handshake
does not get an embrace in a lickety-split.
Don’t expect my compromise straight away
b’cos I still don’t know you.
Chorus
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
4. A sexy eye can be weaponized
each of its blink can shoot selfish bullets
an inviting heart may be hospitable
so I don’t want to ride
an expensive Jalopy once again.
You’re sweet and nice
but I won’t fall for a lickspittle
thus, allow me get to know you more.
Chorus x 2 [Normal key] x 2 [higher key]
So many bites have made my heart indigent
so many burns have made my taste lost
I see your displays, I cherish the efforts
time is a luxury I beg of you to afford
give me this gift to get to know you more.
sizzling fish taco, spread with
hottest Tabasco
avocado, bassa fillet
pungent vinaigrette
mango salsa moist
deliquesce
melts!
June 2, 2022
"What's Cooking On The Grill This Summer" Poetry Contest
Sponsor: M. L. Kiser
Syllables checked by HMS.com
He nods towards a table between the hibiscus
and other flowering plants,
a bit more removed from the racket of passing cars,
the tiny music of forks tapping porcelain dinner plates.
Her eyes spy artwork for sale
hung across mustard-colored walls.
He wants Amore: flatbread
covered with baby spinach,
sliced tomatoes,
melted feta and provolone.
She searches for something more exotic:
can almost taste the tumbling of arugula
and gorgonzola dripped in a vinaigrette
of pear and thyme. Or perhaps
the portobello lasagna,
its cream sauce surrounding
layers of spinach and mozzarella
to go with a glass of good white wine.
But he insists on the flatbread
and places her menu aside,
doesn't catch the shrug
or her wandering eyes.
Tab plus tip: $31.95. Or a bargain
for pride—unaware the real cost
of ordering the pizza was her
disinterested sigh.
I had put our meeting off so many times for fear that it would fail, and be a waste of time. I prepared a lovely salad. Thought I'd make some mayonnaise. The kind I thought you liked, with a yolk of free-range eggs, gluten-free and ovovegetarian. Low-carb to be on the safe side as well. Not the bottled commercial stuff full of preservatives and chemicals, but hand-made fresh from scratch au naturel, sweet, tasty, tangy and lovely.
I gently beat the egg yolk and slowly drizzled the vegetable oil into it a few drops at a time, while whisking, relatively not too briskly. I thought all was going ever so well. But the mixture became clumpy and lumpy as the emulsion broke, fell apart, and separated. I started again, mixing ever so slowly this time to bring the immiscible oil and yolk slowly together to meld and combine. But I failed again and again and again.
Out of eggs, with no time to get more, I made a vinaigrette instead! Oil and vinegar, smooth and rough, sweet and sour. They meld so well, despite their relative quirks and differences. No yolk this time. Touche.