Beware, timid taste buds—this dish looks bold,
Under the creamy sauce hides flavor, not fire.
Tomatoes whisper sweetness, butter sings softly,
Turmeric and friends merely gossip—not riot.
Even those who think ketchup is “too spicy”
Realize the panic was greatly exaggerated.
Mild curry perfumes the air like a warm welcome,
And naan bread stands ready as a tasty shield.
Skeptics take one cautious bite… then another,
And suddenly their plates look mysteriously empty.
Laughter follows the discovery that “spicy”
Actually means “please pass me more.”
Chicken swims happily in buttery clouds,
Hearts melt faster than the sauce in the pan.
If your tongue survives mayonnaise, you’ll be fine.
Come bravely to the table—no fire extinguisher needed.
Keep calm, chew slowly, enjoy the adventure.
Every bite converts another spice-nervous soul.
Now who said flavor had to be frightening?
~ February 11, 2018 ~
I wrote a wondrous winter poem*
‘bout winsome Olympic skaters whizzing by
Eight years onward, I won't even try
What’s happened to me? Why the malaise
Weather warming's warped my brain ~ it's mayonnaise
___________________________________________________________________
*That poem is on page one of my roster of poems, near the top.
In the heat haze of December Down-under
I laze on the beach and gaze
at the sunrise and sunset that belays
my drift towards the end of days
as another year passes away
in the relentless tumble of sands
in the hour glass of week days
and weekend malaise of tossed salads,
served with mayonnaise.
Our old fashioned kitchen ways,
way before the modern malaise,
those family favourite, radio days,
Swinging Blue Jeans, Johnny Ray,
Martha Reeves and Marvin Gaye,
those sentimental songs they played.
Our old fashioned kitchen ways,
without plastic meals from trays,
those salad days of mayonnaise,
with fablon coated, hollandaise,
and chicken roasted, lyonnaise,
experimental honey glaze.
Our old fashioned kitchen ways,
mum singing songs of praise,
inside that gravy, misted haze,
where memories are still replayed,
Cilla Black to Doby Gray,
the soundtrack of our yesterdays.
Brazilians put green peas on their pizzas you know
yuck said my unworldly friend, whose cheeks were aglow
crazy since he is German and they put tuna on their crust
I rolled my eyes at his bigotry, his absolutism is a must.
japanese add potatoes to their pizza and mayonnaise too
you are kidding said my Costa Rican friend, her name is Lu.
what do you add to yours in the islands? I asked her.
we eat coconut on ours, to be bare would be a disaster.
pepperoni is the most popular topping in the US of A.
a variety of pieces though, each made in a unique way.
I have had tuna on my pizza in California, it was good too.
the one who did not believe me was my friend, island Lu.
They came together, love entwined,
When stars in heaven were aligned.
But their love hit a hurdle,
When their vinaigrette failed to curdle,
Their blitz emulsification ill-fated,
leaving oil and vinegar separated.
They crossed their fingers together,
Looked up at the sky, to see whether
The stars had crossed to unsupportive.
Sure enough, the stars were abortive.
So they went their separate ways.
Pledging to try again on better days,
When double-crossing stars crossways
Had unclasped to an uncrossed phase,
And they could dump their mayonnaise.
Not easy following you,
picking up the pieces
my, how you
wreck with a vengeance.
Not talking just this life,
so many others, no choice
still as mine (the choice), take heed!
come back to me,
'cause, I still follow,
still care, still love.
And I may be the reason
you hate pickles
and mayonnaise..
mixed metaphors,
euwph!
But oh, I bequeathed you my best
the dance of clouds,
icicles..
twizzlers
come back to me,
by choice, all yours
as you release me now.
Been watching over
you,
for sometime..
like a lapdog
ever at your feet
by your side
as you winked.
Until we meet again
m'yeah, just so you know,
as you nod,
I always.., well..
your welcome.
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.
Neuropathy in my hands.
A panoply is the rest.
A screw loose in my head.
With itis through my back.
It's what old sawbones said.
But he saved the best for last.
Seems I have two more days
Please pass the ham and mayonnaise
Do you ever wish you'd never been born?
Never again?
Do I play a role in your misery?
Or, did our paths cross to confirm inevitable suffering?
I'm weak and addicted.
Mayonnaise brain.
Unfiltered rants that indulge self hate.
Pushing the limits.
I don't want to be what I created.
Seem is adjacent.
No satisfaction.
Coincidence is comfortable in the simile of simplicity.
Just one second and we fall.
Gravity is there. I accepted whatever outcome
Without a breath of consequence.
Never again.
A much-neglected condiment is mayonnaise
for its smooth, creamy flavor, I give it 'all A's'
It perks up a sandwich more than ketchup and mustard
and even on desserts, it can outduel custard
A blast from her refreshes me
I grab a snack and sip my tea
She is the largest entity in my house
Behind her sometimes hides a mouse
She used to make ice, but this is no longer so.
We do not care, for have an ice machine on counter below.
She has served us well for the past sixteen years.
Will she last ten more? This is one of our fears
She gives us lettuce, tomatoes, mayonnaise and butter.
We often look through her drawers and sometimes mutter.
I love the blast she gives me in the morning, quick and loose.
When I am rooting through her, looking for fresh orange juice.
SALAD
Grilled capsicum, shrimp to take.
with grilled potato.
Add salt, lemon and then shake
with grilled tomato,
Then to mix mayonnaise
and please
Cheese.
06/07/22
What’s Cooking on the grill this summer
Contest by M.L.Kiser.
The mayonnaise had turned.
The ham sandwich stuck to my tongue.
Then the sunlight turned from pale yellow
to dull dish-wash drizzle.
In town the sidewalks had turned slick.
An English friend I knew,
even before he turned into an American
turned on me –
Said he jovially,
“You’ve turned into a right ol’e git.”
I smiled smugly,
told him that in the U.S.
they don’t know what a ‘git’ is!
Turns out I was wrong.
Trans-Atlantic lingo has turned
with the changing times,
turns out they knew,
they bloody well really knew!
“Normality is a paved road: It’s comfortable to walk, but no flowers grow on it." Vincent Van Gogh
They tell you ‘Think outside the box’
So, ponder well, pull up your socks
Avoid the danger of clichés,
Don’t overdress with mayonnaise
Explore what lies beyond the rules
Create your own poetic tools
Delve in each corner of the mind
Where inspiration you will find.
Illumination ~ thump of fist:
That’s it! Eureka! What a twist!
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Buzzwords Poetry Contest
Hosted by Kim Rodrigues
Placed 2nd
© 18th January, 2022
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