Puffed with warmth for my birthday dinner treat
0n the plate of a pure veg restaurant
Tempting entree ignites the classy taste,
A delight, each bite, spread with tamarind chutney,
Together with kindred sharing stories
Of flavour, care and chefs` talents.
Savoury paneer masala
And dal makhani* served with mutter pulao
Make the main course, added with garlic nan,
Oozing with taste, a real relish,
Side-lined with pickled onions and rice kheer as desert,
A feast for the senses, a love we all share.
*Slow-cooked black lentils
In that strip mall, The Breakfast Cart smiles
with morning fare crafted from scratch
as diners rush for untold miles
for ham and eggs that are a perfect match.
Rustic art coats each wall
with metal chickens and old ad signs
some so large, while others so small
as I soak in the comfort of these designs.
Many diners visit each day
to visit dear friends and to sit and chat
since the bargain prices are little to pay
and the setting is truly a Welcome doormat.
My favourite spanish cozy resto.
Bring on the seafood paella and prosecco.
Serenade me all night long.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 3rd place 2025
The restaurant was wonderful;
The food was well prepared.
The atmosphere was cozy
And I liked the booth we shared.
The waiter, super-friendly,
Was attentive and the beer
Was a local IPA, which made
Me grin from ear to ear.
Yet glancing at the other diners,
What I noticed first
Was the fact that everyone was old
And what was interspersed
At their tables were their walkers
Or their wheelchairs or their canes.
Still, they ate and drank and laughed and maybe
I can’t quite explain,
But it made me understand how life
In Florida is sold -
Not to get away from winter,
But to join your fellow old.
He never had the chance
to be a child, but here he
was sitting at a table
watching a wave of humanity
pass him by.
Strangers with children
pointed at him
and told them to stay away.
What did I do wrong, he asked
but when he got up and the table
tipped on its side, patrons screamed
running out the door.
When the manager banned him,
something inside told him
he was not of this world
and all he wanted was to be
a part of them—
his anguished voice was a plea.
When he saw a mother
with a baby clenched to her
a feeling he didn’t understand
stirred in his chest
while he recalled the sting
of a metal table in the lab
where he was born.
We work all week and on Saturday night
he tells me to put on my best frock
because we're hitting the town
and heading out to Chez Der Spangler.
He'll spare no expense to
wine me and dine me and even
take me out for a whirl at the classiest piano lounge.
And in this fantasy, it's truly magical
how he manages to stay fully awake through it all,
just like he could in his younger days.
I guess it's not all fun and games
ringing in another year...
Such is the price to pay for wisdom!
Happy Birthday, "Sweetie".
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
reading a menu in a restaurant used to be a pleasure
relaxing, while my tongue salivated at the tasty choices
today the reading of the menu was not so lovely
signature skillet twenty-one hundred calories
cobb salad twelve hundred and eighty calories
potato chip seventy calories
I have been watching my weight at home
but eating out is a treat; I have not done it for a long time
I guess after eating this nine-hundred calorie cheeseburger
I will try to waddle out of here and watch my weight go up
By the street lamp we stand by,
our favorite restaurant.
Seeing people are eating,
hot dishes being devoured.
Food plays with my hungry tongue,
senses are jumping for joy.
Another heavenly meal,
mouth and stomach did enjoy.
If I owned a circus
for you I'd play the clown
(Do jugglers ever tire of throwing up?
Only when they're sick of it.)
or if I had a rickshaw
I could run you round the town
if I were landlord of a bar
drinks would be on me
as proprietor of a restaurant
you would dine for free
and if I had a row boat
I would float you down the stream
but as I have none of these
all I can do is dream
I'm making my way to Bulgaria
I hear their moussaka is ambrosial
I've tasted the Greek moussaka
the one that's made with eggplant
I hear that fancy Djanny Restaurant
of Sunny Beach is Bulgaria's finest
they favour premium potatoes
I bet it'll make it worth the trip
AP: 3rd place 2025
Said a handsome New Orleans waiter,
"Sir, can I recommend some freshly caught gator?"
I said, "Are you for real?
Didn’t you hear about that poor woman Lucille?"
"But Sir, what if I can assure you ~ this ain't the gator that ate her?"
She sent back the last order, as well.
This time, she shook her head
like a dog in the rain,
like a posh-frock woman
having "a spell."
The brimming broth, she said,
had a bitterness that swelled
and stung between her cheeks,
and across her tongue.
It steamed with the scent
of turmeric and sweat,
a lipstick kiss in the basement
of the Red Grotto Used Bookstore,
of a Dominican girl, half her age,
in skin jeans and red sneakers,
pulling her by the hand
during Summer City Lit Festival
last year.
She claimed she craved the
steaming heat of our menu's
Andean soup,
but bones like razors waited
when she raised the brim
of the bowl to her lips.
Just like the wine she sent back,
she said that the broth bit her lip
with a vicious grin
when she closed her eyes,
opened wide,
leaned in,
and tried to love it
with the whole of her mouth.
The writer earwigged her way through town
Looking harmless as she sat down
Ordering pancakes and staying for hours
Making notes of conversation showers
Eavesdropping on people from every direction
Sometimes ordering an extra coffee or sweet little confection.
Phyllo
Sweet taste of baclava.
Drizzled honey.
Crunchy walnuts.
Hint of nutmeg.
Warmed to delicate crispness.
My mouth waters.
Eyes light with delight.
Nose twitches in anticipation.
But…….
Here I stand at midnight.
My kitchen a doughy mess.
Rolling and re-rolling phyllo dough
My trials and tribulations
on display with cracked
and torn doughy pieces
spread across the counter.
Exhausted, ready to give up.
The baklava seems miles away.
Time wasted proving I can’t
make phyllo dough.
I slouch in my chair.
Depression seeps into my soul.
Then, with a grin, I remember
my favorite Greek restaurant opens
in the morning.
Village Inn
a go-to restaurant for oldsters
old old old old old people
the parking lot is full of walkers and canes
they are hobbling in the speed of clogged ketchup
at seventy-two, I feel like a baby chick next to them
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