Entries: Round Seventeen

[maggiethecat]

Write a mash note to your fave food here.

[Arey]

To the one thing in life that I've given my heart to and (almost) never been disappointed - Cheese -, this unabashed declaration of unconditional love is dedicated.

I once bought a Brie in Nantucket

So ripe and so soft I could suck it.

So I said with a grin

As I wiped off my chin

Well, never mind, you know what I mean.

[Dave the Cook]

As usual, Maggie, your example sets the bar formidably high.

I do remember, however, a guy that used to work for me. Two weeks prior to V-day, he enlisted me in a search for a particular foodstuff he was certain his date would find irresistibly romantic. He also asked me to research classical prepartions for same. Alas, we came up short in our search, finding only preserved items no longer suitable for cooking. So he settled for tradition, and roasted her a chateaubriand with souffled potatoes. But as consolation: from the best specimen yielded by his original quest, he made a lovely centerpiece: a crystal jug, festooned with red and white gingham ribbons, containing a pig's heart in formaldehyde.

[JAZ]

Ah! You and me, Mac and Cheese…

To think I went through a phase where I thought you weren't good enough for me. Stupid me! Yes, it's true, the early versions of you were but a faint counterfeit of your true glory. But even knowing the true heights to which you can aspire, my friends laugh and disparage me for loving you the way I do.

Ah! But if they but knew the glorious heights to which cheese, pasta, milk and the spices that add the je-ne-sais-quoi that comprises the quintessential divineness that is macaroni and cheese, I know they would change their tune..

The silken rich sauce enrobing your golden noodles, the contrast between your perfectly al dente pasta and its spectacularly cheesy base -- the combination convinces me that I have known heaven on earth.

[Pouncy]

To my fiancee's steak recipe:

My tastebuds tremble as you are prepared, butter and garlic bathing your marbled surface. Our friends beg to try your meaty flesh - so perfect that you are a comoddity rarer than cash. You have done so much for me: Gotten my computer repaired for free, a moving crew supplied, free lodging out-of-town - all for your succulent taste.

I have missed you, these long months, not daring to attempt your perfection myself, but waiting for my fiancee to return from deployment and return you to our kitchen once more.

When you come back to me, I shall purr in bliss, and post to my LiveJournal: "Again, I am happy. For garlic steak is in my stomach, and beer in my glass."

Six weeks, my love, six weeks until we are reunited.

All my love and longing,

Pouncy

[bloviatrix]

An ode to Whitefish Salad.....

Forgive me if there are times when it seems I ignore you, sitting so seductively in the appetizing case. For I know if I let my gaze linger too long, I will be salivating and buying you by the pound.

Your luscious chunks of whitefish - so oily and smokey. And just a hint of lemon dancing around. With flecks of chopped scallion which look like emeralds. Eaten plain or spread on a bagel, I go weak at the knees. My lips quiver with anticipation of your goodness, my mouth waters.

My jealousy knows no bounds when I see someone help themselves to your bounty. If they dare to sample your wares, my eyes flash green -- measuring the extent to which they take advantage of you.

For you are mine. And I am a jealous lover.

Ok, I'm done now. I think I need to take a cold shower.

[GG Mora]

To a fresh baguette:

Hey –

You around tonight? You-know-who's going out of town....What do you say to a little get down "chez moi"? You, me and some soft, sweet butter...I'll slather the hot steaming length of you and take you on inch by inch. And if there's anything left of you in the morning, we can get into the fig jam...

Call me.

[|dumplin'|]

Ode to a Bialy

Past the tubs of salt pickles

And the skewered Halal

Past the worn sign at Katz's

---(where you can still mail a Salami

---to your Boy in the Army)

I trod frantic and true, further

Past tubs of cashews

To the bakery's warm light

And go in--

yes, I might.

For weeks I was drawn

by your garlicky scent

Your fresh powdered skin

Your lumpen indent

But I was a shy Shiksa

Without kosher bent

I mixed meat with milk

I fasted for Lent

So t'was no small feat then

As I blushed pomegranate

And stuttered my order

And handed .50-cent

But you took it in stride

Nestled warm in my palm

Was your unadorned sack

My heartbeat grew calm

Was it love?

Not at first

For your guise is a fright

But it's love at long last

From that very first bite.

love, |dumplin'|

[Al_Dente]

To my beloved Pork Butt:

This Valentine’s Day, I want to thank you for all the fond memories we’ve shared together over our enduring romance. I love to slowly heat you up for hours and then you fall apart with just a touch from my fork. Some might call you a shoulder, but to me, you’re always a butt. You can be exotic, sophisticated, or down to earth, whether you’re lounging in a simple rub upon the sweltering grates of the grill or luxuriating in a rich bath in my cast iron enameled tub—the steam rising as if a low flame were under you.

I know you caught me spatchcocking that chicken, and there was that one time you found me marinating with a brisket. But I swear, the whole time I was really thinking of you.

What? No, that serving platter doesn’t make your butt look big. Really, honest!

Love,

Al

Edited February 6, 2004 by Al_Dente (log)

[snowangel]

Oh, Bacon!

Bacon, oh bacon, the most luxurious of foods. How do I love thee, let me count the ways. You come to me all smoky and salty not wrapped in cryovac from the supermarket, but from the meat market wrapped in butcher paper, cut to specs. You never fail me.

Fried crispy/squishy, eaten plain. Eaten as a bacon sandwich – bacon sandwiched between bacon. Call me a heretic, but I’ve also enjoyed you between slices of Acme levain, toasted, with mayo, lettuce and heirloom tomatoes.

For breakfast (leave that rendered grease in the pan for fried eggs…a fresh egg fried in your renderings render me to a quivering pile.) What bite is first – the bacon or the egg; the bacon wins out every time. Alongside cinnamon rolls or sticky buns, your salty smokiness cuts the cloying sweetness. Perfection.

Braised ala Zuni Café Cookbook. Double or triple the recipe and the cook is happy.

Fried crisp, crumbled and incorporated into carbonara , armatriciana, in salads. I’ve learned to cook more than the dish needs because the cook’s needs are of a smoked and salty and porcine nature.

And, oh, that fat you render. Too precious to toss, it goes into a special container. Toss you with Brussels sprouts prior to roasting. Or potatoes. Or carrots. Or for cooking popcorn. Or in salad dressings. Or a vehicle for mire poix. The remainders sprinkled over chowder, potato/leek soup. They are transformed from a soup into something voluptuous. Your rendered fat does a wonderful job of replacing melted butter in pancakes or waffles. Or in cornbread, muffins. You multi-task like no other food.

Oh, and that aroma. No over-stove vent fan on for me while you are cooking. I inhale your every scent with lust, anticipating your taste, your essence.

Only once was I betrayed, but a hostess who served brunch, and horrors of horrors, each guest was served but one, one lonely strip of generic bacon. My dismay!

Bacon, my love affair with my husband goes back some almost 30 years. My love affair with you goes back to baby-hood.

Bacon, oh bacon, how do I love thee? I cannot begin to count the ways.

[ghostrider]

The visions always begin in the same way, as I pull you from that cool, dark place where you rest. You are clothed in a raiment of ecru, perfectly molded to your smooth flowing curves. Carefully, gently, I remove your covering. Sometimes my desires increase my haste and your garment may tear. In the end, your glistening white flesh stands, completely revealed, in the soft evening light.

And now: shall we dance a mincing adagio? Shall I then cast you onto the flames and swirl you into an ecstasy of oblivion?

Shall I smack you smartly, perhaps bruising you, then use you as I must and cast aside your limp, spent body?

Or shall I press you hard, again and again, and squeeze every last drop of sweetness into a bed of gold? Shall I then shower you with wondrous remnants of scent from field and forest, and warm you ever so slowly, until you give up your magical elixir, as precious as life itself?

Whichever road we take this night, I know that, in the end, there will be no you, and no me, only us, as our essences mingle and join, and we again become one

My sweet clove

My garlic.

[Mudpuppie]

Babe,

I can’t help it. I’ve got to see you. You were so cold last time – so stiff. I must have done something wrong. Was it the way I poured myself over you like a gooey bottled salad dressing? It was a bad night. I wasn’t defatted right and the fat came to the top and…. You know me, baby! I’m not like that! I’m usually smooth and satiny. I’ll treat you better, I promise.

I love you, babe. We go together like cream and sugar. Like oysters and Rockefeller. I don’t mind that you’ve got lumps. I get lumps too, baby, especially when I’m around you. I love your lumps. I’d like to put my lips on one right now.

You’re a beauty, babe. A goddess. To think that Idaho could produce someone so hot and steamy. Usually those people come from California, or Texas -- but babe, you make me simmer. One look at your golden Yukon beauty and I boil with passion. You boil me right down to a syrup, babe. Around you, I’m reduced by at least half.

I can’t take it anymore. You’re so soft. So warm. You’re like a steaming pile of velvet. (And I mean that in the best way, baby!) You fill me up. You complete me. Without you, I’m just a pool of sauce.

I need you. I’ve been on a full rolling boil since I saw you last. I’m sizzling for you, babe. I feel like I’ve been dumped into a hot pan. If I can’t touch you soon, I’m going to burn up. I’ll disappear like a puff of steam. The only thing left will be a nasty, burnt-on stain.

I need to top you like a crater lake tops a volcano. Except this volcano’s active, babe, and it’s about to erupt.

Your ever-faithful lover,

Gravy

[reverendtmac]

Gorgeous, I'm gonna start at the start - maybe it'll help you remember me...

You remember that far back? I mean, we're talking...god, years, now. Amazing how these days, days, days run away like horses over the hills...it was simpler, back then. You, unadorned, just speared on a plate; whatever I brought to drink to go with, and, being young and dumb at that point, I don't want to remember what I exposed you to. Probably straight bourbon. I was on the stuff pretty hard back then, but you were strong enough to stand up to it...yeah, baby, what you did was wake up something inside me. One taste and I knew that maybe food wasn't just fuel, wasn't something hogged down between a server install and a blistering hangover...and that it could really be that simple, pure...that it didn't need a prom dress of a sauce, that it could stand on its own. But, even after all of that...well, it's been what, four years? Five? I know I'm the last person you expected to hear from, especially after the move, the changes...the carpaccio incident. I just thought you deserved to hear the truth.

It wasn't your...habits? I don't know what to call them, and you know my luck with habits - ask the Talisker distillery. But it wasn't the things you do to yourself. I mean, I was worried, baby - the sitting in the smoky cave for hours...the way you cut yourself afterwards, that strung-out look on the plate. Yeah, I didn't show it like I should have - like a coward, I didn't say anything. Mama always taught me not to talk with my mouth full. And then, even worse...I left. I couldn't handle it, sweetheart...watching how you'd arrive some nights reeking of maple chips, of honey. Of fuckin' honey. Honey, you don't need that crap - you've *never* needed that crap...but I was never much good at tellin' you that, was I? If anything, it's always been you that's been there, that's been available. And I've been weak, sweetheart...flirtin' with sashimi, that unfortunate weekend with the beef, the lemon, the capers...god, that was a bad scene...goin' for the adulterated, I guess. Like I said: weak...

...and then I saw you again, in the last place I expected to...and at the time I needed to the worst. I was at my lowest, darlin'...spent the mornin' eatin' a half-cooked chicken fried steak to try to control the Guinness and Bushmills in my gut...and it was terrible. God, it was terrible. 'Bout what I deserved, orderin' one in Oregon, for chrissakes. I mean, for the quality of food, for the way it'd been...well, 'prepared' seems like a compliment it didn't earn...for the way it was shackin' up with that when-white-met-trash gravy. And I got to Bandon, the resort on the ocean...the air, it smelled different there, full of salt, the sea...it reminded me of you, darlin'...and when I sat down before the round, my hands shakin', my knees weak, and I saw you on the menu, I knew. I just knew.

God, you were beautiful.

Complete; full, strong fillets, richly colored. The greens you were sitting on, they knew it - they knew they were second fiddle. You'd gotten over the cutting business. It was like you were comfortable outside your own skin again, sweetheart, like you were ready to be seen without lookin' like a 94 pound supermodel...and you'd gotten over the smoking, too, stayin' in just long enough to have it compliment you instead of smellin' like you slept there for a week...I could tell you'd found a man that was takin' care of you properly. I met him later that weekend, and I...I couldn't have been happier. I could never take care of you like that; that's something we both know...and something else we both know is that you deserve it. You deserve to be treated right by a good man like that. You're part of his work, the thing that keeps him going...and that's why you're staying with him. Where I am, you can't follow...you'd always be half of what you could be and nothing close to what you deserve, do you understand that? Cattle country is no place for something as refined, as nurtured, as cultured as yourself...and I'm not saying that to make you stay, I'm sayin' it 'cause it's true.

Smoked salmon, I'm no good at bein' noble, but the palate of one little Reverend doesn't amount to a hill of beans in this crazy, mixed up world. Someday you'll understand that.

Here's lookin' at you, kid.

[alikat]

Dear Chocolate

OhmyGod I just found out you think I actually LIKE those hard little candy hearts with the messages printed on them. Eeeewwww!!! Grossss!!! The only reason I ate one is because my Mom gave me a whole box and and then stood there looking at me all sappy like we were having some major bonding moment so I popped one in my mouth so she wouldn't feel too pathetic but then I swear to God I went right into the bathroom and stuck my finger down my throat and barfed it up and flushed it down. It said "Luv Ya." Yeah, right. And I know you heard that I was walking around with a Tootsie Roll Pop hanging out of my mouth last night. Well, okay, I was but I have a reeeaaally good reason why. I was babysitting for these kids and their Mom is all into nutty-crunchy-healthy snax so I thought I was gonna starve but then when I was putting the brats to bed I found one of their pumpkin buckets from Halloween ond OhmyGod there was an orange TRP just laying there so I quick stuffed it in the pocket of my jeans and then later when they fell asleep I sat on the couch and unwrapped it and even though it was kind of white and crusty looking I licked it and it wasn't bad so I kinda ate the whole thing but what else was I supposed to eat?? A granola bar?? I swear that TRP is SOOO yesterday!!! You are totally my favorite candy ever. OhmyGod you look so hot in that silver wrapper. Come over after school today and we can hang out and listen to Eminem and maybe I'll do that thing where I put you in my mouth until you get all warm and melty. That is so cool. Just don't let my Mom find out cuz she'd kill me. Luv ya. A.

[eem]

Honey, you gem-like center of sweet.

Honey. . . you're dripping to my feet.

Honey, I feel you Honey.

I paint my fingers in honey for you,

Coating myself in amber jewel,

Honey, I'm laced with Honey.

Honey, I love you Honey.

My royal seal on letters to you:

A jelly so potent, ten times my love grew.

Honey, I miss you Honey.

We had some in flight, till I lost my mind,

Then you disappeared. Oh where can I find. . .

Honey, where are you Honey?

Honey, will you be Honey?

[chow guy]

As I sit, waiting for reality to dawn

I savor the aroma of our daliance

your essence left behind

Contrasts soar in cinemas' clarity

flesh moist and golden

against furrowed forrests, arms unfurled

Smooth and supple, I reach for your soft ripe flesh

and bury my beard in your deliciousness

Your sweetness dripping down my chin, my chest my tightened calf,

like loves wet warmness

These few glistening memories must suffice

Till next time, my luscious mango

you soften to my touch

while naked in the bathtub

[Janedujour]

I fell for you when I was just a child. You, a squeaky clean curd, still warm from the shop. I felt like Miss Muffett and being born in America's Dairy Land, well... I should have known that I'd love you forever.

My friends don't understand me when I shout my love for you, even when you're smelly, and sometimes runny, I defend you and say it's because of your age. They say you're too old for me.

I love my little pet names for you like "Chevvy, Mootz, MAN-chego"

When we were in Italy and I called you "Reggie" and "formaggi". I felt like a slut when I was offered more than one of you at a time on a rolling Magical Mystery trolley that held your treasures!

I love it when you're really fresh and I love it when you're on top-----------of my Eggplant Parmesan and Lasagna, bubbling away and oozing.

I even forgave you that time you went away to Switzerland and came back "holier than thou" I still wanted to be with you more than ever.

This could never be a BRIEf affair, queso mio.I can't let go.

Each time I face a camera lens I can't help uttering your name, with a tear in my eye, I smile and quietly whisper:

"Cheese"

[Fresser]

To my beloved Pork Butt:

This Valentine’s Day, I want to thank you for all the fond memories we’ve shared together over our enduring romance. I love to slowly heat you up for hours and then you fall apart with just a touch from my fork. Some might call you a shoulder, but to me, you’re always a butt.

I've taken the liberty of setting A Dente's pork paen to music--rap music:

[Cue the beat-box]

BABY GOT BUTT

I like pork butt,

And I cannot lie.

You veggie-eaters can't deny

When a waiter walks by

Serving up a ham shank

To a diner who will thank

him for PORK!

That you're gonna reach over

and spear it with your fork!

So your girlfriend serves you tofu

Says the bean curd is good for you.

But tofu ain't got the fat that's gonna satisfy you...

My hungry tummy don't want none

Unless it comes on a bun!