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Channel: food poems – Jama's Alphabet Soup

my darling, my toaster

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“The smell of that buttered toast simply spoke to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cozy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one’s ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.” ~ Kenneth Grahame (The Wind in the Willows, 1908)

Good morning!

Though most of you probably greet each new day worshipping at the ‘altar of drip coffee maker’, my wake-up appliance of choice is my humble yet decidedly adorable toaster.

Love this clever and well deserved ‘toast to toasters’ by Allan Chochinov. 🙂

“Rosebud” watercolor by Denny Bond (2011)
ODE TO MY TOASTER
by Allan Chochinov

Ode to my toaster, so shiny and clean
You’re the butterknife's foe, you're the bread's trampoline
You're the lightest, the darkest, the coolest and proud
You’re the jack-in-the-box of the countertop crowd.

In the old days you had a side entrance instead
You were far more ornate as a true thoroughbred
But now you're a box with a push-button trick
You're a bit more convenient, but a little too slick.

And if that weren't sufficient to cause you some shame,
There's your bullying arch-rival muscling in on your game
They say big toaster-ovens are "double the tool"
They can brown up a bagel and reheat your gruel.

But don't be discouraged, I still think you're swell
You do do one thing, but you do that thing well
And though fancy new gizmos might stir up a yen, remember
Your name still pops up, every now and again.

~ via Design Observer (2008)

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I smile whenever I catch a glimpse of my creamy-shiny, chunky but cute Dualit toaster sitting happily on the kitchen counter. I bought it when we moved into our current home 22 years ago, and it has served us well.

I remember thinking at the time that it was a little pricey, but I decided to splurge anyway.

After all, I loved its classic design, and it was hand built in the UK with fully replaceable or repairable parts, meaning I’d never have to buy another toaster ever again. It’s been worth every penny.

Sure, there are many fancy dancy toasters on the market now, from artisan long-slots to gourmet four-slicers, to smart models with touch screen control panels, to $400 retro design beauties and electronic multi-tasking wonders able to do more than just toast a slice of bread.

Dualit Emma Bridgewater 4-slice toaster.

But like Chochinov’s poem says, there’s something to be said for an appliance that can only do one thing, and do it well. Simple, no frills, enduring. It’s something to count on, isn’t it?  

I do like knowing that my little toaster was born in Crawley, West Sussex, and has retained the essential features of its forebears, who date back to the mid 1950s: mechanical timer switch, removable crumb plate, friendly black peek-and-pop ejector knob. A real workhorse, it can toast hundreds of slices an hour — slices crisp on the outside, a little chewy on the inside. Dualit toasters were first made for commercial kitchens; even the QE2 has them.

Toast itself fits right in with my “all things British” obsession (although it was first popularized by the Romans). While living in London, I saw my first toast racks and enjoyed my first full English breakfasts, of which toast and jam were always an important part. I couldn’t quite get behind Marmite on toast, but made up for that with many Heinz beans-on-toast meals.

Victorian silver-plated toast rack, Sheffield, England.

Some have called “toppings on toast” the national dish of Britain. With a nicely browned slice of bread as a blank canvas, the possibilities are endless: fruit jams and jellies, meats, cheeses, piccalilli, bone marrow, Indian paratha, bacon, spicy mustard — for breakfast, lunch, dinner, or all three. Nothing haute cuisine snobbish about any of it. 

Toast is a quick meal, easy to make, satisfying, and comforting (“starchy simplicity”). Is there anything more wonderful than waking up to the aroma of freshly toasted bread slathered with lashings of slow melting Cornish butter? And is there a more nostalgic childhood breakfast than eggs and soldiers?

“Toad and the Gaoler’s Daughter”/The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame, art by Chris Dunn (2017)

British cookery writer Elizabeth David called hot buttered toast “a peculiarly English . . .  delicacy.” Delicacy or not, it was hot buttered toast (with a fragrant cup of tea) that fortified a miserable, imprisoned Toad in The Wind in the Willows. The gaoler’s daughter brought him a plate “piled up with very hot buttered toast, cut thick, very brown on both sides, with the butter running through the holes in great golden drops, like honey from the honeycomb.”

In Britain, toast has always been an integral part not only of breakfast, but of tea time. A simple “tea and toast” when one is not in the mood for a full afternoon tea with finger sandwiches, cakes, and scones, can really hit the spot. Think toasted rye, pumpernickel, sour dough or raisin topped with cream cheese, peanut butter, smoked salmon or sliced fruit. Will it be Irish Breakfast, Assam, or Earl Grey for you? 🙂

“Tea and Toast” by Adam Ralston

When the first British settlers came to America, they brought along their preference for toast at breakfast. This is probably why now most restaurants across the country serve toast with their egg dishes. IHOP or Waffle House, anyone?

Safe to say most of us probably take toast for granted. We simply toss bread into a slot, and up it pops a minute or two later ready to be devoured. Of course it wasn’t always so. 

Centuries before electricity and my trusty Dualit friend were invented, people resorted to hot stones, wire frames, then toasting forks over an open fire or gas stove (for some reason this always makes me think of Lord Sebastian Flyte making toast in the fireplace in his Christ Church, Oxford, “rooms” in “Brideshead Revisited”). You needed time and patience to get your toast fixes back then (unless your servants toasted for you).

19th century English brass toasting forks

Two-prong, three-prong, ornate handles, some with small trays to ensure the toast didn’t fall into the fire — toasting forks were part and parcel of daily life. For toast lovers on the go, there were even telescopic toasting forks that folded up pocket size, sliding out of its handle in case a sudden need for toast arose (you just never know!). With this mania for toasting devices, it’s no surprise that as soon as electricity came on the scene, the toaster was the first household appliance to be invented after the lamp. Victorian priorities: 1) light,  2) toast. 

It wasn’t until 1893 that the first electric toaster was invented by Alan MacMasters in Scotland. His Eclipse toaster was manufactured and marketed in Britain by the Crompton Company, and it could only toast one side of the bread at a time. It was also a fire hazard, since the wiring was all on the outside.

Fortunately, things improved quickly in the early 20th century, with various patents for safer heating elements and new designs coming mostly from the U.S. and Great Britain. The first commercially successful electric toaster (D-12 model), invented by George Shailor and manufactured by General Electric, was introduced in 1909. The porcelain base speaks to its intended use at the table rather than hidden away in the kitchen.

D-12 Model, designed by Frank Shailor with Albert Marsh’s safe and durable Nichrome filament wire, manufactured by GE.

Charles Strite from Minnesota patented the first pop-up toaster for commercial use in 1921. A redesigned version under the brand name Toastmaster came out in 1926: it was the first pop-up household toaster with a timer, able to brown both sides of the bread simultaneously and then eject the toast when done. Miracle of miracles!

Strite automatic toaster for commercial use.
Toastmaster automatic household toaster.

Once a bread slicing machine was invented a few years later, the demand for toasters skyrocketed.

Now, whether it’s Smeg, Sunbeam, Oster, Cuisinart, Black & Decker, GE, Breville, Hamilton Beach, or even Dualit, there’s a toaster for everyone, factoring in style, utility, space efficiency, and price point. So, let’s hear it for “bread’s trampoline,” the “jack-in-the-box of the countertop crowd.” 

Love me, love my toaster (it even speaks to me in a British accent). 🙂

Hey, your toaster is calling you. Why not give it a quick polish and set it to work?

Just one more bite and this post is toast. 

“But the toaster was quite satisfied with itself, thank you. Though it knew from magazines that there were toasters who could toast four slices at a time, it didn’t think that the master, who lived alone and seemed to have few friends, would have wanted a toaster of such institutional proportions. With toast, it’s quality that matters, not quantity.” ~ Thomas M. Disch (The Brave Little Toaster, 1980)

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The lovely and talented Tricia Stohr-Hunt is hosting the Roundup at The Miss Rumphius Effect. Be sure to check out the full menu of poetic goodness being served up around the blogosphere this week. Have a good weekend.


*Copyright © 2022 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.


let’s get cracking

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“Probably one of the most private things in the world is an egg until it is broken.” ~ M.F.K. Fisher

photo by Nancy Jentsch
WHAT DO YOU KNOW OF EGGS? 
by Nancy Jentsch

Today’s pumpkin-colored yolks scramble 
with bubbly beaten whites, 
the foam a color Kandinsky 
would drool for. 
Frying eggs sizzle serenades 
harmonize with salty bacon 
sport accents of poblano and cheddar 
their taste delicate as their shells. 
 
If this is all you know of eggs 
it is sufficient. 
 
As for me, 
blessed with hens, 
my hands wonder  
at the warmth 
each egg entrusts 
exquisite as any snowflake or rose 
 
And in my dimpled basket 
their pastel rainbow—  
tans, blues, greens— 
seals an understated promise. 

~ Posted by permission of the author. Copyright © 2022 Nancy Jentsch
“Fried Eggs” by Dusan Vukovic

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I love all the mouthwatering sensory details in this eggsquisite praise poem and wish we had our own hens to better appreciate the beauty and wonder of fresh eggs. 

They’re truly a superfood — packed with nutrition and so versatile. When you hold a warm egg in your hand, you cradle possibility. An egg shell is fragile yet strong enough to contain the beginnings of life.

About writing this poem, Nancy said:

We raise chickens of various breeds and I enjoy looking at the eggs, feeling their warmth and using them to cook and bake with. I guess you could say that they satisfy all the senses – even the sense of hearing when you crack them open or they sizzle in a pan. Another thing I particularly like about our eggs is how each one is unique. I think I wrote the poem after collecting an unusually beautiful array of eggs in my basket.

Nancy’s mention of Kandinsky reminded me that frying eggs is indeed an art form, aptly demonstrated by Michele Baldini at The Eggshibit.

A doctor-in-training based outside Mexico City, 20-something year-old Baldini started cracking as a teenager with his eggceptional creations. Do you think Kandinsky would approve?

Breakfast never looked so good. Now, about that salty bacon . . .

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🍪 THINGS WE EAT GIVEAWAY WINNER! 🥝

After polishing off a dozen cookies, Mr Cornelius consulted his friend Monsieur Random Integer Generator about choosing a winner. Naturally M. Generator required 200 dozen chocolate chip cookies as payment. We were happy to oblige considering M. Generator’s global reputation as a numeric genius and his meticulous eating habits (he never leaves behind a single crumb). After consuming his 148th cookie, he was happy to report that the winner of a brand new copy of THINGS WE EAT is:

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🥁 drum roll please 🥁

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🎺🎺🎺 trumpet fanfare 🎺 🎺 🎺

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🍎 KATHERINE DAVIS!! 🥑

🎉 CONGRATULATIONS, KATHERINE!! 🎉

🍏 WOOHOO!!! 🍇

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Your assignment, should you choose to accept it, is to eat all 26 foods featured in the book . . . in one weekend!

Thanks to everyone for commenting, and thanks again to Sylvia and Janet for creating another fabulous ABC poetry book!

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The lovely and talented Margaret Simon is hosting the Roundup at Reflections on the Teche. Shimmy on over to check out the full menu of poetic goodness being served up around the blogosphere this week. Have a nice weekend!!


*Copyright © 2022 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

🥧poetry friday roundup is here🌽

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Please help yourself to apple cider, chocolate chip pumpkin bread, oatmeal raisin cookies and a Dreamy Pear slice.

Welcome to Poetry Friday at Alphabet Soup!

So, it’s almost turkey o’clock. Does Thanksgiving fill you with dread or anticipation? Will you find the holiday relaxing or stressful? A good sense of humor is essential whether you’re dealing with dry turkey, lumpy mashed potatoes, or high drama with relatives.

Mr Cornelius contemplates giant oatmeal cookies.

The older I get, the more I appreciate Melanie White’s Instagram caption: “Thanksgiving – when the people who are the most thankful are the ones who didn’t have to cook.” 😀

True, yet when you don’t cook, you don’t have any leftovers, which I think are actually the best part of Thanksgiving (hello, hot turkey sandwiches, apple pie for breakfast, sausage stuffing for lunch). When all the niceties and formalities of the holiday are over, you can finally be alone with your food and have your way with it.

Austin poet C J Beaman’s parody says it all.

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A THANKSGIVING POEM
by C J Beaman

Twas the night of Thanksgiving, but I just couldn't sleep, 
I tried counting backwards, I tried counting sheep. 
The leftovers beckoned - the dark meat and white, 
But I fought off the temptation with all of my might. 

I tossed and I turned with sweet anticipation, 
As the thought of a snack became infatuation. 
So I raced to the kitchen, flung open the door 
And gazed at the fridge, full of goodies galore. 

I gobbled up turkey and buttered potatoes, 
Pickles and carrots, beans and tomatoes. 
I felt myself swelling so plump and so round, 
'Til all of a sudden, I rose off the ground. 

I crashed through the ceiling, floating into the sky 
With a mouthful of pudding and a handful of pie. 
But I managed to yell as I soared past the trees... 
Happy eating to all! Pass the cranberries, please! 

May your stuffing be tasty, may your turkey be plump, 
May your potatoes & gravy have nary a lump, 
May your yams be delicious, may your pies take the prize, 
May your Thanksgiving dinner stay off of your thighs. 

Remember to share with those less fortunate,
And may your Thanksgiving be blessed!

~ Copyright © 2001, C J Beaman. All rights reserved.
“Pie in the Sky” by Dan Craig.

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🐜 TRUMAN’S AUNT FARM GIVEAWAY WINNERS! 🐜

Thanks to all who left interesting comments about your aunts. Thoroughly enjoyed reading them! After Mr Cornelius wrote all the commentors’ names down on pieces of paper, he tossed them into Paddington’s bush hat so Aunt Lucy could pick two winners. And they are:

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🥁 drum roll please 🥁

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🌽 JONE RUSH MACCULLOCH 🍗

and

🍁 MARY LEE HAHN 🥧

🎉🎉Congratulations, Jone and Mary Lee!! 🎉 🎉

Please email your snail mail addresses and we’ll get the books out to you lickety split!

Thanks again, everyone. 🙂

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Now, please leave your links with the dapper Mr. Linky below. Better take a few more bites to sustain you while you zip around the blogosphere reading all the fine poems, reviews, and poetic ruminations being shared by our poetry peeps this week.

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“Mulberry Cake” by Loré Pemberton

🥧 HAVE A SAFE, DELICIOUS, AND VERY HAPPY THANKSGIVING!! 🍗


*Copyright © 2022 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

[poem + recipe] a taste of Aunt Margaret’s Pudding by Alison Brackenbury

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Recently, by lucky happenstance, I ran across Aunt Margaret’s Pudding as I was browsing the online shop of – *wait for it*HappenStance Press, a small indie publisher based in Fife, Scotland.

Truth is, I simply cannot resist a charming title, especially when it contains ‘Margaret’ (my mother’s name), and the word ‘pudding,’ which usually makes me want to hug myself, it’s so dang adorable.

Aunt Margaret’s Pudding, by British poet Alison Brackenbury, is a collection of poems and recipes inspired by her paternal grandmother Dorothy Eliza Barnes (“Dot”). 

photo of Dorothy Eliza Barnes via Rylands Blog.

Dot (b. 1894) worked as a professional Edwardian cook in Nottingham before marrying a shepherd and living in various cottages around Lincolnshire. She recorded her family’s favorite recipes in a black notebook which Brackenbury later inherited along with Dot’s wooden desk.

The poems are not only a revealing bit of family history, but an interesting glimpse of early 20th century East Midlands farm and country life. This was a time when almost everything was homemade, people walked to work, and neighbors “saved” each other (when Dot was bedridden after the birth of her fourth child, one of her neighbors cooked and washed for Dot’s husband and children for weeks).

Dot herself used to feed itinerant farm workers and invited children waiting at the school bus stop near her gate in for sweets. Practical, frugal, hardworking, and generous, Dot lived a quiet, isolated life. It is interesting to see that her smudged notebook contains not only her small, neat penmanship, but the hands of other women, suggesting that Dot liked to collect recipes from friends and neighbors. Their shared lives were “rich with old knowledge and individual talent.”

Enjoy a little taste of Brackenbury’s book with two sample poems and a recipe. Many thanks to Alison for permission to share her poems and for providing the wonderful photos!

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photo of Dot’s notebook via The Carcanet Blog.
DOT

But you were tiny. Not one toe
could stretch from sofa to the floor.
Unwise to marry a tall man? For
the fourth child left you bed-bound, so
kind neighbours cooked. Your eyes were weak,
yet blue as harebells. You would go
sleepless, to cram old trunks with cake
the men took to the Royal Show.

I have one picture, leather-bound:
you as a young, still-anxious cook,
flowered velvet in your collar's tuck.
Like food, you could make cash go round.
Only your hair grew wild. Its fine
strong waves defied your careful buns.
French marigolds by your washing line
met cabbage, hoed by husband, sons.

You never cut your springing hair.
Time washed past you like rain, your skin
so soft a child's lips would sink in.
My face, rough from hill wind, stays bare
of blusher, gloss. No powder tins
littered your rooms. I stay up, too,
cook, type, as horizons dim.
My father said I looked like you.

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INGREDIENTS

Carrots kept Christmas pudding plain.
No gold leaf flattered Nottingham.
Choclate -- you wrote, brisk, young.
What sweetness touched your tongue?

Your first friends were cornflour, ground rice.
Your middle age still sang with spice,
spooned, generous to a fault.
Cinnamon. Ginger. Salt?

Steam smudged your letters. Leather Cups?
I squint. The words are: Quaker Oats.
Your trust in brand names shone.
King, Country, only one.

You knew dessert. You wrote
the old name: cocoanut.
Through bright Treacle I see
the dark Imperial tree.

A married student, money short,
I spooned rough ground rice at the start --
strong, workaday, low-cost --
like all the tastes we lost.

Christmas Pudding and Mincemeat recipes from Dot’s notebook in different handwritings via The Carcanet Blog.

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QUAKER OAT SCONES

There are seven recipes in Brackenbury’s book: Aunt Margaret’s Pudding, Bakewell Pudding, Flamberries Pudding, Raspberry Buns, Cheesecakes, Vinegar Cake and Quaker Oat Scones.

Aunt Margaret’s Pudding recipe from Dot’s notebook.

Dot’s original handwritten recipes are mainly lists of ingredients with minimal, if any, directions. She didn’t need to write them down since she knew them by heart. These are included along with Alison’s updated versions for the modern cook.

We decided to try the Quaker Oat Scones since we had all the ingredients on hand, including Quaker brand rolled oats. Dot’s recipe calls for 1/4 teaspoon of B.P. , which I assume is baking powder since no other leavening is specified.

DOT'S ORIGINAL RECIPE

4 tablespoon Quaker Oats 3 (oz) of Flour
1-1/2 (oz) of sugar 1-1/2 (oz) of butter 1/4 teaspoon
B.P. pinch of salt.
Mix with milk, roll out into scones.
Bake 15 minutes in moderate oven

Alison’s updated version includes the same ingredients, with the exception of self-raising (rising) flour in lieu of plain flour + baking powder. And of course it’s easier to follow the modern day format, with ingredients presented in a list and directions numbered.

I doubled the recipe to have more dough to work with, and I managed to get 7 scones using a 2-1/2″ biscuit cutter. My scones spread more than I expected; maybe I added too much milk? If I make these again, I’ll try adding some baking powder to see if I can get more rise. Still, with only 1/4 teaspoon of baking powder in Dot’s Original Recipe, perhaps mine don’t look too different from hers.

In any case, they were lovely warm with butter, as Alison’s recipe states. I thought of Dot while eating them; there is something very special about being able to access a part of family history through a personal recipe.

Quaker Oat Scones

  • Servings: about 5 medium scones
  • Difficulty: average
  • Print

Ingredients

  • 4 heaped tablespoons of porridge oats
  • 3 oz/100g self-rising flour
  • 1-1/2 oz/50g granulated sugar
  • 1-1/2 oz/50g butter
  • pinch of salt and a little milk to mix

Directions

  1. Pre-heat oven to 350 degrees F.
  2. Grease baking tray or line with parchment paper.
  3. Weigh and sieve flour, add salt, mix.
  4. Rub the chopped butter lightly into the flour with finger tips.
  5. Stir sugar and oats into the mixture.
  6. Add milk cautiously, mixing with a knife until mixture binds in a firm ball.
  7. Turn scone dough out onto a lightly floured surface.
  8. Gently flatten with lightly floured rolling pin.
  9. Roll it out carefully until roughly as thick as the top joint of your thumb.
  10. Cut into scones with scone cutter or knife.
  11. Glaze top of each scone with a little milk or beaten egg.
  12. Place scones, evenly spaced, on baking tray and put in oven.
  13. Check after 12 minutes. They will be light gold all over when done.
  14. Eat warm with butter.
Tips: Freezing then grating the butter instead of chopping it into pieces will make it easier to incorporate with the flour. I gently flattened the dough with my hands instead of using a rolling pin.

~ adapted from Aunt Margaret’s Pudding by Alison Brackenbury (Happenstance Press, 2018), as posted at Jama’s Alphabet Soup.

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AUNT MARGARET’S PUDDING
written by Alison Brackenbury
published by HappenStance Press, 2018
Poetry Collection, 51pp.

*Includes Author’s Note on Dot’s Life

♥ Learn more about Alison Brackenbury’s life and work here.

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The lovely and talented Janice Scully is hosting the Roundup at Salt City Verse. Meander on over to check out the full menu of poetic goodness being served up around the blogosphere this week. Have a nice weekend!


*Copyright © 2023 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

you say tomato, I say tomahto (+ a summer blog break)

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“A world without tomatoes is like a string quartet without violins.” ~ Laurie Colwin (Home Cooking: A Writer in the Kitchen, 2012)

via Nashville Scene

We have a big love for tomatoes here in the Alphabet Soup kitchen. Wish we still had our own vegetable garden, as there’s nothing like freshly picked homegrown tomatoes for salads and sandwiches. Along with peaches, they represent the best part of summer.

“Still Life-Tomatoes” by Gevorg Sinanyan
SONNET #43, KITCHEN STYLE
by Kim O'Donnel

How do I love thee, tomato? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and might
My palate can reach, when remembering out of sight
Your peak month of August, when you bear fruits of juicy Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most urgent need for a BLT, by sun or moon-light.
I love thee with abandon, as Venus might her Mars or Vulcan.
I love thee purely, as surely as the summer wanes.
I love thee with the passion of my appetite
Above all fruits, and with my childhood's eye of Jersey tomatoes
As if they were falling from the sky.
I love thee with a hunger I seemed to lose
With my lost innocence (and the icky mealy tomatoes of January)! I love thee with the smell,
Unlike no other in the garden, and your vine-ripened sweetness
That bring me smiles, tears, only at this time of year! -- and if the farmers choose,
I shall but love thee better after many bowls of gazpacho.

~ This poem first appeared in the “What’s Cooking/A Mighty Appetite” column in The Washington Post (August 7, 2006).


“Still Life #5: Tomatoes and Basil” by Vitaly Sidorenko

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Follow the yellow brick road, follow the yellow brick road . . .

by John Cannon via Omnifold.

Did you know Toto was named after To-ma-to? 😀

Apt that the road is yellow too, since the first tomatoes known to Europeans were thought to be yellow (the Italians called them pomo d’oro, which means “golden apple”). And of course it had to be Emerald City, since tomato stems are a lovely green.

“BLT” by Tjalf Sparnaay.

I can certainly identify with “everyday’s most urgent need for a BLT.” Although we usually try to avoid bacon, the lettuce and tomato are a healthy balance (at least that’s what we keep telling ourselves). We do eat BLTs year round, even sometimes risking those “icky mealy tomatoes of January” to get our fix.

Tomato poster by Yeesan Loh.

I do like how versatile tomatoes are too. They’re just as delicious cooked as they are raw. I don’t want to imagine a world without Italian food and its saucy tomato deliciousness. Hello, pasta bolognese, pizza Margherita, lasagna, chicken cacciatora, eggplant parmigiana!

How do I love thee? I shall count the ways: stuffed, stewed, diced, sliced, broiled, fried, skewered, grilled. Let me wrap my lips around some salsa, caprese, soup, bruschetta, tacos and jam. And I confess to being one of ‘those’ people who likes fries, steak, and scrambled eggs with ketchup.

“Straight Out of Ketchup” by Kait Schoeb.

BTW, did you know Heinz Tomato Ketchup has a speed limit? If the yummy sauce pours at more than 0.028mph when it’s in the Heinz Tomato Ketchup factory, it’s considered too runny and rejected! We like our ketchup thick and slow.

No rotten tomatoes, though. Nice to know the Beatles felt the same. Originally, the opening lines from “With a Little Help From My Friends” were, “What would you do if I sang out of tune? Would you stand up and throw tomatoes at me?” Apparently, Ringo did not want to sing that, fearing he would be pelted with tomatoes if he performed the song live. 🙂

So how do you like your tomatoes? Do you have a favorite variety?

by John Cannon.

♥ All you need is love ♥ . . . and tomatoes. 🍅 🍅 🍅

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The lovely and talented Michelle Kogan is hosting the Roundup this week. Be sure to check out the full menu of poetic goodness being serving up around the blogosphere. Enjoy!

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🌞 SUMMER BLOG BREAK 🌴

It’s time to put our soup on the back burner so this blog can take a little nap. Hope you have a great summer — playing, reading, relaxing, (maybe) traveling, eating, singing, tap dancing, writing, thinking. We’ll see you right after Labor Day! 🙂

Here’s Guy Clark to play us out:

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“In this world of uncertainty and woe, one thing remains unchanged: Fresh, canned, pureed, dried, salted, sliced, and served with sugar and cream, or pressed into juice, the tomato is reliable, friendly, and delicious. We would be nothing without it.” ~ Laurie Colwin


*Copyright © 2023 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

to sprout or not to sprout?

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“Brussels sprouts are misunderstood — probably because most people don’t know how to cook them properly.” ~ Todd English

M.T. Ross (Mother Earth’s Children: The Frolics of the Fruits and Vegetables, 1914).

Love ‘em or hate ‘em? Only a small majority of people feel so-so about these spunky green orbs, sometimes fondly referred to as baby cabbages (so cute!).

Perhaps no other vegetable elicits such a strong reaction in kids as well as adults. Despite all the debate, Brussels sprouts continue to inspire artists and poets. 

Did you like them when you were little? Does this poem sound like you?

I HATE BRUSSELS SPROUTS!
by Cynthia C. Naspinski

I know that stink! I have no doubts
That Mom has cooked up some Brussels sprouts.
Of all the things that I despise,
The Brussels sprout would take first prize.

I've blocked my nose and tried to swallow,
Guzzled lots of milk to follow,
But I can tell you nothing works
'Cause in my mouth the taste still lurks.

Once I slipped one in my pocket,
But after dinner I forgot it.
Next day I shoved my hand in there
And gave myself a nasty scare.

In Mom's pot plant I used to hide
A sprout or two, but then IT DIED!
And now my sister's learned to count,
I can't add to her sprout amount.

My dog won't even help me out.
He will not eat a Brussels sprout.
He'll lick his butt, eat possum poop,
But to eat sprouts he will not stoop.

Maybe it is just as well
Because his farts already smell.
He does not need a Brussels sprout
to turbocharge what's coming out!

Please Mom, can we work out a deal
That gets me out of this here meal?
I'd clear the table, do the dishes,
Be your genie, grant you wishes.

I'd clean my room a little later
And feed the dog (that little traitor!).
I'd pull weeds till my hands blister,
I'd even play nice with my sister.

But Mom, it would be best all around
If other veggies could be found,
So we could all just go without
The gross, revolting Brussels sprout!

~ as published by Family Friend Poems (2020).

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Poor Brussels sprouts! It’s only fair to give them a chance to respond, right?

“Sprouts” by Rutger Hiemstra (oil on canvas, 2018).
BRUSSELS SPROUTS MAKE THEIR CASE
by Bruce W. Niedt

Look, we know, we understand, we're not your favorite veg;
tomatoes, corn, and broccoli all seem to have the edge.
It's hard to pump excitement up for silly little cabbage,
but give us half a chance, don't just throw us in the gabbage!
All you need's a recipe to be your kitchen guide,
then meet us in the middle; we may get you on our side!
Saute us in some olive oil or butter -- now you're shakin' --
and just for extra measure, you can add some chopped-up bacon!
(All right, then, you can double up the bacon if you wish.)
Toss in some fresh minced garlic for an aromatic dish!
Or stick us in the oven for that extra crispy finish --
perhaps then we'll move up your list: you'll like us more than spinish!
May we suggest a favorite wine? A Chardonnay will suit,
and we know you'll be content, 'cos grape's your favorite fruit!
So raise a toast to us wee sprouts, enjoying a revival,
and cook a bunch of us (with bacon) for your friends' arrival!

~ as published at Your Daily Poem (January 2023).
“Bowl with Brussels Sprouts, by Mieke van Thiel (watercolor on paper, 2019).

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I admit I’d rather not see them on their stalks.

Ah, so here’s the thing – when it comes to Brussels sprouts, it’s all about how they are cooked. 

I can attest to this. I didn’t like them when I was a kid, and luckily we didn’t have them very often. My mom probably boiled/steamed them, whole. She certainly didn’t roast them. Big mistake.

Once you overcook them they turn dark, get mushy, and give off that dreaded sulphur smell. 

We did not like those mini cabbages at all, at all. We did not like them here or there. We did not like them anywhere.

Fast forward to making them for Thanksgiving dinner as a young married person (my years in London broadened my horizons – they loved sprouts over there). In my trusty Good Housekeeping Cookbook, there it was – a recipe for sautéed Brussels sprouts. Yes, it called for the all important bacon, as well as chopped onions, a little sugar and a splash of red wine vinegar. And equally as important, the sprouts were sliced in half for more even cooking. So good! And those leaves that came loose and got a little crisp? Even better.

Lately we’ve been roasting our sprouts after tossing them in olive oil with garlic and salt. Roasting truly enhances their flavor. Safe to say, ever since roasting veggies came into vogue, Brussels sprouts have been having a moment. About time.

As a member of the cruciferous family, they’re a nutritious cancer and heart disease fighting superfood, especially rich in Vitamins C and K. They also have more iron, potassium, Vitamin B1, fiber and copper than broccoli.

But don’t take my word for it. Andrea Potos (she of the Laura Ashley dresses and homemade baklava) is a recent convert.

“In Season” by Rebecca Luncan (oil on copper, 2019).
POEM TO THE BRUSSEL SPROUT
by Andrea Potos

     for TJ

Oh much maligned fat-
heads of the garden,
ugly as the Cabbage Patch dolls
of my childhood, for years
I mocked and
avoided you,

then tonight
my brother-in-law, unsung
chef of the family, found you 
on sale at Safeway
and brought you home.
He didn't ask us
what we wanted; he
went ahead and let you sizzle
in a silver pan and God knows
what else:
he tossed in a cupful of water
and let you steam,

then heaped you in a blue
porcelain bowl, your bright green
flounces gleaming like petticoats under
the dining room chandelier
while we tasted and tasted
some more. Forgive me
for all those times I have failed
to see beyond a clumsy presence
to the lusciousness of what
is possible and true.

~ from Her Joy Becomes (Fernwood Press, 2022).

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So, what say you? Yay or nay when it comes to sprouts? What’s your favorite way to eat them? Will they make an appearance on your Thanksgiving table next week?

Enjoy this video of Jacques Pepin preparing a simple recipe for sautéed sprouts.

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Lovely and talented poet and author Irene Latham is hosting the Roundup at Live Your Poem. Be sure to check out the full menu of poetic goodness being served up around the blogosphere this week. Have a nice weekend and an especially delicious Thanksgiving (we’ll be back for PF on Dec. 1). 🙂


*Copyright ©2023 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

all we are saying is give peeps a chance

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“Peeps” by Leigh-Anne Eagerton (oil on panel).
PEEPS 
by Judy Fort Brenneman


If Peeps are in the store, can Spring be far behind?
My hand, reverent, traces the crackle of cellophane
That shelters conjoined confections.
Soft shapes in bright colors—
Yellow, pink, and this year, blue—
(Yellow is the best, anyone could tell you.)
Colors of spring more true than the purple crocus
Frozen in its bulb under the snowbank at the end of the drive.

My hand plucks them like seed packets.
One, two, three four five.
Odd numbers are best—no one notices
If you eat the odd one before you get home.

The register beeps the red total.
The clerk says leave them out overnight
In the open, without cellophane;
That's the best way, she smiles.
I smile back; who am I to tell her she's wrong?
Naked Peeps are soon as hard and dry as sun-baked dirt
At the end of August.

My five small packs nestle in the sack
Like boxes of tulips minus the stems.
My thumb punches through the cellophane of the one on top—
Better than any groundhog's shadow,
More pure than the first robin's song,
A promise of pollen shakes loose with sugar spilled on my lap.
I pull the yellow blossoms apart,
And eat Spring.

~ Copyright © 2023 Judy Fort Brenneman as posted at Your Daily Poem.

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“The Scream” by Lisa Johnson.

The thing about Peeps is that you either love ’em or hate ’em. Kind of like candy corn at Halloween, Peeps are undoubtedly divisive.

Made of sugar, corn syrup, gelatin, food coloring, carnauba wax and a preservative, Peeps aren’t exactly the healthiest treat. Yet for many of us, it’s all about the nostalgia — memories of childhood Easter baskets, debating over which color or shape is best, whether to eat them fresh or stale.

What can I say? I’ve always liked marshmallow: chocolate covered marshmallow bunnies, mini mallows in cocoa, s’mores. ‘Nuff (or should I say ‘fluff’) said. 😀

“L.L. Peep” by the Vogt Family.

Yes, eating straight sugar is bad, but once a year, I don’t mind throwing caution to the wind. Note I said “once a year,” because those orange Halloween pumpkin Peeps or green Christmas tree ones are just wrong. Everyone knows Halloween = chocolate, and Christmas = cookies. Right? Some things, after all, are sacred.

Besides, like the poem says, Peeps are a harbinger of spring. I like the mention of frozen bulbs, seed packets, tulips without stems, robin’s first song, sugar being a promise of pollen. What better way to celebrate new beginnings than with an edible baby chick?

“Candy Warhol” by Darcy Muckler (photo by Jeff Truesdell).

Peeps Deets:

  • Back in 1953, it took 27 hours to make a single Peep marshmallow chick (marshmallow was laboriously hand-squeezed through a pastry tube). A year later, the Just Born company developed a way to mechanize the process so that now it takes just six minutes.
  • Yellow is America’s bestselling color of Peeps chicks and bunnies, followed by pink and blue (yellow chicks and white bunnies were the originals).
  • Four out of five Peeps purchased are chicks.
  • About 5.5 million Peeps are produced each day — that’s 509 Peeps hatching every 8 seconds.
  • Just Born produces enough Peeps marshmallow candies every year to circle the earth two and a half times — that’s approximately 2 billion Peeps.
  • Peeps brand candies celebrated its 70th anniversary in 2023.
“Peep of the Union” by Ellen Foster, Chloe Brown, and Emily Gunn.

Time to break through the cellophane and “pull the yellow blossoms apart.” Revel in the sugary stickiness! But who can eat just one? Two, three, four, five . . . oops! How did they disappear so quickly?

The other five will sit out overnight to be enjoyed in their golden crusty chewiness the next day. I like them both ways and they like me right back.

What say you? Peeps yay or nay? Chicks or bunnies? Favorite color? Fresh or stale?

There’s so much to consider when you “eat Spring.”

Peeps Flower Bouquet via Honey & Lime

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Lovely, talented and prolific Laura Purdie Salas is hosting the Roundup and celebrating the release of her new picture book, Oskar’s Voyage (illustrated by Kayla Harren). Zip on over to check out all the fun and the full menu of poetic goodness being shared around the blogosphere this week. Happy Weekend and don’t forget Daylight Savings Time starts on Sunday!


*Copyright © 2024 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.

no waffling over waffles

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“Poetry is a mystic, sensuous mathematics of fire, smoke-stacks, waffles, pansies, people, and purple sunsets.” ~ Carl Sandburg

Would you like butter and syrup, or fruit and whipped cream with yours?

“Summer Breakfast” by Dwight Luna (oil on canvas).
WAITING FOR WAFFLES
by Pam Lewis


Eons pass
as steam swirls from the waffle iron.

Inside lies the pale magma
of an unformed planet

the Precambrian
in the geology of breakfast

terrain untouched by syrup rivers,
innocent of cinnamon showers

its pocked topography slowly
browning, its ridges crusting

as epochs roll on in miniature
beneath a jagged steel sky.

~ ©2023 Pam Lewis, as posted at Your Daily Poem.
“Big Waffles” by Mary Ellen Johnson (oil on panel).

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Raise your hand if you love waffles! (me! me!)

What a treat to bite into Pam Lewis’s finely crafted poem. Since waffles likely date back to the ancient Greeks, her use of a geological metaphor is indeed fitting, and brings into sharp focus her unique observational skills.

“Still Life with Waffles” by Circle of Georg Flegel (17th century).

Don’t get me wrong; I like pancakes too. But they identify as round and flat free-form blobs lazing on the griddle, occasionally intoning “flip me” with a bubble or two and supreme nonchalance.

Waffles, on the other hand, take special pride in their uniformity — a pleasing pattern of square pockets happy to harbor tantalizing pools of rich melted butter and dreamy maple syrup. With waffles’ first-bite crispness and the anticipatory drama of “pale magma” transforming into a distinctive “pocked topography,” one would be hard-pressed to find a more artistically satisfying food.

“Belgian Waffles with Strawberry and Blueberries” by Art Tatin (oil on hardboard, 2019).

As the poem so cleverly illustrates, we covet homemade waffles because they won’t be rushed. Nothing ‘fast food’ or instant about them; even if they require eons or epochs to cook, they are worth the wait. Like pancakes, they are mostly a weekend breakfast, earning them “special treat” status. But unlike pancakes, they eschew an open skillet in favor of magically taking shape in secret.

Waffle iron from the Gourmet Museum and Library of Hermalle-sous-Huy (Belgium, 16-17th century).

International Waffle Day is on Monday, March 25. Unlike our ancestors, who cooked theirs with long-handled iron plates held over an open fire, all we have to do is plug in our waffle makers. One of the main reasons we don’t cook waffles more often is probably because our waffle makers aren’t readily accessible — often stored with other little-used appliances in the back of cupboards, etc.

Take out your waffle maker now — it’s half the battle, and you’ll be all set for International Waffle Day weekend. 🙂

Until then, savor these random Waffle-y Tidbits:

  • Thomas Jefferson brought the first waffle iron to America from France.
  • The word ‘waffle’ first appeared in the English language in 1725, and was derived from the Dutch ‘wafel’, which means wafer.
  • The first known waffle recipe appeared in an anonymous 14th century manuscript, Le Ménagier de Paris, as a set of instructions from a husband to his young wife.
  • The world’s largest waffle was created by Stichting Gouda Oogst (Netherlands) in 2013. It had a diameter of 8 feet and weighed 110 pounds.
  • National Waffle Day in the U.S. is celebrated on August 24 to commemorate the first waffle iron patent submitted by Cornelius Swarthout in 1869.

Our own Cornelius was so impressed by Mr. Swarthout that he volunteered to eat three extra waffles in his honor. For this post, we used the Classic Waffles recipe available online at allrecipes.com.

Here are some general Waffle Making Tips regardless of what recipe you use:

  • Use vegetable oil rather than butter in the batter for crisper waffles.
  • For lighter, airier waffles, separate the eggs and beat the whites separately into soft peaks, then fold them into the batter.
  • Be careful not to overwork the batter. Combine ingredients gently (a few lumps in the batter is okay).
  • Let your batter sit for about 15-20 minutes before adding to your waffle iron to improve texture.
  • Make sure your waffle iron is hot enough (preheat for at least 10 minutes).
  • Once waffles are cooking, don’t be tempted to peek! Wait until steam subsides before lifting the lid.
  • Avoid stacking waffles after cooking to prevent them from getting soggy and limp.
“Waffles of Memory” by Matt Dawson.

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Lovely and talented Tanita S. Davis is hosting the Roundup at fiction, instead of lies. She’s celebrating her birthday with a fun poem about being unfettered, untethered and FREE. Zip on over to check out the full menu of poetic goodness being served up around the blogosphere this week. Happy Weekend!

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🍓 HOORAY FOR INTERNATIONAL WAFFLE DAY! 🍓


*Copyright © 2024 Jama Rattigan of Jama’s Alphabet Soup. All rights reserved.






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