I'll bet there are some foodies here who are not only talented cooks but also talented poets. Try posting a Recipe Poem here that you do yourself or someone else has done that you particularly admire. Or just something foodie-ish that rhymes.
Eventually, I'll try to write a poem myself but for starters let me post some that are good so you'll see what I mean and get inspired:
Cut smoothly from a wheaten loaf
Ten slices, good and true,
And brown them nicely, o'er the coals,
As you for toast would do.
Prepare a pint of thickened milk,
Some cod-fish shredded small;
And have on hand six hard-boiled eggs,
Just right to slice withal.
Moisten two pieces of the bread,
And lay them in a dish,
Upon them slice a hard-boiled egg,
Then scatter o'er with fish.
And for a seasoning you will need
Of pepper just one shake,
Then spread above the milky juice,
And this one layer make.
And thus, five times, bread, fish and egg,
Or bread and egg and fish,
Then place one egg upon the top,
To crown this breakfast dish.
~ social activist Elizabeth Cady Stanton (1815-1902)
Two boiled potatoes strained through a kitchen sieve,
Softness and smoothness to the salad give;
Of mordant mustard take a single spoon,
Distrust the condiment that bites too soon!
Yet deem it not, thou man of taste, a fault
To add a double quantity of salt.
Four times the spoon with oil of Lucca
And twice with vinegar procured from town;
True taste requires it and your poet begs
The pounded yellow of two well-boiled eggs.
Let onion's atoms lurk within the bowl
And, scarce suspected, animate the whole,
And lastly in the flavoured compound toss
A magic spoonful of anchovy sauce.
Oh, great and glorious! Oh, herbaceous meat!
'Twould tempt the dying Anchorite
Back to the world he'd turn his weary soul
And plunge his fingers in the salad bowl.
~ Sydney Smith (19th century)
Peas with Honey
I always eat my peas with honey;
I've done it all my life.
They do taste kind of funny but
It keeps them on my knife.
A Bear in There
There's a Polar Bear
In our Frigidaire--
He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.
With his seat in the meat
And his face in the fish
And his big hairy paws
In the buttery dish,
He's nibbling the noodles,
He's munching the rice,
He's slurping the soda,
He's licking the ice.
And he lets out a roar
If you open the door.
And it gives me a scare
To know he's in there--
That Polary Bear
In our Fridgitydaire.
~ Shel Silverstein
There was a young lady called Kate
Whose eyes with delight will dilate
Whenever she sees
Butterflies on the breeze
Or a portion of Sainsbury's pâté.