friday feast: hamming it up

March 1, 2013September 17, 2017 ~ jama ~ 48 Comments

Oinkity oink oink.

Happy March!

It’s National Pig Day!

Gather round, ye swines, sows, piglets and poetry-loving porkers. We’re mud-wallowingly happy to squeal your praises today. Surely none other in the animal kingdom is as clean, intelligent, belly beautiful or lick-the-fat-off-your-face tasty!

*pork fat reverie*

Mr. Cornelius delivering the keynote address at the 2013 Alphabet Soup Pig Day Conference.

Captive audience hangs on his every word.

“Now, let’s talk about that flying thing . . . “

Where would we be without our Sunday morning slices of crispy bacon, our juicy honey-baked Easter ham, our Wednesday night pan-fried pork chops with biscuits and gravy, our fall-off-the-bone bourbon-glazed baby back ribs? Oh, tempt me with your tenderloin, your coy cutlets, your heavenly hocks! Whether sausage, shoulder or bountiful butt, you alone wear the Crown.

To barbecue or not to barbecue — that’s not even a question. Aye, there’s the dry rub.

*trit trot, trit trot*

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friday feast: eating for love

February 15, 2013February 15, 2013 ~ jama ~ 51 Comments

rosemary biscuits — Mini Rosemary Heart Biscuits From the Little Yellow Kitchen (click for recipe)

WHAT WE ALL SAY
by Irene Sherlock

There’s nothing to eat, my daughter says, standing in front of the refrigerator, motioning at the bag of carrots, three red apples. She means pork chops, mashed potatoes, food I made before the diet, the divorce, before I turned thin. People smile, congratulate. You look wonderful. They seem relieved, as though my heavier self was somehow a burden to them. How did you do it? As if I’ve broken world records. I tell them thin is lots of water, no butter, endless exercise, bowls of clear soup. Day in, day out, except for occasional graham crackers, thin is never sweet. They shake their heads, Ten years younger, not knowing most nights I go hungry, except last night, at a friend’s house, after Chardonnay and wontons filled with artichokes and crab, after rosemary biscuits, herbed chicken stuffed with prosciutto, sautéed in shallots and cognac. After all the love had been laid on the table, I felt my old self emerging — the woman who loves chocolate, who looks her age and surprises her daughter with blueberry pie. Her mouth watered as mine does now. Mmmm, I said, and began to eat and eat as though, now, I can never be filled.

blueberry pie august 12th, 2009 2 (2)500 — Classic Blueberry Pie via Thibeault’s Table (click for recipe)

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Certainly, food is love. Most of us love to eat. We cook for our loved ones, comfort and love ourselves with our favorite treats, even fantasize about foods we’ve yet to meet.

Like all relationships, it’s complicated. Eating is an emotional act steeped in joy, peppered with guilt.

Please correct me if I’m wrong, but I think this relationship with food is more complicated for women than it is for men. What of that constant pressure to look a certain way?

You can never be too rich or too thin.

One moment on the lips, forever on the hips.

The beauty of this poem is that I think we can all see parts of ourselves in it. I can relate to the narrator in a backwards sort of way. Instead of being complimented for being thinner, these days I receive little looks of surprise because there’s a bit more of me to love. I’m sometimes the friend who likes to lay love out on the table, and as far as praising someone for losing weight? Guilty as charged.

While savoring the casual, conversational lines of this poem, I carefully weigh their bittersweet subtext. We are what we eat, mourn what we cannot. How to satisfy one’s emotional hunger?

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The always lovely, warm and welcoming Linda Baie is hosting today’s Roundup at TeacherDance. Peruse the full menu of poetic goodness being served up in the blogosphere this week and enjoy. The beauty of words is that you can feast, calorie free, to your heart’s content!

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friday feast: a special guest post by eat this poem blogger nicole gulotta

January 25, 2013September 6, 2017 ~ jama ~ 70 Comments

Since I’m a big fan of Nicole Gulotta’s uncommonly delicious literary food blog, I was tickled pink when she agreed to do a guest post featuring a children’s poet. Each week at Eat This Poem, Nicole serves up delectable original recipes inspired by poems, each post an elegantly written, thought-provoking blend of insightful analysis, personal anecdotes and gorgeous photography. When I learned Nicole had decided to feature Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s “Apple Pockets,” I asked Amy to tell us a little about the poem:

“Apple Pockets” is actually in [Lee Bennett Hopkins’s] SHARING THE SEASONS, and it’s based on walks we take here on our property. We live on an old farm, and there’s a small grove of wild apple trees bordering the forest. I like imagining the people who lived here before us: what they thought about and who they loved.

I know you’ll enjoy today’s doubly delightful feast featuring one of my fave food bloggers + one of my fave poets! Guess what I’m having for breakfast this weekend? 🙂

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♥ Guest Post by Nicole Gulotta ♥

The first time I made these apple muffins, I had just started experimenting with whole grain flours in my baking. Since then, I’ve fallen in love with buckwheat pancakes and whole grain crackers, but it was a batch of muffins that helped me ease into embracing healthier baked goods.

When I read Amy Ludwig VanDerwater’s poem “Apple Pockets,” I remembered these muffins. Her poem is deeply reflective, a nice state of mind to be in as a new year begins. The speaker isn’t just walking around with apples in her pockets, but the apples themselves help transport her mind to an orchard where “a hundred years ago they picked these apples.”

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Apple Pockets
by Amy Ludwig VanDerwater

This morning I have apples in my pockets.
I feel them round and ready and remember
That every year for years (with apple pockets)
The people walk this orchard in September.

A hundred years ago they picked these apples
Small children skipping on their way to school
Young families coming home from Sunday church
Old lovers holding warm hands in the cool.

And when I walk alone I sometimes see them
With apples in their pockets and their skirts.
And when I’m quiet sometimes I can hear them
With merry laughs and boot-scuffs in the dirt.

I reach up for an apple and I twist it.
I bite into the white and taste September.
This morning I have apples in my pockets.
I feel them round and ready and remember.

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I’m sure you can relate to the experience of standing in a place that so many others have before you, either while traveling, visiting a historic landmark, or even thinking about the families that may have lived in your home before you. My favorite phrase in the poem, “I bite into the white and taste September,” articulates how strongly scent and flavor can be tied to our memories. Like the speaker tasting a bright autumn day, I remembered these apple muffins, and how they have sustained me through many car rides and flights across the country, rushed mornings headed to work, or a leisurely weekend afternoon, which is perhaps the best time to enjoy them.

Apple Crumb Muffins

Adapted from Ellie Krieger

Makes 12-14 muffins

3/4 cup plus two tablespoons packed brown sugar
1/4 cup chopped pecans
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 cup whole wheat flour
1 cup all-purpose flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 large eggs
1 cup organic applesauce
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
3/4 cup buttermilk
1 apple, peeled, cored and cut into 1/4-inch pieces

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees, and line a 12-capacity muffin pan with paper liners.

In a small bowl, mix together 2 tablespoons of the brown sugar, the pecans, and cinnamon. In a medium bowl, whisk together the flours, baking soda, and salt.

In the bowl of a stand mixer fitted with the paddle attachment, mix the remaining 3/4 cup brown sugar and oil until combined. Add the eggs, one at a time, whisking well after each addition. Mix in the applesauce and vanilla.

Add the dry ingredients in two batches, alternating with the buttermilk. Blend until just combined, then gently stir in the apple chunks with a wooden spoon.

Pour the batter into the prepared muffin pan and sprinkle evenly with the topping. Bake for 20 minutes, or until a toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

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Nicole Gulotta is a grantmaker by day and gourmet home cook by night. She received an MFA in creative writing from Vermont College of Fine Arts and a BA from the University of California, Santa Barbara. In 2011, she founded The Giving Table, a website that helps people change the food system through personal philanthropy. She is based in Los Angeles, where she lives with her husband and French bulldog.

Visit Eat This Poem and sign up for The Right Brains Society newsletter, which features musings on topics like reading, writing, poetry, blogging, living a creative life, how not to hate your day job and other inspiration.

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♥ Poetry Friday regulars may also be interested in seeing Nicole’s post featuring Charles Ghigna’s poem, “Hunting the Cotaco Creek,” which she paired with Butternut-Leek Soup.

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The always welcoming and lovely Tabatha Yeatts is hosting today’s Roundup at The Opposite of Indifference. Sashay on over to check out the full menu of tantalizing poetic offerings on this week’s menu. Have a good weekend!

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This post is also being linked to Beth Fish Read’s Weekend Cooking, where all are invited to share their food-related posts. Put on your best bib and join the tasty fun!

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friday feast: a soup poem for starters

January 11, 2013June 10, 2013 ~ jama ~ 34 Comments

“My greatest strength is common sense. I’m really a standard brand — like Campbell’s Tomato Soup or Baker’s Chocolate.” ~ Katherine Hepburn

For my first Poetry Friday post of 2013, the best first course I can think of is a warm, comforting bowl of tomato soup. It’s pretty iconic as soups go — simple and undemanding, it hits the spot on snowy wintry days, has the power to transport us to childhood lunchrooms, and loves to tango with a good grilled cheese sandwich. It became our official soup because of its deep color and accommodating thickness, providing the perfect cushy bed for alphabet pasta. 🙂

Back in 2007 when I first polled fellow writers about their favorite soup, tomato was the clear winner. Nothing like a mom-approved bowl of certainty to ward off loneliness and self doubt. A very good reason to put on your favorite bib today and enjoy Mark Irwin’s savory, minimally seasoned poem. Thank goodness for something basic we can count on!

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friday feast: one last lipsmacking, creamy-crunchy spread for peanut butter lovers month

November 30, 2012September 20, 2017 ~ jama ~ 63 Comments

November 30th already? I’ve been having so much sticky fun, I hate to see the party end (sniff)!

*Cornelius’ favorite: Ashdon Farms Peanut Butter Bears*

This has definitely been the nuttiest November on record here at Alphabet Soup. So glad all you giddy goober peas emerged from your solitary shells, sent in poems, and feasted with us every Friday. At first I wasn’t quite sure whether I’d be spreading it on thick or thin, but thanks to all the generous Peanut Butter Poets, we had just the right amount of food to savor and digest each week. I’m so glad Father Goose Charles Ghigna initially suggested a Peanut Butter Poets Poll. It was the perfect ~~excuse~~ inspiration to turn a singles poll dance into a month-long poetry party. 🙂

*Peanut Butter Cheese Ball via The Girl Who Ate Everything*

We’re topping things off today with another lipsmacking menu that brings to mind Santa and his elves. Actually, Santa never had it so good with this bevy of beauties: Linda Baie, Cathy Ballou Mealey, Betsy Hubbard, Mary Lee Hahn, and Renée LaTulippe. And Santa himself? None other than our brilliant, beloved (and oh so cuddly) Children’s Poet Laureate, J. Patrick Lewis (who, BTW, is also this week’s Eye Candy)! No, we don’t mess around here. We serve up only THE BEST.

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