taste - gastronomic poems by francis raven book preview

7/31/2019 Taste - Gastronomic Poems by Francis Raven Book Preview

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TasteGastronomic Poems

Francis Raven

BlazeVox [books]

Buffalo, New York


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Copyright 2005

Published by BlazeVOX [books]All rights reserved. No part of this book may bereproduced without the publishers writtenpermission, except for brief quotations in reviews.

Printed by CafePress.com in the United States ofAmerica

ISBN 0-9759227-8-5

Cover art by Aloysius WernerBook design by Geoffrey Gatza

First Edition


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Breakfast Shopping List

The constancy of breakfast comforts.The ability to choose eases the mind into the days work.

Almond-Raisin Granola

http://www.epicurious.com/run/recipe/view?id=102619

From epicurious.com: 17,000 recipes cooks can search andcritique.

The individual reviewers sphere widens with every new webpage.The urge to discern overwhelms the urge to create.

Ingredients:3 cups old-fashioned oats (no new-fangling)

3/4 cup shredded sweetened coconut1 cup cut-up nuts almonds or walnuts

6 tablespoons pure maple syrup6 tablespoons (packed) dark brown sugar1/4 cup vegetable oil2 tablespoons warm water

1 cup dried fruit

Some directions:Mix up the dry ingredients.

Mix up the wet ingredients.(This is the Gross Part (GP) of making granola.Every cooking experience deserves a GP for added

mystery.)Spread the mixture on a greased cooking sheet.Bake on low heat (like 250F) for 1.5 hours or more.Stir every once in a while.Its nice to make granola in the afternoon with a beer.

***


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Fruit Smoothie

Ingredients:1 banana (frozen)a few berries (frozen unless really expensive)

maybe some mangojuice to tasteabout three T yogurtpossibly some chocolate nibs or nuts if youre feeling wild.

Some direction:Blend them up.


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Ingredient: Egg

For Allen Weiss

The childs finger followsIn an orbitAround ellipsoid shell,Accidentally drops it.The idea flowsOver straw.Some live,Thats to say,Eggs are complete objects;Man is but a partial representation.

Pass the crimson egg of spring

Around the tableTo the one you love,Etch it with gold,Bury it for dreaming culmination.

Do you remember that photograph ofMarilyn Monroe lying down on a sofaCracking eggs into a cup of milk?Appropriate sentence structureOf fames prowessBending and birthingThe static image.

Egg cracks:A paradigm for fertility;And when friedA model for cultured fertility,Civilized sexualityOn a plateIn a dinerOver easy.

The yolk is the idea born,Not yet conscious,

Full of protein.Humans inner fruit

Fulfill prerequisites for language.Birds outer eggs

Required for flight.


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Have you ever triedTo fry a seedOn a summers sidewalk?It doesnt work.

It doesnt even get the budwhite.Nothing, just milky and absolute.

The egg ingests allAnd is nothing because of it:World into the omelets curd.

But rots(Is eventually the cruelCommunication of sacrifice)And stinks.We foldOur bones

SlowlyWithin itsMilky juice.

Man, microcosm in the seed:Souffl fluffs up existence.

Sacrifice is the shape;Phoenix rising from its greasy fried form.

Daybreak concentrates in the center:Life is experienced in the eating;Incorporating the sum of lunar eclipses.

The cosmos of the soufflFolds over the content of an open sky,Flickering its stars violently,Into a hungover Sundays omelet.

The decoration of the apocalypseLines the curves of any good birth.


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Taste Conversation

In taste and color there are no friends.

The taste, but not the smell, of cyanide, is lethal.

In the future, all tastes will bemanufactured in Flavor Alley off the NewJersey Turnpike, using a mixture ofnatural foods and river water.

How will I know if I taste the same flavors as youunless I eat the whole dish?

When youre trying to

describe the flavors you tastein a wine my advice is to startsimple. Say fruity instead ofraspberry notes. As you getbetter at tasting youll be ableto move your descriptionsinto more complexity. If itsfruity, is it citrus, berry, orapple? Then you just keepgetting more and morecomplex.

Taste metaphorically means styleintimately connected with the self andsubjectivity.

In order to taste something you have to take it in; theother has to become part of us, if only for a minute.Therefore, the eater becomes less of a racist with everybite.

Weve always wanted to eat like theJetsons; we just repressed these desires tofit in with the dominant paradigm of slow-organic-heirloom food-systems.

If you eat the whole dish you wont taste the sameflavors as me because I wont taste anything. Illjust be sitting here, hungry. Besides, this


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casserole is pretty homogeneous as far as I cansee.

The important thing is to beright and to have everyone

you talk to agree with you, ifthey know what theyretalking about.

Food can never be distant enough to be considered art because taste isalways within. Aesthetic distance is in danger of disappearing becausefood is always there for a practical reason, to nourish us.

Whats new with taste? What will be the new cilantro, thenew basil, the new gorgonzola? Haute salt is passing outof todays mouth.

Real fruit has to learn from syntheticfruit flavor bursting in your mouth.Natural food leaves much to be desired.

Now place the crumb of sourdough on the tip ofyour tongue and taste the salt that combats theaction of the yeast you taste when you move thebread towards the back of your mouth.

Im thinking apples, but Idont want to have to take itback.

Taste divides its time between discernment and sensation.

Excess does not equal a gourmet experience.

What if another countrys food is yourcomfort food? Does that make you apornographically inclined exoticist? Imean, when Im sick or I break up withsomeone all I can eat is Pad Thai fordays.

But taste, the subjectivity of taste, is informedand manufactured like everything else, with thecomplex of dynamics generated by existing powerstructures, conformity, and the media.


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What were trying to do isincrease the complexity of thetaste profilea longerbeginning, becoming,

flourish, and finish.

Taste is the lowest sense in the hierarchy of an intellectualist: sight bearsknowledge, taste brings indigestion.

Im not a glutton. Im a gourmet, bachelor, intoxicatedchef. But some detractors seem to think that gluttony ismerely noticing good food and trying to attain that blissfulstate.

Smell is the early warning system. Tasteis the immediate emanation of what is

imminently possible.

Vietnamese food is so interesting becauseVietnam was conquered so many timesfirst byChina, then France. Each country left theirinfluence on that semi-permeable alimentarymembrane. Thus, hoarding and sophisticationunderline their cuisine.

In grade school, we shouldbe taught to distinguishbetween tastes the way we aretaught to discern shapes,numbers, and words. Ourpalates are educable, onemust hope.


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Liquid: Tea

1.

We must boilall water in the countryfor health reasons;Kills bacteria,cleans our souls.The edict was released,by the well-cloaked emperor,on official parchment.

One day while writing slight poemsand inhaling Jasmine petal fragrance,

wind gusted,charged fire under water.Coals turned redin a powerful admiration of the gale,limbs fell,unattached tea leaves blew throughout the scene.

They whispered unassuminglyinto uncovered pots of boiling waterand inevitably steepedinto a rich amber elixir.The emperor, being an inquisitive scientist,

decided he would taste the liquor,and soon felt, naked, inquisitive, quick witted, humorous.Thus, tea was born of his pores.

2.

Leaves unrollingin boiling waterexpose the plant in our drink,showing us nature in this technological rush.

Its currency

poured over the spring garden;petals floating.

A sunrise cupis not an alarm clock,


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but windslowly burning off the fog.

A good strong morning cupwith the New York Times on the porch:

eternal and definitively temporal.

3.

The poem, like tea,must be steeped for the perfectamount of time;too much and the poemwill be but bitter directness,too little and the flavor will not cohere.

Rich tan elixir

raining on the mountains;flowing finally into the swampsmurkily hiding languagein the folds of poetry.

Suddenly, the teapoetically becomesthe metaphor forthe unrushed full mind sharing,

opposedto the quick brutality of coffee;How do you get your caffeine?

Bean versus leaf.

4.

Black tea dries for two or three days,fermenting into fullness,leaves shriveling,tastes sphere expandingfrom green teasbrilliant astringency

[often steamed

to seal leafs secretsand prevent fermentation].

Drying alters leafs attitude into character.But character doesnt change the world.


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Attitude flips the order, turns the cupin revolutions of rich water.Whereas character develops slowly,steeps in the choice of selfhood.

Delicate green leavescan't handle being burnt.They must almost stand alone,too much heat ruins them,milk and lemon both overpower.

5.

Tastes:

Round English Breakfast

with a low questioning voice,almost beautifully passive aggressive.

Ceylon

Dry pucker couched in milk.Dry wind forcefully pushing the mind forward.

6.

And they simply tookthe first leavesand the bud.

Escaping form,light liquor leaking languidly from the leaves.

Pick the top three leaves off for me.Dont crush them; roll them slowly in tight balls.

The higher the altitudethe better the cup.

Up cooler air mountains,

leaves grow slowerproducing brightermaltier fluid.


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7.

The perfect mug floatson a river upstreamfilled with three sips of pucker

and two of boldness.How thick was that mug's lip?How fast does the tea flow?How large is its capacity?Where is that perfect mug?At least, where is its shadow?

The cupbecomes a metaphorfor the relationshipbetween soul and body.What then

is the mouth of the cupa metaphor for?Our mouthsorour eyes?

8.

Steeping the tea:Color infuses patterns with veins like fractalsand spreads across mugs bottom,diffuses across era's conflicting ceremonies.Squeeze the bag, deeper color drips slowly:Remove the leaves so bitterness doesn'talso bloom in the afternoon cup.

9.

Your astringent hair,sweaty almost aimless,is given shape(weighted to a single wave)by the body of the liquor.

There is a differencebetween the astringency of green teaand the bitterness of steeping stems.


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Astringency sets you awakeon the pins of your mind.Bitterness merely dries,numbs the soul.


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Grocery Coffee

Coffee canister falls,

a death opens.

Wine glasss knifelies on the pulse

of late summers jam;canning, I know where

I liveall year long.


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Sunny Side Up

For Libby

After the drunken night,After the courses were forgotten,Breakfast was made:

Lox for most,But a fried egg for her.

I broke it on the pan,Ready to transform from liquid to solid,

But she took over,

Massaging the yolk,Strangely.Finally slippingOnto her plate;

LiftingWith fingersTo her lipsAnd slurping it inAs one would gulp an oyster.


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Morning Meat

Fatty bacon,

Purchased at my mothers cheap store,SizzlesAway its whiteness,Burbles burn onto my hand;As its redness finally pushes itselfInto the forefront of the scene;As its fat renders into the pan,Creating a deeper and deeper pool.

I place the miniscule final productBetween paper towels.Fat remains in the pan.

And the question we all must ask is:What do we do with it?

Youre not supposed to pour greasedown the drain.

Ive heard that before,But the full force of its irony finally hit me:

Youre not supposed to pour it down the drainBecause it hardens and eventually clogs the pipes,

But you eat it all the timeAnd what do you think it does to your arteries?

Well, it clogs themJust likes the drain(could give you a heart attack)or cause for a plumber depending

Righteous health knowledge reluctantlyAte a piece of bacon and some eggs.


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The Problem of Corporate Poetry

How could I be a corporate poet?

I would feel bad, first of all.

But the main problem I foresawWas that fellow poets would think less of meFor selling out to the system.

Corporate poetry is a new and specialized field,Not of poetry,But of advertising.

What were the blurbs we would write?Poetry, however, could not think singularly,

But kept veering off to the margins of products.

There were things to be said,Points to be made,But the poems wouldnt stick to them.

The poems about tea kept talking about Zen or coffeeAnd the chocolate poems were worse,Spouting off, as they would about sugar, slavery, jungle sweat,And worst of all lifestyles.

In the end, the advertising poems ended up being a bust;

Even though I loved Scharffenberger chocolates and Fat Tire beerVerse about such subjects rang flat intoThe ground: it was better just to eat and drink.


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Lottophilia

There was a period of years,

I liked to call The Contest Years,when I entered several games,of luck and skill mixing in sandy entropy.

Not that I ever won,but Id searchfor opportunitieson the internet;

Not that I went in foronline casinos,

but You get Vegas odds or better

but You'll be in with the crowd that has been enjoying our casinosince 2001.but We have over 25 games for you to choose from.but Relax and bask in the raunchiest gaming parlor on theinternet.

No, I was more paranoid than your average lottophiliac.I stuck to contests slightly less guaranteed to transform meinto a lonely obsessive sleepless gambler.

So, when the local chocolatier announcedan essay contest

to describe eitheryour favorite truffleor a memory of their chocolates

(100 words or less)I had to:

From the time I submitted the two essaysuntil I received the savage rejection noticeI dreamt of how I would spend the winnings

($100 worth of chocolate).Share them with friendsor hole up with my chocolates

and write a book of poetry about them,which I could sell back to the companyfor a lot of money,making me a real corporate poet?


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I think they wanted something morealong the lines oflife is a box of chocolates,

but I wrote:

1)Can a food create an entire world through taste alone? Can it urge you toimagine silk and orchids? Is it possible for a bite of chocolate to hauntyou for weeks on end? The English Butter Almond Truffle does just thatat the moment you think least possible, namely, the most earthly moment.Yes, it is at that moment where the idea of anything transporting youfrom your tired feet is challenged, where we need to ask thesephilosophical questions, and where a well placed truffle can rescue youfrom your insipid answers and send you toward dawns image.

2)

The melt and crunch that is toffee; butter realized as hard pleasure. Thecreaminess of the toffee is cut, but not severed, by its sweetness. Theelement of life is kept together through the nuttiness of the posture, by anoise in the mouth that wakes the taste buds. The flourish of Californiaalmonds puncturing the chocolate flies across the plate, but the toffee isstill one, unshakable.

***

Now Ill admitI shouldnt have won the Parkay contest

(you know, send us your best linesfor the tub of butter-like spreadto readaloud)

but it was easy to enter,internet-form embarrassing now.Showing them off will help me be more myself;help me be freerin that third type of Kierkegaardian freedom:

When I do it my way I spread on the Parkay.

Give your dessert its luxurious squirt.

Since I entered these poetic nuggetsI probably dont own them.As the Parkay website helpfully reminds:


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Submission of any entry further constitutes the entrant's consent toirrevocably assign and transfer to the Sponsor any and all rights, title andinterest in the entry, including, without limitation, all copyright.I certainly shouldnt blatantlylist my entries in open air.

In the futureIll probably have to whisper them

in your ear.


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Foundation

Some common ground

Closing its mouthAroundA mealSurfacingOn the crestOf the next idea.


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Tasting Notes: Waking Poetics

Ohh,

odes about foodand other things,ohh.

***My black coffee hot coffee deep coffeeYour amnesty sugary amnesty

***Peeled orange playingwith your vocabularylaughter with self fate.

***Juice tang drip, precisely subtle orange.

One-flip cottage-cheese pancakes on the range.***

With food

Can we ever get awayfrom nourishment?

Can that old aesthetic feelingbounce around,

signify the circularargument of arton a plate?

***The independent realm of perfect berries.

Where is the seed in each fruit?Where is the fruit in each fruit?

Am I calling you a peachbecause of somereal featurethat belongs to you?

***(Ask for a new espresso machine, borrow one, the threads are stripping.)

Espresso pennew notebookChristmas break


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Coffee roasted elsewhereLindt orange chocolatesdecaf tea for loverspicy pepper preserves

***

ClementineClementine

twice boiledtwice drained,finally cookedin threaded syrup

for an after dinner greetingwith chocolates silk shawl.

***Can I make it too?Espressos cremawafting off in the distance

of Lake Michigan.It helps if youturn the machine on,even if it ismerely borrowed.

Espresso and a clementineangled cloud in cuppeel and peel on counter.

Lemon rindclarifies espresso,rounds the liquor.

***Full bitter within the stone;even a smell,not of death,but of what brings death full,as if you were to smellthe stretched mouth of a gun,(and even as intimate andexotic as a Persian rug)that bitterness,

that almond wafthammered from a peach pit,but before:

half a pecks fuzzmade you sneeze


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half an island of fleshencrusted:

cobblers secret.***

Odes, yes, but also

other things places, cups of tea,specific corks.***

I dont want to read the news today.Id rather try food.Not comfort food, but something new,something that challenges meout of this war mentality.

***Orange Orange Orange Orange Orange Orange Orange Orange

Omelet Omelet Omelet Omelet Omelet Omelet Omelet Omelet***

Food poetry cant just betasting noteswith shortened lines.

taste - gastronomic poems by francis raven book preview

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