Poetry Sundays!

i carry your heart with me by E. E. Cummings

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

Can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen!

The contenders in the salsa contest

   It's Saturday.  It's a catch up day.  After two weekends full of food, friends, fun and frivolity, I am feeling at peace with a day of writing, cleaning, grocery shopping, cooking and baking.  And since the weather may cooperate, there may be an extended dog walk in my future.  But for now, I am sitting on the sofa, Edwin by my side, writing and listening to Joanna Newsom, who I must admit, is growing on me.
   This past weekend, I spent a good deal of time at The North Market for their Fiery Foods Festival.  On Saturday, we were there for the Chef's Chili Challenge.  This chili cook off consisted of twenty professionals (including Cooking Caravan).  Here's how it worked for tasters:  You paid five dollars to taste all of the chili (remember twenty).  You got a small bowl and spoon.  You stood around with a crowd of people waiting for the judging to finish.  All sorts of announcements were made which you could not hear.  You waited some more.  The winners were announced (which you could not hear).  Then you were let loose with your little bowl.  If you were smart (and I was not) you brought a bottle of water with you.  You made your way from chili to chili, trying not to pass out from heat and the crowd, savoring each chili individually.  Until, you reached the point where your lips began to burn and you began to sweat.  Twenty chilies is a lot - even when tasting only a small amount of each.  In the end,  I made it through about eight including the first and second place winners.  All of the ones I tasted were acceptable.  I enjoyed the second place chili (which had hominy in it) quite a lot and would have picked it as a favorite of the ones I tried. I also liked a green chili with chicken chorizo and a chili that was served with jalapeno grits (hot!!).  And Cooking Caravan's chocolate-chipotle wild boar chili as very tasty.  But in the end, I would not have chosen the winner as the winner.  It was a fine chili but not the most exciting of the ones I tried.  And to be honest, I am not sure how much my judgement could be trusted by the end as my lips felt like they were going to fall off of my face from the heat.
   On Sunday, I coerced my friend Amy to enter the amateur salsa making contest.  I think she entered primarily to shut me up.  Her salsa is the bomb. And I felt like this would be super fun.  So the salsa contest worked in a similar way (except I had to do a little prejudging and tweaking chez Amy).   There were thirteen salsas entered in the contest.  They were all presented for judging.  We waited around again although there was a far smaller crowd.  This helped with the ability to hear what was going on.  The winners were announced.  Amy's salsa was not one of them.  That was kinda a bummer but she seemed okay with it.  After the winners were announced we were able to taste each of them.  It was at this time that I concluded - Amy was robbed.  Once again, I liked the second place winner and I would have put that salsa on my short list.  And while, the winner was good, it was not my favorite.  The major difference between the chili contest and the salsa contest became clear during the salsa tasting.  There were a few salsas that I would call bad.  All of the chili that I tasted was good.  Some I preferred over others but it was all good.  I could not say the same thing for all of the salsa.  But in the end, it was a good time.  And followed up by a scoop of Jeni's Brambleberry Crisp ice cream.  What could be better?
   Now back to my recovery weekend.  Back to writing.  Back to baking.  Back to Joanna Newsom (who I think I now like).  Back to making a pie.  Not sure what kinda pie it will be.  But there is certainly pie in this weekend's future!  

Poetry Sundays

Selected Haiku by Issa

by Robert Hass

    

    Don’t worry, spiders,

I keep house

    casually.

    New Year’s Day—

everything is in blossom!

    I feel about average.

    The snow is melting

and the village is flooded

    with children.

    Goes out,   

comes back—

    the love life of a cat.

    Mosquito at my ear—

does he think   

    I’m deaf?   

    Under the evening moon

the snail

    is stripped to the waist.

    Even with insects—

some can sing,

   some can’t.   

    All the time I pray to Buddha

I keep on

   killing mosquitoes.

    Napped half the day;

no one   

    punished me!

Framboise vs Newcastle?

   This past week, I attended two very different live music shows.  I also drank two very different types of beer in an attempt to actually enjoy drinking beer.  The first live show was my friend Chuck's "crew" Bottom Brick performing hip hop at their cd release party.  This took place at  (a nice little joint that reminded me of a bar I hung out in when I was at Ohio University) in Olde Towne East.  And my friend Michelle informs me that, in here opinion, they have a nice selection of beers on tap.
   At this show, I chose to drink Framboise Lambic (a crazy raspberry beer) which proved too be way to much for my palate.  And in all fairness is it about as far from beer as you can possibly get.  Michelle likens it to the syrup that you put on snow cones.  This is actually a pretty good description.  In fact, I had to down the last bit like a shot just to finish it off.  Needless to say, after that beer, I went back to my old standby-vodka and cranberry.
   The second show I attended was Interpol.  During the entire evening, I nursed one Newcastle Brown Ale.  This beer, I managed to finish with a little help from Michelle (who is always willing to take one for the team when it comes to beer.  Or as she says, "if it's good beer!").  I realize this makes Michelle look like a lush ( which she is not...at least most of the time).  She just has very discerning tastes.
   Looking back on a weekend of live music and beer tasting, it seems ironic that I chose to drink the fizzy Framboise during the hip hop show.  Whereas, at the Interpol show, I chose to order the earthy  Newcastle.  Really, all of this beer tasting was more of an attempt to be one of the cool kids like Amy and Michelle.  Or, maybe I just wanted to take up the challenge of perhaps learning to enjoy beer.
   Of the two beers, Newcastle Brown Ale wins hand down.  Framboise might be good as a shot or on top of ice cream.  Now there's something to consider. 
 

Valentine's Day Poetry Monday.

Funeral Blues (Song IX / from Two Songs for Hedli Anderson)

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message He is Dead,
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.


W. H. Auden

Hip Hop, Interpol and Apple Pie!

   Here I am, up to early after being up way late, eating THE breakfast of champions (at least in my book): apple crumble-top pie, coffee with cream, and orange juice.  Good stuff!  I made the apple crumble pie yesterday afternoon while listening to some underground hip hop and The Beastie Boys. 
   I gotta say, I am intruiged by hip hop. As a writer of poems, I am making a serious attempt to listen to the words (the poetry, as it were) but generally I am drawn to the stuff behind all of the ranting.  But then again, I really have no idea what I am talking about, especially when it comes to hip hop.  I am a music lover, certainly not a musician.  And at the heart of it all, I am a indie/alternative kinda girl.  But hey, I'll give it a whirl! 
   Right now, I am listening to Interpol (one of my all time favorites).  And somehow, I have never seen them live.  But that is going to change tonight.  We (my friends and I) finally managed to get it together and buy tickets.  This might have been our 4th or 5th attempt to see their live show.  What can I say?  I am totally psyched!  Bring on the post-punk revival indie boys that are always compared to Joy Division.  Now that I get, that I totally understand!
   Okay, back to the hip hop and pie.  While I was making my crumble-top apple pie, I did enjoy some hip hop. And I had a good time at Bottom Brick's cd release party (my friend Chuck's deal) last night.  Somehow, I don't think I am going to become a total hip hop convert.  But these guys seem to know what they are doing.  And certainly put on a good show!
   Interpol. Tonight. Quite possibly the sexiest music around.  Oh, and it is the day before a single girl's Valentine's Day.  I don't know if I can take it!

  Might need another piece of pie!!




   
    

Poetry Sundays

     Picnic, Lightning  

     "My very photogenic mother died in a freak accident  
      (picnic, lightning) when I was three." Lolita

It is possible to be struck by a meteor
or a single-engine plane
while reading in a chair at home.
Safes drop from rooftops
and flatten the odd pedestrian
mostly within the panels of the comics,
but still, we know it is possible,
as well as the flash of summer lightning,
the thermos toppling over,
spilling out onto the grass.

And we know the message
can be delivered from within.
The heart, no valentine,
decides to quit after lunch,
the power shut off like a switch,
or a tiny dark ship is unmoored
into the flow of the body's rivers,
the brain a monastery,
defenseless on the shore.

This is what I think about
when I shovel compost
into a wheelbarrow,
and when I fill the long flower boxes,
then press into rows
the limp roots of red impatiens--
the instant hand of Death
always ready to burst forth
from the sleeve of his voluminous cloak.  

Then the soil is full of marvels,
bits of leaf like flakes off a fresco,
red-brown pine needles, a beetle quick
to burrow back under the loam.
Then the wheelbarrow is a wilder blue,
the clouds a brighter white,

and all I hear is the rasp of the steel edge
against a round stone,
the small plants singing
with lifted faces, and the click
of the sundial
as one hour sweeps into the next.

         by Billy Collins

And... You took it there.

   So, I was talking on the phone with a friend of mine who lives out of town (and who shall remain nameless).  She was telling me that she had not talked to me in a while.  And she thought she would check out the blog to see what was up.  So she directed her phone browser to this blog and up popped the picture of the three berry pie.  While sharing, she paused...and said..."Do you know what that pie picture reminds me of?  Have you seen the American Pie movies?"  In response, I said I had indeed seen the first movie.  Of course, I knew to what scene she was referring.  My mind began to reel.  Had I subconsciously posted a photo of a pie that resembled a vagina?  Or, did my friend just have a "dirty" mind?  In the end, I went with the "dirty" mind bit.  I mean, I am all for girl power.  But when I was chose that photo for my blog background, it was based totally on the fact that it matched the design/color scheme of my blog.  And, that my friends, is the story I am sticking to!
   In other food news, I used my Le Creuset Cassoulet for the second time.  I made this chipotle sweet potato soup that is absolutely fantastic. (Thank you, Tracy, for the recipe. I will try not to lose it again this year.)  And oh so easy.  For real! 
   Tonight, my plan, is to use the Cassoulet for making pumpkin curry.  Pumpkin Curry - doesn't that sound delicious?  The pie for this evening will be either straight up apple or salty caramel apple.  I am leaning toward caramel apple since I have yet to perfect the pie filling for caramel apple.  I want more salty caramel and less apple.  I gotta work on that ratio.  We shall see what happens when I enter the kitchen.  All hell could break loose.
   I have managed to bully my friend Amy into entering an amateur salsa making contest at The North Market during their Fiery Foods Weekend.  Her salsa is the bomb!  Also making an appearance in the Chef Chili Challenge is the "mysterious" Cooking Caravan.  So if you are looking for something fun and spicy to do during the weekend of Feb 19th, head down to The North Market.  Fiery is always good when it comes to food!
   I hope wherever you are, you are managing February the best you can.  For me, February means cooking spicy food, making fruit pies out of the few fresh fruits that are in season, watching DVDs from the library, listening to music, walking my dog, trying not to fall, writing and sipping orange Fanta - which is actually pretty good.
   And if you look at the three berry pie photograph at the top of my blog and your thoughts stray to the "dirty" side of things.  Don't feel bad. You're not the only one!

The XX

I scream. You scream. We all scream for ice cream!

   Right at this moment I am listening to Portishead.  Probably not the best choice for me this evening.  I am already feeling a little melancholy.  And Portishead combines sadness, suffering and sexual tension in such a way that it almost hypnotises.  So, tonight has become an evening of pondering.  What more can I possibly think about, you ask?  Well, I'll tell you...
   I was enjoying the last piece of blackberry-peach pie with ice cream.  And that got me thinking about the reality of "a la mode"  Now I know most people who think about food have very strong feelings about the "a la mode" concept.  At first, the options seem limitless.  There is so much to consider here: Do you want ice cream with that?, on top?, next to?, in a separate bowl but at the same time, What kind of ice cream are we talking?, vanilla?, another flavor that complements the dessert? and on and on....
   For me, "a la mode" is always welcome.  Give me a good vanilla ice cream.  Drop it right on top of the pie or whatever.  And I am good to go.  But sometimes ice cream is too special.  There are some types of ice cream that are so brilliant, so delicious, so unique.  These flavors/brands must stand alone.  One brand of ice cream leaps to mind - Jeni's.  Jeni's Splendid Ice Cream is native to Columbus, Ohio.  This ice cream is absolutely fabulous.  If you have not heard of Jeni's, you MUST check it out.  This is an ice cream that deserves to stand alone.  Although, and I 'm being honest here, I'd drop a scoop of Jeni's on a piece of pie or a brownie any day.
   Whatever your stance on "a la mode", I hope we all can agree that ice cream is a food filled with happiness.  Doesn't it just make you think happy thoughts?  Doesn't it make you smile?  Now think of that ice cream plopped down on a piece of warm fruit pie.  Heaven, right?  

Sour Times - Live