Small hymns to sugar, salt, smoke, and comfort — the pantry as altar, the skillet as scripture, the porch as confession booth.
Sweet tea Oh how love thee Sweat upon my brow You're there to help Family and friends Your hospitality and sweetness knows no end Cicadas sing as I sit on porch Among jasmine scented air You're always in my hand Others might hurt me Break my heart But we're together forever The closest of lovers To those that don't Know you I smile and say Bless your heart
I like pie baked, fried, or Frito Pumpkin, Sweet Potato Key Lime and Shoofly Apple and Cherry Oh hell How could I forget? The best of them all Pecan! And mother's crust Some say it's good Because it's made with Love But I know the real reason, LEAF LARD So gather your nuts like a squirrel I'll get the Karo Syrup Then I'll hit the hen house and steal some eggs Find some flour and lard We'll make a pecan pie And smile as we enjoy it With a glass of sweet tea
I am smiling as I reach in the fridge Past the milk and cheese, My fingers touch its cool glass jar. It's not normal, Greek, or Icelandic; Those are for others. No fat-free or skimmed, it's whole. I say "oui" as I pull it free. It's French! Whole milk! I'll resist the urge for two, And eat like the French. I struggle to remove the foil top; My hands are shaking with impatience. My spoon slips in. It's creamy, rich, and decadent. I smile as it lingers on my tongue. Now the only question is what to do With this cute little jar, no longer the star.
They say to eat like the French, So I do, like Jacques, Jean, and Marie, All three combined. I order my pizza by the pound, My apple pies are so tall they need warning lights. My sweet tea has more sugar Than a sugar factory. I eat my hot dogs by the foot.
Oh, bacon, Canadian, English, or American— I don't care! I fry you in my iron skillet Until you're crispy, Saving your holy, magic drippings. It doesn't matter, beans or burger, I reach for you. I am alone; I put you on bread with Duke's, By the pound. My pizza is naked without your crown. A simple breakfast of eggs and a bagel, Made a royal event when you arrive. You're the King of the fridge, Thick with hickory-smoked goodness. I hear tell some never touch you; For them I weep. I could write about you all-day Salads and so much more, But I hear you calling from the kitchen. By royal decree, I must fry some bacon!