Five food-related poems I wrote in the past month

I STILL don’t know its name

A Chinese friend had taken us there, when my best friend was in town,

Liked the veggies, loved the noodles, but the meat bun takes the crown,

Soon it became a weekly affair, sometimes three times in a week,

I tried almost everything from pig ears to quail eggs, I was on a streak,

Once I only had 4$ with me, I wondered what to do with it,

Bought my lovely meat bun of course, shoved in however much would fit,

One day I went there for a date, the guy still owes me nine,

He couldn’t use chopsticks for noodles, so he gobbled up his bun and then mine,

I felt so deprived that on the next day I took the train till there,

Ordered what was rightfully my own, with no one around to share,

I even drew a map for this intern to access the well-hidden “Chinese place”,

When I mentioned it to a local from that neighborhood, there was surprise on his face,

Solo, with friends or with colleagues, it was my favorite place to eat,

Until I took this guy I admire there and he didn’t think it was a treat,

He didn’t hate the restaurant but he called it “nothing great”,

I couldn’t enjoy the bun as I told him “you make me question my palette.”

It’s been three months since that happened, I still don’t know the place’s name,

Although I like the eatery, I have no idea why the buns don’t taste the same.

 

 A page out of an introvert’s life who’s mistaken as an extrovert

“Grocery shopping? Come on, that’s not really a plan!” she said

“You think drinking till you’re senseless is better than finding the perfect chickpea can?” I said.

How exciting it is: the revelation that nachos come with a cheese dip in a pre-packed form,

And life is simpler with powdered ginger and garlic, although buying fresh ones is the norm,

How liberating it is: to scan through aisles for the perfect apples, whose definition change with mood,

And how my brain functions while choosing the type of bread and eggs can never be understood,

How satiating it is: to get hold of your favorite flavor of chocolate, mint and candy,

And experimenting with tens of different leafy greens, always makes me feel dandy,

When my friends hover over me, I tell them to get lost and see me outside in twenty,

You see, I need so much space as decision-making is hard, but then the friends get “senti”,

So I cancel my delightful grocery shopping plans and walk away with my friends,

As dear grocery shop, I will see you soon enough, I hope then our tryst never ends.

Papa Crush

He thought he was born to be a footballer, but then he hurt his knee,

Nursing that ache wasn’t easy and he contemplated on what he could be,

As foot couldn’t have supported him, food got him thinking hard,

He focused on his culinary skills, as with football he didn’t want to play the victim card,

He trained and worked in a series of restaurants, for that he toiled day and night,

Until one day, a notable man noticed him, a man named Chef Marco Pierre White,

By now you know it’s Gordon Ramsay I talk about, full time dad and part time chef,

I know that he’s kind-hearted, although in Hell’s Kitchen, he shouts till one is deaf,

He’s British after all, I do not like him for his cooking;

And with gazillion frown-lines, he is not even good-looking,

But with every failed dish I make, I imagine him telling me something sarcastic,

Like “my dead grandma makes it better than you” or something even more drastic,

He’s not just a TV personality and chef, he’s funny, witty and an adventurer,

He has shot his own wild boars for meat and gone hand-diving for scallops’ murder,

But the day I knew that he’s my “Papa Crush” was the day I started watching MasterChef Junior,

He’s the sweetest guy while interacting with kids, although with adult contestants he acts peculiar.

The amount of cuss words he uses in a day is equal to what I have used in my entire life,

Despite that I adore him, I can watch him all day make scrambled eggs and handle the knife.

Blender’s pride

I am the sort of cook your mother will be ashamed of, even if I’m not her child,

But if I have my hand-held electrical blender with me, I can spice things up and go wild,

I can mix alcohol and blended watermelon, and name it like they name fancy cocktails,

I can lend the tool to a colleague to make her potato soup, so that her party’s not a fail,

She’s making chicken dumplings again, which need to be accompanied by the tomato sauce,

And if you love Paalak Paneer and only have tofu, it’s fine, but without a blender you’re at a loss,

You’ve heard of chickpea falafels, but have you heard of falafels made from green peas?

When my blender is here, have no fear, these mean cutlets will make you go weak on your knees,

When I plan to lead a healthy lifestyle, the plan usually lasts for little more than 2 days,

Juicing, shaking, souping and smoothie-ing on loop, the blender comes handy during that phase,

Egg beaters need too much muscle, the blender comes to the rescue to make the tiramisu cream,

I am the proud blender, and the proud owner of one too, I’m living every amateur chef’s dream.

How to make Tiramisu

Make some espresso coffee and dip the Savoiardi briefly in the coffee mix,

But not for too long as they may get soggy, which is pretty hard to fix,

Add a layer of soaked Savoiardi in a box and leave no gap in that layer,

This will taste like a piece of coffee cake, if you have made it with care,

Create a concoction of whipping cream, mascarpone, sugar and vanilla essence,

You can add a bit of espresso to give that coffee kick, I’ve learned this from the lessons,

Beat the hell out of this mixture either with a hand-held blender or electric egg beater,

Make this as thick as possible so that it gives a cheesecakey texture for the eater,

Add this as a layer over the coffee cake formed from the Savoiardi biscuits,

Repeat the coffee cake layer and cream layer one more time, and that’s about it,

Refrigerate for 4-6 hours, garnish it with powered coffee, cocoa and chocolate shaving,

Cut a piece and pop it into your mouth, and you’ll have fulfilled your dessert craving.