Thursday, February 17, 2011


My wife seized the wheel
of the skillet,
I took the stool and nursed
a glass of wine.

" You like risotto ?"
she asked.

"I don't mind paella,"
I said.

"It's the same thing, without
the seafood," she went on.

I took a sip.

"Well. I don't care for

anything with peas throught it."

"That's right," she said,
"you like plain rice."

"I like that red and white shit
Better," I allowed,
Admiring the mushrooms as they
Snuffled around the pan.

Noses. Brown leather buttons.

"Yes." she smirked. "And saffron.
Nothing but the best."

I sat a while. Considered this.

Rolled the grape,
Round and round.

"Well. I hope to get a taste again.
Before I kick the bucket."

The mushrooms sizzled.
The baby hiccuped.

It did not seem to go down well.


Anonymous said...

that's pretty darn good. seriously.

ib said...

Nice of you to observe so. Those mushrooms, when all's said and done, were pretty damn juicy.

Tim said...

"They" are saying the tweet is due to replace the blog. Since I don't tweet, I'll have more time to cook and of course, eat mushrooms. My brother the hippie said fungus came here on a transport from some other world as it is the weirdest thing on earth. He said that about our sister too, though. I have no good reason to doubt the space fungi theory, but my sister is not an alien, yet. If I sautee mushrooms in butter and then feed them to my wife, it's better for me than her. I have begun to experiment with the poetic form and it's you and beers fault. Jons, too.

ib said...

I am inordinately fond of mushrooms.

Here, they are often referred to as graveyard food. I don't know if that is a universal observation.

I had a friend once whose bedsit was so afflicted with rising damp that the mushrooms were growing up from the floor towards the ceiling. Huge, foul looking canopies with their stalks embedded into the creases where the walls met at something approaching a right angle.

They were so robust, nobody had the inclination to attempt to uproot them.

Soon I will be the only person in this poetry circle without a dog. My older son is desperate for a cat. I like cats. Dogs too. My wife favours a greyhound; I would plump for a Pit Bull at a push, a Rottweiler if I were a country squire. I have a suspicicion that a cat will win the day, but not for some time. I have been promising my son a cat for longer than is seemly.

Tim said...

Cats are alright.
We have two hiding around here Somewhere.

ib said...

Well, all right. I may wind up being the token cat lover.

Nothing in this collective menagerie tweets, at least.

Löst Jimmy said...

It's been a while since I've been here, apologies, work an' a that. I much prefer Paella. Risotto is just too damn sticky. Only stating my view

ib said...

Yes. Paella has bite, so far as I remember. I like crayfish. Shrimp. The bits and pieces of it. The sauce.

Risotto is a little bland. And sticky.

No doubt quite good for you, but it does not appear so on the plate.