Because I could not bake for Beth–
She kindly baked for me–
The Kitchen held but just Ourselves–
And Geniality

We slowly mixed– She knew no haste
And I had put away
My Oster and my KitchenAid,
For her Placidity–

We put the Pan upon the Stove–
Pushed creases– in the Dough–
We used the mealy Barley Grain–
We used the Lecithin–

Or rather– It used us–
The Muse stood– though kneading, still–
For only Countertop, her Canvas–
Her Throne was just a Stool–

We paused before the Oven steamed–
The Bread rose– slowly browned–
The Wheat was scarcely visible–
The Yeast– lost in the Mound–

Since then– ’tis Years have passed– and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first realized that Beth had found
The perfect Recipe–

In the house the meal is viewed,
The steak is cooked, the beer is brewed,
The pies are cooled, the flies are shooed,
And in the dark, the tale is bright.

Some truth is ever what we seek,
But when it’s found our souls grow weak,
The mind goes blank, the path was bleak
That brought us to this meal so crude.

But bit by bit and bite by bite,
Some madness serves to speed our plight
Into the wrong or brand new right,
The power of the strong o’er meek.

For in the barn the old cow mooed,
And on the hay the day seemed skewed,
The day the beast for seconds rued,
The day that turned too soon to night.

We chopped in half the luscious leek
And found inside a snidely streak.
The denouement precedes the peak
In this, the tale I once eschewed.

It’s not a poem to move, excite,
Or celebrate the strength and might
Of those who pass the human rite,
But just a tribute to the weak.

So now we dine; no longer speak,
The story’s yours to bend and tweak.
The beef’s a brood, the basil, blight,
But that’s the food we eat tonight.

Less is more, they often say.
Then why should margins work this way?
For photos grow from side to side,
To make this webpage extra wide.

The edges once were neatly tight,
As pictures held but narrow sight,
But now our minds are running wild,
And senses roused are always riled.

The content once was naught but food,
But topics soon became more crude.
So bankers, Belgians, Olympians too,
Have carried out their vicious coup.

Alas, the times are changing now,
But do not fret: we still know how
To take the trivial, make it stick,
And make you miss the subtle trick.

Food is timeless, as we all know,
For when it leaves, we, too, will go.
It is our lifeline, spice, and soul,
And now — and ever — makes us whole.