“The smell of that buttered toast simply spoke to Toad, and with no uncertain voice; talked of warm kitchens, of breakfasts on bright frosty mornings, of cozy parlour firesides on winter evenings, when one’s ramble was over and slippered feet were propped on the fender; of the purring of contented cats, and the twitter of sleepy canaries.” ~ Kenneth Grahame (The Wind in the Willows, 1908)
Though most of you probably greet each new day worshipping at the ‘altar of drip coffee maker’, my wake-up appliance of choice is my humble yet decidedly adorable toaster.
Love this clever and well deserved ‘toast to toasters’ by Allan Chochinov. 🙂
ODE TO MY TOASTER
by Allan Chochinov
Ode to my toaster, so shiny and clean
You’re the butterknife's foe, you're the bread's trampoline
You're the lightest, the darkest, the coolest and proud
You’re the jack-in-the-box of the countertop crowd.
In the old days you had a side entrance instead
You were far more ornate as a true thoroughbred
But now you're a box with a push-button trick
You're a bit more convenient, but a little too slick.
And if that weren't sufficient to cause you some shame,
There's your bullying arch-rival muscling in on your game
They say big toaster-ovens are "double the tool"
They can brown up a bagel and reheat your gruel.
But don't be discouraged, I still think you're swell
You do do one thing, but you do that thing well
And though fancy new gizmos might stir up a yen, remember
Your name still pops up, every now and again.
~ via Design Observer (2008)
I smile whenever I catch a glimpse of my creamy-shiny, chunky but cute Dualit toaster sitting happily on the kitchen counter. I bought it when we moved into our current home 22 years ago, and it has served us well.
I remember thinking at the time that it was a little pricey, but I decided to splurge anyway.
After all, I loved its classic design, and it was hand built in the UK with fully replaceable or repairable parts, meaning I’d never have to buy another toaster ever again. It’s been worth every penny.
“It is impossible to think of any good meal, no matter how plain or elegant, without soup or bread in it.” ~ M.F. K. Fisher
by Nancy Dymond
Combine the following and stir:
A fragrant powder of savory herbs
Tree nuts tossed and gently toasted
Vegetables oiled and slowly roasted
Broth of beef, honey of bee
Flake of parsley, salt of sea
In a great pot over a medium flame
Provoke rolling bubbles of rising steam
Turn to the lettuces; wash, chop, mix
Color with celery and carrot strips
Raisins? Almonds? Olives and cheese?
Tomatoes? Scallions? All of these?
Reduce the flame to a quiet simmer
Set the table for evening dinner
A scalloped knife beside the bread
Jam to sweeten and butter to spread
What more could a person want from life
Than a salad, a soup, and a loaf with a knife?
~ from Sleep Barn (Stockport Flats, 2015).
It’s always nice when soup season returns each fall. There is something so comforting about having a pot of soup simmering on the stove with its promise of a satisfying meal later on. Making soup is calming and therapeutic — you can’t rush homemade soup.
Have you ever received a cryptic message, only to spend the next few minutes trying to figure out what it actually means?
D.C. area poet Kim Roberts received a text from her housemate that inspired her to write this witty, intriguing poem. So much depends on the sender . . . and what the receiver wants to hear. 🙂
by Kim RobertsI will eat the apple
read Stephen’s note this morning.
He is volunteering to play Eve.
He wrote, I will eat the apple
—but there are no apples in the house.
We have no lascivious Honeycrisp,
no bonny Braeburn, no upright Baldwin.
We’re out of spry Granny Smiths,
the skulking Northern Spy,
or the mysterious Pink Lady.
Stephen does have an Adam’s apple
and I have an Apple computer,
but you can’t compare apples and oranges.
The note said, I will eat the apple.
Perhaps Stephen’s chasing out the doctors.
Perhaps he’s not falling far from the tree.
Or he’s already eaten from the tree of knowledge:
in Latin, malum means both apple
and evil. I think Stephen is sending a warning.
He means, I will protect you.
He writes, I will eat the apple.
~ Originally published in Poem-a-Day, August 2017 by the Academy of American Poets
This is just to say, I’m happy Kim figured out what Stephen was trying to tell her, but . . . what if the sender had been one of mypoet friends? What were they really trying to tell me?
I will eat the apple (we seem to be out of plums) ~ William Carlos Williams
I will eat the apple (I have had too much of apple-picking) ~ Robert Frost
I will eat the apple (peaches are too risky) ~ T.S. Eliot
I will eat the apple (that is all ye need to know) ~ John Keats
I will eat the apple (to peel or not to peel, that is the question) ~ Shakespeare
I will eat the apple (judge tenderly of me) ~ Emily Dickinson
I will eat the apple (a man and a woman and an apple are one) ~ Wallace Stevens
I will eat the apple (a strain of the Earth’s sweet being in the beginning in Eden’s garden) ~ Gerard Manley Hopkins
I will eat the apple (be astonished and tell about it) ~ Mary Oliver
I will eat the apple (to follow my inner moonlight) ~ Allen Ginsberg
I will eat the apple (like a complete unknown)~ Bob Dylan
I will (not only)eat (but hold in my heart) the apple – E. E. Cummings
Now, when Mr Cornelius writes, I will eat the apple,
I know he actually means, I will eat the apple galette.
“Why, yes, I could start my day without coffee. But I like being able to remember things like how to say words and put on pants.”~ Nanea Hoffman
Good Morning. Let’s wake up and smell the coffee!
Happy to see you’re wearing your spiffy pants and speaking in full sentences. Do you owe it all to coffee?
Yes, I thought so. Sip, sip. Ah, arabica!
I must confess to being an anomaly when it comes to jump-starting the day with high octane java. Don’t know why, but I’ve never actually had a cup of coffee in my entire life (all 29 years). 😀
I mean, I LOVE the smell of freshly brewed coffee — walking into the kitchen with that divine aroma greeting me — but I’ve never been tempted to pour myself a cup. Strange, no?
Guess I’m just a diehard teatotaler. English Breakfast, Darjeeling or Yorkshire Gold for me, if you please.
Still, I can appreciate coffee’s universal appeal and certainly enjoy seeing how it’s inspired poets and artists.
Today we’re serving up a little sampler of coffee poems paired with Karen Eland’s amazing coffee art (yes, she painted these pieces with just espresso and water). And, because I can’t imagine having any hot beverage without a little something to nibble on, please enjoy a croissant.
by Dory Hudspeth
The day begins with order
and quiet, broken
only by the small ringing
of the spoon against coffee mug.
If this small ritual goes well,
no spilling, no drips,
there is hope for the day.