Recipe Poems

A Conjuring by A Conjuring

Grandmother's Bread by Wilda Morris

Raspberry Mousse; or, Wherein I Unwittingly Assist My Ex-husband, Who, On Behalf of our Son, Prepares My Mother's Day Dessert by Joanie DiMartino

Deconstructing Chicken by Adina Cassal

Collage by Lisa Mase

Foraging by Carolyn Wells

The Baker by Janine Certo

A Poem That Wants to Call Itself a Recipe by Jax Peters Lowell

Corn Chowder by Penny Baert Zywusko

Kugel by Sharon Lask Munson

Muffin of the Morning by James B. Nicola

simplicity by Lois Baer Barr

Recipe for Disaster by Jonathan Pacic

Affogato by Lettie

Fall Harvest by Holly Mitchell

The Apple by Kerry Ruef

Brunswick Stew by Lyle Estill

Two Poems by Brenda Butka

Bread by Eva Szabo

Squash Blossoms by Allison Wilkins

Our Table by Joan Seliger Sidney

Recipe for Spaghetti all'Amatriciana by Georganne Harmon

The Agony of the Leaves by Gail Bellamy

Greens by Paulette Licitra

Strudel by Eva Szabo

The Almost Adulterer's Guide to Menu Planning by Michele Battiste

The Pie Series by David Colagiovanni, Melissa Haviland, and Becca J.R. Lachman

Midsummer's Night's Spaghetti with Saffron by Johannes Berchtold

A Cannibal's Suicide by Dean Kostos

From the Garden by Nancy Vienneau

orang slizez jell o shotz by Amy Stetzl

Phở bò Hà Nội by Kelly Morse

Cooking Class, Marrakesh by Georganne Harmon

Spread Triolet by Dana Stamps

The Things Kids Eat by Paulette Licitra

Maybe This Year by Esther Cohen

Braociole by Joseph Bathanti

Basque Cooking by Richard Hedderman

Two Poems by Adrienne Christian

Jailhouse Crack by Harlan Richards

Cinnamon Sticks by Wally Swist

Best of Both by Nancy Vienneau


by Lettie

November 2014    

It means “drowned” in Italian. To me it sounds like a smoky word. Like being enveloped in an atmosphere that makes your head spin. But in a good way. Because that’s what this drink-slash-dessert does. It spins you to another continent. That peninsula that looks like a boot. The Italian wild outdoors with its mountains, and forests, and hills, and vineyards, and beaches (yes, they have it all). Or maybe it’s indoors. In a wood paneled room with small wooden tables covered in many-times-used-but-clean white tablecloths. Maybe the wind is blowing cold outside the window but inside the quiet murmur of diners fills the room with that atmosphere…that heady atmosphere of Italy. Real Italy. Pasta on the table, maybe a lamb chop, some sautéed escarole, and then this. Affogato. Simple. A small glass with a scoop of gelato. A gentle pour of steaming espresso. And that’s it. Eat it right away. The gelato melts as you spoon…at first icy, then warm, then melted, with the flavor of deep coffee holding your hand all along the way.


  Lettie loves Italy..


Photo used under Creative Commons.