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 James B. Nicola

August 2015    

My KRUPPS® is on the blink, but you should taste
the coffee at my house. I’ve dusted off
my Grandma’s classic four-piece counter-top
drip pot. It’s mostly metal. Its black handles
and knob still hold on well enough. It needs
only that I boil the water and pour instead
of relying on automatic bells and whistles,
preprogramming, and so forth.

                                                           You recall
those TV commercials in the seventies
where Joe DiMaggio sold MR. COFFEE®
saying that the electric heating gizmo
brought water not to a boil, but the perfect temperature
for coffee, which was 180 degrees or something?
Grandma’s pot, with not even an ON/OFF switch,
makes better coffee! One English guest compared
this “system” to the use of a teaspoon
with which Brits stir not just to mix the milk
or lemon, but to cool their tea. Likewise,
when I pour boiling water in the top,
while the liquid’s waiting in the upper reservoir,
the metal pot cools it, so by the time
it drips down past the tiny holes and through
the coffee, it’s the perfect temperature!

Of course I don’t wake to a just-made pot
of coffee, but the point’s to wake up, no?
Doing instead of having something done
helps in this morning process. Plus, the grounds
are fresh-scooped—fresh-ground when I want—not out
all night, getting stale. And Grandma’s pot
will never go on the blink.

                                           So you’re invited
for a cup of coffee, the best you’ll ever have,
and for a verse of poetry, or Shakespeare.
I have not only a COMPLETE WORKS here,
I’m pretty sure I have a spare somewhere
to take down and dust off. Or we can share.


  Widely published on both sides of the Atlantic, James B. Nicola has several poetry awards and nominations to his credit, with recent appearances in Alimentum and the Southwest, Atlanta, and Lullwater Reviews. His nonfiction book Playing the Audience won a Choice award. First full-length poetry collection, Manhattan Plaza, just released. Visit his website.