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

Strudel: The Pastry of My Dreams

by Eva Szabo

December 2013    


As thin as a layer
of skin, as lightly
layered. Like the crisp
winds of the arriving cold
winter. Not quite
nothing, but sort of.

Like the imagination, sort of
flighty, each layer
a flake, quite
dream-like. It must be light
like a refreshing cold
breath of the crisp.

It should be crisp
and sort of
translucent like cold
window panes etched with a layer
of winter lightly
attached. And quite

like a passing thought: quite
as crisp
as an old prayer lightly
whispered. Made of
a wish, or a layer
of four of Filo dough, each cold

leaf brushed with cold
soft butter, it should be done quite
lovingly, layer after layer,
and baked to a golden crisp.
You decide what sorts of
fillings to use, but lightly

sprinkle with bread crumbs, press lightly
all your grated apples or cold
tar cherries, sugar, cinnamon, a bit of
nutmeg…it is quite
easy…and baked to a golden crisp
it is a dream, a layer

of consciousness. Blow at the top layer lightly
to see it swirl: a fall leaf in the crisp cold.
Not quite as angelic as spirits, but sort of.

 



  This is Eva Szabo, an architect by profession, a cook by inclination, a poet by the love of the written word, lives in Newton, MA. Her work has appeared in the Aurorean, and in the Newton Free Library publication Voices. She is currently working on a one-act play.

 

Photo used under Creative Commons.