The exercise:
Me and the fiancee (hee hee, still getting a kick out of that... ahem. Sorry.) caught a matinee of Julie & Julia today. I was reluctant to go at first, as I'm not a big Meryl Streep fan, but she won me over about five minutes in. I also left the theater *extremely* hungry.
Good thing Kat cooked us up a yummy bacon and black bean soup and I put together some veggies with her leftover homemade baba ghanoush. Now I am le satisfied.
Anyway, le prompte du jour: comfort food.
Mine:
An eye from a croc,
A toe from a yak,
Add a stick of chalk -
Mix that up, toss it back.
Chase that with boiled rat
With a pinch of brain,
And simple as that -
You will be right as rain!
4 comments:
I'm in two minds about whether or not to see Julia and Julia. I know I'd enjoying the cooking aspect of it, but I'm not much of a Meryl Streep fan either. I may mull it over a while longer.
The soup and veggies sound much better than the food in your poem -- I wonder if you're channeling Aunt Gretchen from two days ago again?
By the way, if you fancy a prompt any day this week, why not try taking up the Round III challenge from the Poetry Tournament and writing without using visual description? I'm sure you can do just as good a job as any of the competitors ;-)
And... comfort food. Oddly enough I was listening to Heavy Fuel on my to work this morning; not quite the same thing, but close enough!
Comfort food
Another empty plate laid before me,
Smears of egg and ketchup left to tempt me,
Into the sink
Before I can think
That I'm standing here feeling sad and lonely.
But after my shift comes to its end,
I seat myself and feel my mood mend,
Eggs, sausage, bacon,
Beans and toast are makin'
Comfort food, food that is my friend.
The sun penetrates through the blinds; bright stripes dance across our sleeping bodies. The smell of brewing coffee nudges me awake and I send a silent thank you to the gods for inventing automatic coffee makers.
A grunt behind me lets me know that my love is also waking. He turns towards me and wraps a possessive arm around me, drags me closer to nuzzle into my neck. I turn to face him and push his hair from his eyes. He needs a haircut. But we’re newlyweds, and we have better things to do.
I hear the grumble of his stomach—an angry demand for fuel. He opens an eye and I raise an eyebrow in question. We both laugh. I sit up and ask what he wants for breakfast.
I can make pancakes, I offer, or how about French toast with some bacon? Or I could make an omelette with sausage and fried potatoes. Or how about …
He just stares at me and a grin slowly begins to spread across his face. I know that look. I’ve been seeing that look quite a bit lately. But before I can stop him, he wraps an arm around my waist and traps me between him and the bed.
Alright, I concede. Breakfast can wait.
Greg - that's a fine idea, actually. I think I'll give it a whirl on Wednesday and see what happens.
That's some yummy sounding comfort food you have there. I really liked your first stanza.
Monica - that's a wonderfully vivid and intimate scene. Thank you for sharing it with us :)
I assure you, Marc, that was pure fiction. The Husband is bald, and was when I met him. Not to mention we're an old married couple and food comes first!
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