meal as metaphor
this penultimate night of the
year was the night to make
something out of everything
to use up–no–to make the best
out of a few things whose
refrigerator visas had run out
a pork tenderloin baby potatoes
and green beans all had promise
the supporting cast included
olive oil cornstarch buttermilk
panko bread crumbs lemon
juice dijon mustard butter
always a little butter
I cut the pork in pieces big
enough to pound into cutlets
breaded and fried them
steamed the green beans
with some lemon juice
boiled the potatoes to halfway
done and then smashed and
pan fried them then I made a
quick sauce with the butter
mustard lemon juice and a little
limoncello that made it all taste
like I’d planned it no like I meant it
meals are not always metaphors
but tonight felt like this year
full of perishable ingredients and
things that didn’t go as planned
another one without a recipe
would that it tasted as good to
say I meant it about the year
as it did to sit down to dinner
Peace,
Milton
