Every Friday, we’re mixing things up with a different kind of food writing. More specifically, food poetry to be read slowly, over your morning coffee. Last week, we had an ode to onions, this week, potatoes get the poetic nod.
We’re still reeling in tomatoes and zucchini and corn, but in the interest of full disclosure, sweater weather (and the stews that follow) aren’t completely unwelcome. (Or that far away.) Today, we’re giving root vegetables a nod. Namely, potatoes. Excuse us while we daydream of cool nights and eating shepherd’s pie by the fire. This poem is helping us get there.
Potato by Jane Kenyon
I have a thing for most foods topped with a fried egg, a strange disdain for overly soupy tomato sauce, and I can never make it home without ripping off the end of a newly-bought baguette. I like spoons very much.
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