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Food Poem Fridays: Fried Chicken, You're Up
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. Today, fried chicken as a symbol.
We've done a lot of poems around here where a certain food gets a poetic nod, gets a little royal, grows legs -- if only the metaphorical kind -- and stands proudly.
Today, fried chicken gets a little more than that, as does all food, for that matter: in this morning's poem, fried chicken, instead of just being delicious, acts as a gateway to interlace war, race, and food all within a single, four-stanza poem. It's good, too, but it's so much more.
Take a minute. Read this, then read it again. Contemplate.
Eating Fried Chicken by Linh Dinh
Photos by Karen Mordechai
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Tags: food poem fridays, fried chicken, linh dinh, food writing
kenzi
I have a serious thing for any food topped with a fried egg, a strange kind of disdain for overly soupy tomato sauce, and I can never make it home without ripping off the end of a newly-bought baguette. Most of my daydreams involve cooking in a yellow-walled kitchen.
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