Monthly Archives: August 2014

If I were a Spice, What Spice Would I Be?


If I were a spice I would be Paprika.

Hot tempered and adventurous, I would lurk beneath the surface while you stir slowly. Just waiting inside the pot for that moment to singe a tasting lip, if only for a brief chuckle.

My vibrant color would ward off any foolish varmint who pressed its lips on the precious Capsicum Pepper, from which I was derived from.

But as I matured into my final stage of fine powder, I would elevate from an under appreciated spice to a force to be reckoned with. Don’t let my rich, red coloring scare nor concern you. Will you try me as a garnish or atop your deviled eggs?

Do you think I will create a heat more fearsome to taste than a stream of volcano lava poured upon your unsuspecting tongue? If only you knew me better. My intention is not to cause pain. Seething fiery breath is not my goal for those that will choose to enjoy me, I am a spice of healing. Not only beautifully vibrant in color but my genetic make up contains Vitamins C & E, I lower Hypertension and provide anti again benefits. I also have a healthy fear of wrongdoing, and I’m passionate about being a good condiment, abiding by all cabinet and spice rack laws.

Don’t look at me as some conjurer of cheap spice thrills, or one who will explode in laughter when you snarl and fan the flames of your mouth. I am really none of these. I’m just a little different; it’s just a natural instinct. Fancy yourself a dash or two of my mystery, I reward those who are loyal.

Cooking Salvation – A Poem


What I’d sensed as a large failure upon one of my first high heat cooking endeavors, seared bits
securely clinging to the inner section of my cast iron pan, near scorched at the verge of burning into a state irretrievably beyond bitter, sour, salty or sweet- I salvaged.

With a splash of beef stock I had been simmering on the back burner and vigorous stirrings with a slotted and flat edged wooden spoon, salvation and discovery began.

The burned chips, flakes and flecks liquefied into a glaze born of incertitude and recalling this evening years later at the very same table, however set for two this night candles ablaze within the
presence of beautiful company, I recall the decision I made that very night years earlier with a table set for one.

It was then I vowed to make a meal each day from scratch, to make of solitary tedium a spiritual practice, beginning with the overture of chopping and dicing into the cabaletta of
saute and simmer. Watching you raise the piping hot creation, pressing it fast against your lips for a quick moments respire before taking nourishment there.

I learned to savor loss, to find beauty in the death of the raw ingredient as it lead me to understanding salvation.

Tonight I once again roll my tongue around and around recalling my day of cooking salvation. I hold it tight in my mouth and in my mind, the irony of it.