cooking competition watcher
I find it hard paying for a meal
in excess of twelve dollars
as food has never been a passion
and my palette never that discerning.
But sitting in the soon-to-close
farm-to-table Veritable Quandary
I sampled my girlfriends pan-fried trout
with crispy pancetta, white bean puree, and
What a bite. What a taste. What glory.
In my raptures I glanced at an adjacent table,
four aging socialites sipping
identical blood orange martinis
so accustomed to the craft
and thoughtfulness on display
it was blase for them, even banal
what injustice I thought.
Although it has been years
since I ingested an intoxicant
the cornucopic flavors
buzzed inside my mouth
and elicited warm
melodic shivers of delight
reminiscent of a drink or drug
with all the pleasure
sans the guilt and destruction.
For once I knew the vaulted heights the culinary arts could reach.
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