Words to Eat by Art Workshop International’s Paulette Licitra
March 8th, 2010
Food is the ultimate subject to write about.
It speaks to us all because we all eat…we’re all in contact with food everyday. And whether that’s a pleasant experience or a troubling one it is part of our basic connection to life.
I think that’s why the subject is so good at eliciting fiction, essays, memoirs, and poetry: stories. Readers know about food and are eager to know the experiences of other individuals. Food inspires interaction with the world around you. And interactions always come with stories.
Food writer (and fiction writer) Laurie Colwin said: “For the socially timid, the kitchen is the place to be. At least, it is a place to start.”
Here is a little taste of food literature: a recipe poem of my own, and two excerpts from pieces that appeared in the journal I publish: Alimentum.
Peas
Peas are a strange animal. Two peas in a pod. Peas on earth. Grandma at the farm shelling peas into a bowl while rocking on the back porch. I grew up well away from any farm. My mom bought Le Seur petite peas in a can. They were green, but really a kind of grey-green. Still we thought they were the most excellent. Never being an advocate of frozen food I finally realized that the best peas are frozen peas (if you don’t have a back porch on a farm). You can even get petite frozen peas. I like them in a bag rather than a box because you can squish the frozen peas around in there. Not squish to pop them, just to juggle them a little. I sauté some cut up pancetta and thin sliced onion half-moons in a little olive oil. Add a splash of white wine and let it evaporate then pour in the peas (with a bit of water if they need it) and salt and pepper. This recipe gives peas a little lift. Makes them feels European. Lots of things improve when they feel European.
Excerpt from The Art of Eating Alone by Scott Seward Smith
. . . I sat there waiting for my food and feeling quite proper in my loneliness, quite relaxed. I felt the propriety of my loneliness. It’s all in the attitude: don’t keep recrossing your ankles, don’t bite your cuticles, don’t twist your glass so much, but don’t look catatonic either. Just look like you know something everyone else doesn’t.
Excerpt from The Freedom of Found Food by Ellen Morris Prewitt
We roamed the pastures of Mamo’s farm, we weaved in and out of neighbors’ trees, we even sampled from our own front yards. Like the scavengers we were, we’d examine, but not eat, the onions at the end of the onion grass. We ate flower petals—velvety—and, on our walk to Power Elementary School, we’d lick the pollen butter from the buttercups—a dry, powdery disappointment. Likewise for wild strawberries—the little knots had no taste at all. At least the mimosa beans that we crunched while Mother was learning to play tennis on the public courts tasted like dirt. But taste wasn’t the point, was it, or why tackle the bitter persimmon?
Alimentum news:
We’ve named our 2009 Poetry Contest Winners…
For April National Poetry Month we’re once again publishing menupoems for diners to enjoy with their meals (and their menus). This year we’re inviting you to video your reading of a menupoem and we’ll post it on Alimentum’s Youtube channel.
AND: We just got word that Alimentum won Best Food Magazine in the World from the 2010 International Gourmand Awards!
More news, samples, and food fun on Alimentum’s website:
http://www.alimentumjournal.com/
Paulette Licitra
