With ideas in her head,
she acquires ingredients from creation.
She picks up some bread,
some meats and some crustacean.

With purchases in her hands,
she assembles them into her curation.
Each ingredient has a plan,
that's all part of her preparation.

She cook in her pots and pans,
dishes of her imagination.
Juggling flavours and textures,
from experience and experimentation.

She host her friends regularly,
not any one group particularly.
With smiles, laughter and her kitchen art,
everyone sense the generosity from her heart.

She is the artist,
the scientist,
the chef,
the friend
and my wife.

If you're gonna be lonely,
maybe learn how to cook.

Parade the smoke to the rafters
after doubting the book.

Alert the parents in vowing the earnest
salt in the brook.

A fervent effort relays to bacon kisses you took.

Brine is cheap,
and on days like this
find a Mrs. or friend,
apply the bread crumb crisp.

Buy the egg to allure.
confide that "this might miss."
If not to them to yourself.
Try the odd light whip.

Find a guide or a dozen.
Fire doesn't necessarily deny the pleasant after math.
Passable dishes levy comfort on cold nights,
dying for treasure dancing in the lights,
and forming function digging diamond from plastic wrap.

"I could serve a candied berry
pair it fairly cold below a lighter cream."
See the finer things elaborate below the theme.
Mise en place allowing,
yolk to heat,
folk wreaths are crowning.

Found a leek to brown,
found out what friends to feed can mean

Be the barer
taste your food
silk confections
social fruit
Buck the system
Find connection
tuck the mood in
ginger root

get your list out
pay it forward
take the order
grab a whisk
make an impact
Pleat the border
break the silence
wrap a gift

It was a dark and stormy day,
Cooking tea in the usual way,
This was my mother long ago,
"Don't touch the pressure cooker, no!"
Subtly, she left the scene,
Forgot the cooker, its head of steam,
Bang! Did that curry explode,
Mum's response, implode!
"Why didn't you check that stove?"
"You told me not to touch it, no!"
All I can say on this, fifty years later,
Don't use pressure to cook my curry or taters!

I sit in my chair
waiting for water to boil
to cook a cool meal.

Married for 4 weeks...
it doesn't seem like that long
every moment's bright.

Time to boil the corn
I already made the cheese
smoky lime queso.

He's watching the end
the show he started last night
the last episode.

In half an hour
I'll tell him dinner's ready
and he'll smile so big!

Cooking in silence
on the stove-top
of my tiny kitchen.
Mixing broccoli and leeks.

I can feel the heat
from her eyes
swollen with rage.
Ocularly assailing

My words have drowned
in an ocean of
youthful trauma.

Her heart lost in dissension

cool spring water
fresh ground flour
with love and time
growing a bit sour
a spectacle divine

This is so unexpected
What ever you are serving I am eating.
A steak fillet served soft, with the taste of your lips.
Green and red peppers seared hot,
Over open flame.
A special marinade blend, severed with wine.
I'm sure the first bite will melt in my mouth.
Grabbing knife and fork.
The juices filling my mouth, as succulent as you.
Crossing my mind with every bite.
Imagining you on the other end
Filling my mouth.
Unexpected that you'd call.
Are you more surprised that I picked up.
What ever you want to do.
What ever you are serving, I am eating.
Long as I'm with you