Author: liz feltham

food writer / cookbook author / culinary red seal certification / newfoundland dog mom

The Road Trip Indigestion Blues

20140421-225828.jpg

Hittin’ the highway, way out of town
Don’t have a schedule weighing us down
Don’t have a set mealtime, don’t have a set plan
We’ll eat when we’re hungry, wherever we can

Stop for some breakfast, the doughnuts look good
Maybe we scarfed down more than we should
But we don’t have a mealtime, don’t have a set plan
We’ll eat when we’re hungry, wherever we can

Pick salads up later, a healthy choice? Please!
We had salads with bacon, ranch dressing, and cheese
There isn’t a mealtime, don’t have set plan
Just eat when we’re hungry, whenever we can

Turkey dinner for later, trimmings and all
Visit with family, and having a ball
This one was mealtime, this one was planned
We ate two plates of turkey, and it was just grand

At the hotel room, late in the night
Felt kind of nibbly, wanted a bite
Ordered a pizza, and hot wings unplanned
Eschewed the Zantac, heartburn be dammed

Up in the morning, headed back home
Stomach is gurgly, intestine’s a’groan
Stopped for some lunch, gravy and fries
Round about then, we had to realize

Time to pay up, for digestive abuse
We got the road trip-indigestion-acid reflux stomach-ache blues

Blueberries

IMG_4735
My sister and I are on a road trip to Oromocto, New Brunswick; we pulled into Oxford for gas. Oxford is the Blueberry Capital of Canada, maybe even the world! And to celebrate that, there’s the giant blueberry marking the turn off from the highway. It kind of looks like the Kool Aid man, with a few strategic amputations. Because I’m now giddy with the company of relatives long unseen, and drunk with laughter and good food, I’m cheating a little on my NaPoWriMo by using last year’s blueberry poem.

Berry Picking

fingers stained with purplish blush
reaping harvest from the brush
thus begins the picking season

no paid pickers on these hills
and barrens bare of rakes and frills
the buckets are the only tools

and once they’re filled with berry treasure
overflowing a goodly measure
at dusk the bounty is duly home

then the humble berry shines
in cakes and pies and homemade wines
more than a few eaten out-of-hand

recipe names are quick to list
grunt and cobbler, fool and crisp
too many to do justice here

late summer turns to early fall
the bushes have been stripped bare, all
and thus we end the picking season

Deal breaker

IMG_3265 They met online, a dating site
And texted well into the night
Each thought the other seemed all right
And so a plan was made

To meet in person face to face
At somewhere safe, a neutral space
A restaurant seemed just the place
And dinner plans were laid

He saw her first, across the room
As interest, sparked began to bloom
Her apprehension, his inner gloom
Were swept away post haste

The sommelier presented wine
He tasted, and pronounced it fine
They settled in to chat and dine
Conversation, flirtily laced

He boldly ordered oysters, shucked
And wondered if he’d pushed his luck
When with casual aplomb, she plucked
One from his shell to taste

Their entrees came, they shared the quail
Filet mignon and lobster tail
The courtship dance was in full sail
The fire in full burn

She proffered her sweet, a crème brulee
Which he declined and waved away
She looked at him with great dismay
His fortunes sharply turned

She left him sitting in his chair
Gave him money for her share
Flounced out, leaving him to stare
What happened at this meal?

He texted, asking what went wrong
Expected to hear the same old song
His answer came before too long
Twas “No dessert, no deal”

Toutons

IMG_3842

Dough has risen, loaves are made
A little bit leftover, saved
For next day’s breakfast plate

Dough is formed in smaller rounds
Cooked in butter, golden brown
Appetites to sate

Dough pillows are then cut in two
More butter spread, a bit will do
Molasses or a some jam

Dough that’s fried to start the day
Traditional Newfoundlanders’ way
A touton fan I am

Trout Fishing

1009905_324541037691274_560987309_n

I’m quite taken with this nonnet business, so the form is making its second appearance as we head into the second half of National Poetry Writing Month. Tonight’s topic, fishing, was inspired by the sound of the peepers as we walked the dogs tonight.

Chorus of peepers orchestrates dusk
Raccoon waddles to water’s edge
Mournful loons call over pond
Sun casts red-orange glow
Fireflies light path
Fishing creel full
Pan sizzles
Frying
Trout