This Chick In Paris – Part Deux

Posted on June 3, 2012 by Raivenne

Bon soir!

In Part I of my post on Paris I spoke a little about the people, now it’s about …

The Food –

Myth busting: Contrary to a friend’s popular belief, Parisian cuisine is not all bread, cheese, butter and wine. She forgot the potatoes. I kid! I kid! (Sorta.)

Breakfast/Brunch – I must say I was quite surprised to see that according to the menu – a French Breakfast consisted of a buttered baguette, a croissant and smattering of preserve. I mean were we not in the land of the infamous french omelette? Where’s the jambon (ham) and oui, le fromage (cheese) and other goodness most Americans associate with a breakfast omelette? Yes, it is bread and butter, plus a croissant which is naturally buttery, but really? That’s it?

This gal wanted some meat and since it was closer to lunch time, ordered a Croque Monsieur. For those unfamiliar with this, truth be told, a Croque Monsieur is a glorified grilled ham and cheese sandwich. Oh, but what a sandwich!

What makes it worth it is the Gruyere cheese. This favorite of French cafés and bistros also switches genders and becomes a Madame when topped by a fried egg. And speaking of eggs…

Lesson learned – I don’t know if was just that specific restaurant where we dined, or part of the culture, but one should definitely learn how to say I want my eggs cooked well if you do not like your fried/sunny-side/boiled/scrambled eggs runny. Different breakfast meals with types of cooked eggs, same results. It did not bother me, but J & M were quite perturbed when their sunny-side up egg was served considerably less than, as J put it “crispy”.

A pleasant lesson learned is how they serve coffee. They do not steam the milk Italian style, but it is served hot. You get all the flavor, but do not lose the heat and it’s not frothy like a latte. I actually liked that.

Lunch/Dinner – I had duck, beef, seafood dishes (two as part of multi-course meals), and one sausage dish. We started learning the first night pretty much everything was served with some form of potato, the most common thing being frites (fries). By the fourth day, when someone ordered Moules Frites I was not surprised at all to see mussels served with fries. I will say I took complete pleasure in seeing a bottle of good ol’ Heinz Ketchup (in English!), appear every where fries were served, oh yeah!

The only meal that was disappointing for me a sausage and mashed potato dish from a place which came nicely recommended. I, and the only other person that ordered it, both found it to be overly salty for our tastes and couldn’t eat it. Other than that, every thing else ranged from very good to oh damn this is good.

Late night – Every major metropolis has their hole-in-the-wall 24 places to get some grub, and Paris was no exception. You know the type of place. We’re not there for the ambiance or the nutritional value of the meal. It’s not cuisine – it’s food: they’ve got – we want it – that’s all. The major difference is I’m not getting a ham & cheese crepe at 4am in New York City. I am in Paris after all.

My three favorite dishes:

No. 3: Now tell me – how can something with only two damn ingredients and some seasoning be so divine? That was the caprese and side salad. In season tomatoes at their peak flavor and fresh mozzarella are truly the key here. They were simply wonderful by their selves. With the wonderfully flavorful pesto sauce drizzled across – they were sublime.

No. 2: I wish I had thought to write down the name of the dish. The duck was nicely trimmed of fat, so tender and perfectly cooked. The broth of tiny diced vegetables and raisins was savory. The Parmesan mashed potatoes with a tiny sprinkling of chives balanced well with the duck. It was oh so freaking YUM!

No. 1: The seasoned shrimp and risotto. I need to give a tiny be of back story here. The duck dish above and the shrimp/risotto were both from L’Amazonial and were literally the first french foods to grace our palettes. I had ordered the duck and M ordered the risotto. Typical tourists we are sampling from each other. Each of us gave pause when the risotto hit out tongues. Creamy, cheesy and still somehow perfectly firm. It was served atop of a sauce that tasted a whole lot like the broth served with my duck sans the veggies and raisins. As much as I loved the duck (drool), the was risotto was my first oh damn this is good moment. We all also agreed though nicely seasoned and very delish, the shrimp was a little dry. I presume that seemed to be the style of the dish as repeat orders had the same results. Notice I said repeat orders? After some sight-seeing, when we returned for dinner, three of us ordered the dish and we came back the next day for it. Yes, it really was that good.

Desserts – Oh you didn’t think I was going to leave it out did you? For shame! The bad news – because I choose art over food as my focus this trip I did not make any specific food runs. I know, what kind of fat girl am I, right?! It happens. The good news – I did have a few desserts. I am a fat girl after all. It happens. The two best were an apple galette with vanilla ice cream and of course a crème brulee.

The apple galette was mouth watering on sight. The crust was perfect. Not over buttery, too sweet, not so dense you wanted a hacksaw to cut through it, but not so flaky it turned to dust at the lightest touch. The apples were tender, delicately sweet and just spot on good. The caramel swirls were just – well icing on the cake – lol. The crème brulee – oh what can I say. The sugar topping was expertly torched. If I had a toothpick to get to the edges, I could have lifted the shell as a whole disc. The crème was simply ooh la la riche! And for once not served in some little squat ramekin as generally served at restaurants here in the US, but in a nice wide one. Plenty of torched sugary goodness and even more crème to enjoy.

We enjoyed two three multi-course meals. One at wine pairing event, restaurant and another while cruising along the Seine. Were they delicious in their own right? -yes. The wine pairing dinner introduced me to something called a dorade. The menu card that came with the meal simply called it “Dorade with avocado and mango salsa.” The fish was so delicate in flavor that the avocado and mango nearly washed it out, but it was tasty. I actually looked up the word dorade to confirm it was indeed fish. The river cruise had this interesting soup, pairing a warm puree of zucchini, green beans and Lima beans, with cool pieces of its composite vegetables within. Two unique tastes and textures I would order again. Otherwise the two meals would be unfortunately forgettable were it not for the marvelous company of my dining companions.

Other than breakfast, wine or some form of liquor was a part of nearly each meal. Still, I was not any where near laden down with all this famed butter and cheese and I have to say a part of me is highly disappointed dammit. Perhaps this richness is in the outer regions of Paris. Probably where all the fat Parisians are hiding also. Next trip to France I must go in search of them and their famed über rich food.

Trip-Advisor et al, have their uses as an excellent resources, for where to dine, but please don’t let it be one’s only deciding factor. If I only followed those suggestion I may never have discovered that risotto. Overall, while I enjoyed nearly every morsel that crossed my lips, the meals I enjoyed the most were in the places we simply happened across in our travels. I would suggest the same to other first-timers.

Bon appetit? Indeed!

Next – L’Art (The Sites)

This Chick In Paris – Part I

Posted on June 1, 2012 by Raivenne

Bon jour!

Ever go to a restaurant and receive a dish that has a smear of some flavorful sauce as a part of it to your plates? You get a good hint of the taste, but damn if it does not have you wanting to try some more of it. Spending a week in Paris is akin to that. I’ve had hint of that wonderful taste, but there is so much more to it.

The People Culture –

For the record French women do not all sound like breathless sex kittens. And no, all the men do not sound like a mix of Maurice Chevalier and Pepe LePew (oh just Google it if you’re too young to know the former). Speaking of LePew – there was no more body odor in Paris than one would find on the NYC subway in the summer in rush hour. Yes, there were definitely some people who, without any secret, needed to be banned, armed and hammered to the nth degree (see what I did there?), but I did not find this overwhelming cloud of BO funk permeating the air within any closed quarters.

Speaking of clouds, after years of having smoking banned at nearly all public places in NYC, it took a moment to adjust to the constant state of nicotine that went hand-in-hand with eating at any outdoor café or restaurant. This seemed almost mandatory the closer you sat to the street: a glass of wine, some form of bread food and a ciggy. For me it was a flashback to the 70s- 80s, when it was still prevalent here. For some of the younger ones traveling with us it was a culture shock to see our waiter (clearly on a smoke break), smoking a cigarette as he sat on his haunches at a nearby table conversing with fellow diners.

Parisians do have a certain joie de vivre mixed in with a healthy dose of but of course! about them. Obviously, I can’t speak for all of France, however, trust me, after a couple of days it becomes pretty easy to spot even the most bohemian Parisian native from a Portlandia tourist. Even when Parisians do grunge, there’s a certain finesse about it. You can’t put your finger on it, but you just know.

What I do want to know is – where are the fat Parisians? The only clearly fat people I saw were without a question fellow tourists. As I said, after a couple of days, it becomes easier to spot who’s who. Only at the Bear Den (a gay bar we discovered not far from our hotel), had any men of girth. Even so our bears from the US would dwarf most of them. And corpulent native women? They simply did not exist within the city. Some very curvy girls – yes, but even Botero would be hard pressed to find models for inspiration here. So seriously – where are they?

They definitely were not at the club four of us ladies went to Friday night. On the advice of our concierge we went to a place in the Latin Quarter, arriving a little after midnight. When we got downstairs past the bar into what looked like a small place, to say we were unimpressed was putting it mildly. If there were six people on the dance floor it was a lot. We were sure our guy misunderstood us, but decided to hang in there for a bit. Good thing we did, because an hour later the place was a mass of hot, sweating, gyrating bodies coming out of the woodwork. There was a couple that was owning the dance floor, if it got any hotter between them they would need to get a room. Looks were deceiving as we later noted a separate indoor lounging area and an outdoor smoking area. It was not quite the tiny place we thought it to be. Some hip-hop, some reggae, some Soca, some meringue as well as French tunes throbbed the air. Rihanna was truly the DJ’s favorite as at least six of her songs played. Other than the French songs we could have been in any underground in the City. Viva Parisian Nightlife!

The only downside of the night happened as the four of us walked back to our hotel. L & M walked a few feet ahead of J & I in our separate conversations. A group of about six young men (young in my eyes as the oldest person among us), being half-drunk young men on what’s now early Saturday morning were walking in the opposite direction when a couple of them spotted L & M. I don’t know if it was because L & M are two young, beautiful and very petite women, that they Black, that they clearly were not French or all of they above, but the next they J & I knew three of the males had changed course and were rapidly coming up behind L & M. One of the females in our group was not-so-casually felt up by a male when we rode the bus late the night before, after the trains stopped running. Also, I had heard some young French males target young American females in such a manner. So, call it instinct or just being on guard, but I got ethnic in a heartbeat when it looked like one was about to reach out and touch… “Do it and I’ll fuck you up!” Came out of my mouth so fast and with such vehemence it wasn’t funny. I was reaching for my keys to use as a weapon if needed when I remembered I didn’t have them on me. Luckily L & M sensing the guys approach had turned around to reclaim their personal space just as I called out. Between L & M’s quick turning and my threat the idiots backed off. At least one clearly understood what I said and how I meant it, repeating the words to their friends as they quickly backed-off. Sexual predators exist in any language and apparently so does a properly nasty “I’ll fuck you up!”

And speaking of nasty, I’ll confess here that I arrived in Paris fully prepared for the infamous French attitude for those like me who couldn’t be so bothered to learn even a smattering a phrases. I only encountered one person who blatantly chose to ignore me. The woman looked in my face with clear contempt, then continued speaking to her friend as though I didn’t exist and I had yet to speak. In all honestly, having been the recipient of such here in the states, I could not discern if the rudeness was a Parisian thing or if she was simply a bitch. My vote is for the latter. Every else where I went someone either spoke broken to perfectly accented English (ah, Jordan you loquacious charmer!), or we pantomimed until we figured things out. Perfect example – I caught a cold and wanted to go to a Pharmacy to purchase cold medicine. Pantomiming a sneeze got me a pack of tissues. Seeing the word médicamentnear the counter easy enough to say. However, they thought I had allergies, an easy enough presumption given the season, but not quite what I wanted. Let me take a moment now to honor my high school English teacher for instilling in me the penchant for looking at the etymology of words. As I explained to a friend, it came in handy as by some miracle I remembered the word rheum (as in runny eyes or nose) is old French and Greek in its base. It turns out it is also the modern French word for guess what? – the common cold. Less than ten minutes after I walked in, I walked out with two packs of tissues and Actifed (and the old Actifed that worked better before the US changed the formula a few years ago to boot). Thank you Ms. Warren!

All in all, for someone who’s majority of french speaking skills can be summed up in Fère Jaques and a certain phrase via Patti Labelle, I think I did well in Paris. Granted, if I want to travel the rest of France I’m thinking it would behoove me to pick up a Rosetta Stone first.

Next up – the food!

Morning

Posted on May 30, 2012 by Raivenne

Lying in your arms, feeling the dawn slowly
mark it way across our bodies
        My head says time to get up
             My heart differs
Gentle stroking, up and down
my spine
touch of gossamer
there… not there
        Warm
              Stirring
Is it real or do I sleep still?
Too real to be a dream, slowly bringing me
from the depths of sleep
         Smooth
              Slow
                   Sensual…
As though a sudden move
would cause me to shatter
I wake easily,
        Knowing the warmth I feel
              is more than the rising sun
I turn to you.
My eyes are closed,
        but I can see your smile,
              feel you surround me.
Your lips upon mine.
        Asking a silent question.
              Receiving a silent answer.

Love me…?
Yes…
Oh yes…
====================

OpenLinkNight — Week 46

For A.J.

Posted on May 21, 2012 by Raivenne

I did not think anything could bring me down from my “I’m Going To Paris!” high. The excitement for the trip has grown by leaps and bounds this past week and now it’s only two days away. Even the dreary rainy Monday morning that greeted me couldn’t get me down.

Then I read about A.J. …

A.J. Confessore, for those who would not know, had a larger-than-life costumed alter-ego known as C.C. Banana. This included several subsets such as Bananakin Skywalker when interviewing in the Star Wars circuit and Ace Peeley when in the KISS realm.

A.J. also had another well-known costumed alias, Maul Stanley. Maul Stanley was a wicked merging of two of his favorites Star Wars (Darth Maul) and KISS (KISS member Paul Stanley). However, most knew him best as C.C. Banana. C.C. was infamous, in the fringes of the heavy metal crowd for his irreverent and often snarky, interview style.

A.J.’s alter egos: Maul Stanley being interviewed by C.C. Banana as Bananakin Skywalker.

A tiny sense of his wicked humor – at a party where the theme was “Gone but Not Forgotten” he appeared as thus:

C.C. Banana as “Banana Nicole Smith”

There’s a party happening this Memorial weekend. It’s the type of function where he would have made such an appearance as C.C. I know there will be a moment of silence for him, which is odd for the energetic A.J. was anything but. Granted, he wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but C.C. Banana had his appeal (appeal get it? C.C. would have loved that pun).

In other circles, A.J. as himself was also known for his outgoing personality and zany humor as well as for his support and Fat Activism in producing the CD Whole Lotta Love, An All Star Salute To Fat Chicks, a unique musical montage celebrating the Big Beautiful Woman.

A.J. at the CD release party for “Whole Lotta Love”

A.J. was always gracious and funny and gave his all as C.C./Maul and himself.

As I wrote on his Facebook an hour or so after I learned of his death this morning:

“Bananakin Skywalker + Ace Peeley + Maul Stanley + CC Banana = A.J. Confessore.

Logically my head processes what has happened, but my heart cannot reconcile the lively force that created such irreverent characters and gave a Whole Lotta Love to us all, lost that joy for himself. R.I.P. A.J. you will be missed.”

Knowing why he chose to end his life in my head and understanding why in my heart are very two different things. It’s so many hours later and I sit here still unable come to grips with the loss. The C.C. I know would pull some gallows humor from this and a part of me that usually can crack a snark at damn near anything feels as though I’m somehow failing his spirit in my inability to do so now.

I’ve returned to his Facebook page a couple of times today to read all the heartfelt comments of so many who have felt his love whether for just a few moments at a party as C.C., for few years as A.J. or for many years as Tony (as his nearest and dearest know him). It’s crying shame he could not feel all this love for him in return to help him through.

R.I.P Anthony Joseph Confessore – you made us tear up in laughter, I wish that was why we cried now.

Missing You

Posted on May 8, 2012 by Raivenne

Through the fire, to the limit, to the wall
For a chance to be with you, I’d gladly risk it all
Through the fire, through whatever come what may
For a chance at loving you, I’d take it all the way
“Through the Fire” – Chaka Khan / I Feel For You

Sadness plays on the stereo through and through
Yet I can’t make myself move to turn the dial
Each song gives recollection of the love I once knew
Each song packs a tear slipping past memory’s smile
Another tear drops with the revelation – I’m missing you
For my life, I couldn’t tell you what started it all
Perhaps it was the love that came from up above
A dreamland with the best that we were made of
This was ours – winter, spring, summer or fall
Through the fire, to the limit, to the wall

I see the pictures on the wall, where more memories bestrew
A capture of that infamous “I know something” smirk
That to this day the origins of that one I never did construe
All I can do is once again laugh – God you were such a jerk
Head in hands, I cry through my frustration – I’m missing you
There are times I still turn thinking I heard your footfall
In just that moment forgetting Death’s crow, the cruel thief
For I know I’m imagining things and I’m mad at my own relief
Do I dare think of what I’d decide if choice came to call?
For a chance to be with you, I’d gladly risk it all

Turning off the stereo, I somehow manage to do
Quoted lyrics so beyond affecting all that I feel
I wonder how long before there’s a call to Bellevue
Because I’m laughing, but Lord knows this pain is real
And the tears flow without cessation – I’m missing you
A twisted part of me wonders the price I’d pay,
What trial to finish, what deadliest path by far
Would it take to uncross that most unforgiving star?
If it gained me but a moment with the Fates to parley
Through the fire, through whatever come what may

No hopes of thinking this bout is anywhere near through
I close my eyes, but it’s really beyond my command
I watch it all just as clearly, caught in memory’s purview
As trapped in this heartbroken tide as love letters in the sand
Cold gripped in the moment’s desperation – I’m missing you
I know I’ll have better ones, but no, not this day
And I gather these precious memories of our past
Even while knowing this is just a mood not long to last
And not finding it in the least wrong to honestly say
For a chance at loving you, I’d take it all the way

====================
Yes, my old friend the Glosa form.

dVerse Poets Pub | OpenLinkNight ~ Week 43

A Leaf / A Life

Posted on May 7, 2012 by Raivenne

Drifting in the wind,

a leaf.

Aged. Hardened.

Alone.

Not here.

Not there.

Each gust of wind blowing.

Taking it away, to bring it back.

Only to start again.

Until someone comes.

Carries it away.

To a different place.

Where it is left.

Broken. Shredded. Crushed.

Just enough left to notice.

What it once might have been,

When it was still green.

Lush.

Not taken for granted.

Or left forgotten.

====================

Written after a trip to a nursing home…

Poetry Picnic Week 34: Plants, Creatures, and the Cosmos!!

It’s Big Fat Flea Time!

Posted on May 3, 2012 by Raivenne

It’s Big! It’s Fat! It’s Fabulous!

Okay, what on earth is Raivenne raving about you ask? Why I’m so glad you did!

On Sunday, May 13, 2012, The Big Fat Flea will be holding its rummage sale!

The Big Fat whatchootalkinbout Willis?

The Big Fat Flea (formerly The Fat Girl Flea Market), is an amazing all-gender inclusive fatshion rummage sale that just happens to also be an amazing fundraiser for NOLOSE. This event is NOLOSE‘s biggest fundraiser, with all proceeds directly benefiting their work to end body oppression. Plus sizes of all genders get to shop fabulous items for a bargain and get to do a little philanthropy in the process.

It’s a win/win!

What kind of bargains you ask? Oh please, let me show you!

Yes, this is what I look like after molting (click for full size).

These two dresses were originally from Igigicom. Igigi has fabulous clothes for us big gals, but they are not exactly on the cheap side. Each gown retailed for nearly $200 on the website. I purchased each maxi at the Flea for – hold on to your girdles girlies – $10 each! Yes, ten dollars – each. I also purchased really some cute tops/skirts and accessories at the Flea. And because I could I also bought the most God-awful, beaded monstrosity of a sweater for no other reason to have it for the next “ugly sweater” contest. Essentially, I easily bought close to $600 worth of clothing (retail), for barely $100. Now that, my dear people IS A BARGAIN!

I have participated with the Big Fat Flea in the past, simply as a shopper. Last year, I went a step further and volunteered to help organize/prepare for the event. I had such a fabulous experience and met some amazing people in the process. I loved it so much that I wanted to cry when I thought I might miss the chance to do so this year, but I am happy to say the philanthropic (and shopping), deities have smiled upon me and I will donating my time, energy to help out again this year.

Unlike before when it was The Fat Girl Flea Market, available only to the ladies, this year it is opened to all genders. Thus the name change to Big Fat Flea because After all, no matter how we identify, we all want to look good and to be able do so at a bargain is just icing on the cake.

I’m guessing right about now some of you are at the point of – yeah well that’s all nice for you and all, but how do “I” get in on all this fatshion goodness?

Here’s the nitty-gritty :

Be in New York City next weekend.
Have cash – the Big Fat Flea does not take credit cards.
Show up Sunday, May 13th from 12pm-7:30pm at the NYC LGBT Community Center- 208 West 13th Street, NYC on the 3rd floor. There are elevators and the space is wheelchair accessible.
Pay a $10 entrance fee (remember, this is a fundraiser after all).
SHOP!

But wait there’s more!

Noticed the words rummage and flea (as in market), being bandied about here? There’s a reason. Yes, plus-sized clothing stores and private plus-size designers donate items to the Big Fat Flea, but the bulk of the clothing comes from us the fat folk shoppers who know just how hard it is to find good stuff in our sizes. You bought those fabulous pants and without trying them on first, ripped the tags off because you know they’ll fit. Two weeks later you’re ready to wear them and only then do you realize they don’t fit they way you thought. Not that I would ever have personal knowledge of such a scenario (cough). Naturally, the store won’t take them back and they’ve sat in your closet ever since. They are perfectly fine pants, I -er- you just can’t wear them – donate them and make someone else who has coveted but couldn’t get to the store in time to purchase them happy! Have that fabulous dress you wore once or twice, but know you’re never wearing again – donate! Hey, it’s spring – now’s a good time to go through that closet and donate your clean clothing sizes Large and up to the cause and get some replacements at bargain prices.

For more information on shopping and donating at the Big Fat Flea check out their Facebook and FAQs pages.

And last, but not least – I’ll be working there – now how’s that for incentive?

Reading Raivenne

Posted on May 1, 2012 by Raivenne

When the Book of Me was fully open to the life of you, it was tough handling what was written on those really private pages wasn’t it? Now that the private section is closed off to you, it’s tough not always knowing what’s written there. Especially, the private parts you think may be about you.

Sucks for you, huh?

And what if there are? Private parts written about you…

I could tell you that there is nothing concerning you, but it’s me, with a history of you. We both would know that for a blatant lie. A part of you is always going to be in that very private section of me.

I could tell you a truth that may have something to do with you, but what could you do about it even if you wanted to? Would it assuage your curiosity? Build an even thicker wall between us?

I could mind fuck with you and tell you, yes there is something, something that I can’t tell you, knowing the curiosity of such would drive you crazy. But I couldn’t live with myself putting you through that for no reason other than Schadenfreude.And I am happy to say, I now care a hell of a lot more about who I see reflected in my mirror, than who I thought I saw reflected in your eyes.

Or I could do exactly what I did, and tell you the truth…there is nothing concerning you, that you need to know about. I know, you do not like not knowing anything that may concern you. It may bug you for a hot second, but by the time you’re reading this (if you ever do), I know you’re already over it.

(I hope) you know me well enough to realize, if it really were important for you to know, I’d tell you.

So you say you can’t read me any more, not the way you used to. Is it really that surprising? We had a long time apart and neither of us are the same people anymore. I had to quickly learn to build one bitch of a thick ass wall to function around you without falling apart. The wall held shakily at first, but it is formidable now. I don’t know how to lower it.

Besides, I don’t think I should.

When I desperately need a friend to open up a page to at 3am, your name is no longer on the short list which comes to mind. While, I may still choose tell you things others may not be privy to, you’re no longer among those few 3am-ers. Thus you no longer have access to deep private pages written any more. And that really is a shame; for you were an excellent sounding board once.

These are the new chapters of the Book of Me.

Only time will tell if you are a continuing character…

…Or already an epilogue.

Come and Play

Posted on April 27, 2012 by Raivenne

Pachynsis
my sacofricosis,
eurotophobia

and absolute medomalacuphobia
so ruins my chances at venus observa
that my gynephobia has its way

the words I do not say
‘come and play’

<>==========<>==========<>

Yes, I have issues – but none of them are listed in this write! (Big grin)

Pachynsis– An unusual thickening of the skin of muscle; in this case referring to male erection.
Sacofricosis– The practice of cutting a hole in the bottom of a front pants pocket in order to masturbate in public with less risk of detection.
Eurotophobia– The fear of female genitalia.
Medomalacuphobia– The fear of losing an erection.
Venus Observa– The clinical term for missionary position of copulation.
Gynephobia– The fear of women.

When The Music Moves

Posted on April 24, 2012 by Raivenne

When the music moves the chef and the menu
I can not help but rock to the venue,

I grate and wind and fold and dip, all while cooking and that’s just my hips

Serving Foie gras to a Beyoncé bass beat?
I’ve played Metallica while serving Crème brûlée sweet.

I sway to a strawberry’s single sweet soliloquy
As I would to any doo-wop’s three-part harmony

My sifter sounds like maracas, the water running is backup hum,
And I’ll drop them all in heartbeat to do a Phil Collin’s air drum

Notes ringing crystal clear as an opera singer
Are like the perfect bite whose flavors linger

The perfect flavors require as much of a chef’s orchestration
As any conductor pulling together a musical temptation

And I dance as I chop and I chop as I sing and I sing as I fry, it’s a symbiotic thing

I can not help but rock to the venue,
When the music moves the chef and the menu

<>==========<>==========<>

Written for

Poetry Picnic Week 32: Topics on Twitter.com

Source Tweet: When Music Moves The Chef And The Menu

To those not familiar with Phil Collins I included a link to the reference within the poem. While the specific drum solo starts after the 5:00 mark, you really should listen to the entire song to get the full feel on why any of us familiar with the song will drop almost everything when that part comes to do the air drum.

Raivenne-lations

Doing what you like is freedom; liking what you do is happiness.

Category Archives: Just Me, Being Me