When Food is Poetry

By Andrea Scarpino

 

When food is poetry : vegetables carefully grown, prepared, pickled in glass jars. Sauces whisked from impossible ingredients. Flavors paired perfectly. Textures carefully matched : some crunch, some soft, some tender yield.

 

Poetry : The French Laundry with Zac and our dear friend Courtney. Even food as simple as carrots and peas—the carrots sliced exactly the same size as the peas, all cooked perfectly, all dressed in the perfect lush sauce. Even the butter perfectly churned, salted, served at the perfect temperature in perfectly chosen small bowls. Even the salt—a different salt for different courses.

 

And beet essence : a swirl of red on a crisp white plate. Its luxury.

 

And wine pairings, a carefully chosen compliment to each bite of food.

 

We sat and ate and talked about the food and shared bites from each of our plates. Hours and hours, we sat and ate. We each cried at some point in the night, the tastes so wonderful, the meal so thoughtfully prepared. The care in each knife cut. The care our servers showed us.

 

The French Laundry : three years ago, now, and still, I feel like I can remember every course, every sip of wine. The best that food has to offer. The best of art on the plate.

 

Last weekend, Zac and I visited Courtney in Ann Arbor. Each meal we shared, a kind of poetry, each bite discussed, savored, shared. No bite wasted. Our conversation frequently halted to fully appreciate a taste. Frequently, my hand moved to my chest in awe. Tables around us filled and emptied, turned over quickly. And still we sat. Ordered another course.

 

The first question Courtney’s sister asked us when we met her one afternoon: ‘What have you eaten so far?’ Courtney’s response when a server suggested we order less than we planned, ‘She has no idea what we’re capable of.’

 

At its best, poetry means deep attention to words, sounds, rhythms, to the movement of a story across the page. To image. To seeing the world in new and unexpected ways.

 

Food, too, can be unexpected, wonder-filled—if we prepare it with care, if we value it, give it an important place in our lives. If we slow down, pay attention, really taste, savor : a new world opens up.