Onions pirouetting in the oil,
Eggs set gently to boil.
Garlic, mushrooms, fresh-cut chives,
A pinch of salt, they come alive.
Oregano, dill, and za’atar,
The scent alone is the star.
Turkey, chicken, or even steak,
Season the salmon, cook until opaque.
Sometimes something sweet
Is what we choose to eat.
Cookies, a crisp, or a palmier—
Dust with cinnamon, bake light as air.
We dance in the kitchen
When we cook.
We experiment.
No need for a book.
Learn from the past,
But chart our own route.
One foot with tradition,
No good idea gets the boot.
Inspiration comes to us
From many corners.
Always creative,
Kitchen reformers.
Mar 8
Mar 8, 2026 at 8:40 PM UTC
Onions pirouetting in the oil,
Eggs set gently to boil.
Garlic, mushrooms, fresh-cut chives,
A pinch of salt, they come alive.
Oregano, dill, and za’atar,
The scent alone is the star.
Turkey, chicken, or even steak,
Season the salmon, cook until opaque.
Sometimes something sweet
Is what we choose to eat.
Cookies, a crisp, or a palmier—
Dust with cinnamon, bake light as air.
We dance in the kitchen
When we cook.
We experiment.
No need for a book.
Learn from the past,
But chart our own route.
One foot with tradition,
No good idea gets the boot.
Inspiration comes to us
From many corners.
Always creative,
Kitchen reformers.
After writing about my grandmother’s cooking, I started thinking about what happens in our kitchen today—inspired by the past but never afraid to try something new. Here’s my latest poem, Our Kitchen.