T R S 7h
Cilantro, lime, and lemon
Pinon, pickled flesh
Fistfuls of water women
Men wish it were more fresh

On an aluminum sheet tray
It's curing on the sheet tray
Living life preserved
In my own ceviche

Serve it with a garnish
Serve with silver please
Serve it on a sheet tray
Serve it on your knees
Found the meat on the road, tenderized by the Michelin man
it's not all that much to behold, but hey, we do all that we can

Thinking it would go well, with a nice California Cabernet
the taste pretty swell, with fresh garlic, harvested today

Some field onion, with cracked pepper, and of course organic sage
sauteed in butter with new grunion, I've heard, it's all the rage

Placed upon bone china, white flowered table cloth, the stage
set there for the diner, to peruse, and ultimately assuage

Hiding in the kitchen, after taking out remains
unaware they are observed, as my laughter is restrained

Serving up the best, road-kill hors-d-oeuvre and mystery al-a-mien
A blast from the past!
Pass the salt please ;D
Thanksgiving day.
One we truly can not forget.
With the thin air of winter coming through,
The mist cold and wet.
The candles burn bright,
As we dig into this neat feast.
Our faces stuffed up,
Until we can not eat.
We are thankful for everything that would take too long,
Just to say.
Oh we are thankful for it all,
On Thanksgiving day.
Quick write poem I did in creative writing class about Thanksgiving (5 minute write). Let me know if you have any helpful poetry suggestions. I would love to hear some!
I opened a tub of butter
And saw a sunlit ray
I spread it on a slice of bread
And made a summers day
Inspired by buttering toast :)
sweet tree
raised from
tropical
earth

to grow upright
and out
to sprout
from trunk
a bunch of
pink and
pointed pods

or perhaps
crimson or
yellow
aubergine
tangerine
green

scythed clean
from host
and hacked
in two
for getting at
seeds a-pulp
in white
and slimed

and spreading
them out under
the sun
to get hot
in their own
juices

to ferment
wild

to bake
dry

poured tinkling
by the
thousands into
sacks of hessian
for sending
‘cross seas

to furnace-cracked
futures
winnied and
conched
sweetened
melted
and hardened
into shapes
of other things


© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Cacao trees are spectacularly beautiful. They love the humid, mountainous air near the equator, and the regular washings of rain.

Nestled in the understory of bigger forest trees, they sprout these colourful, magical pods out of their trunks and drape them over with big, shady leaves. It’s truly other-worldly.

Only fitting for the most magical food on earth!

And the intricate process of coaxing their bitter seeds into luxurious chocolate is a great marvel of modern industrialism. From harvesting, fermenting and drying the beans to roasting, conching, sweetening and tempering, chocolate has become a true labor of love.
you always told yourself
when you were a little girl
that you would never hurt your body
you knew that starving yourself was unhealthy
for your body
and your soul
time went by
your peers said repulsive things about you
a boy broke your heart
and from what other people have said
you learned to assume that it was because you are not good enough
you begin looking online
coming across people that are breathtakingly beautiful
you envy them
your next step is restricting meals
lying about when you have eaten
then you realize that sometimes you have to eat
so that others do not realize what you are doing
you want it to be a surprise
to everyone that you are finally skinny
guilt starts to rush in about even having that one meal
right when your done eating a meal
that feels like is ruining your entire self
you decide to purge
getting everything out of your system so that you are back on track
tears are rolling down your face on the bathroom floor
the bathroom floor becomes a dangerous place for you
nothing but bad memories
your puppy is sitting next to you
and you can tell by his look that he is sad for you
you tell him it's going to be okay
and that this won't go on for long
he wags his tail
and lies down and patiently waits
silent comfort is all that you need in that moment
and a friend that isn't going to tell you reality
just a friend who is there for you
in the best way possible you could be in that moment
it has been 3 days since my last meal
iv'e learned to love the feeling of being hungry rather than full
iv'e learned to deal with the tiredness
the shaking
and the stares you get when your stomach screams
and you learn to be obsessed with the stare that means the most
the stare into the mirror when you look at yourself
and all you see is hate
- one addiction for another
T R S 4d
Please do it
And get it done
And be serious
And be fun
And enliven those around you to be their best

Never rest
Never settle

Let your world be determined by worth and mettle
Meddle in every affair
Detail every error
Never back peddle
Or be caught unaware
chef, food, cooking, leadership, affirmation
blankets laid
like pastry
twirled and
crinkled
made to nestle
precious
heads
in bed of
curled and
covered comfort
buttered


wrapped up
little packages
alive and
breathing


heaving breaths
of depths
unknown to
waking worlds
through softened
lungs and throats
and mouths
and gooey
molten middles


with shield of
fragile sleep
held up
to barricade in
and barricade out


as steam floats
gentle warm
and wistful
blissful up
from tender
scalps


from dreams
in gold and
chocolate



© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
It's nice to lie awake in the early morning while everyone else is still sleeping. To bask heavy in the sound of bodies inflating and deflating. Languishing in the subconscious, unfettered by obligation or chore. And to wonder what sweet dreams they're dreaming.
A cloudy day, no telephone rings,
it’s a perfect day for fried chicken wings.
I hate the news that the newspaper brings,
but there’s an egg roll, and fried chicken wings.
No flowers, no sun, no bird that sings—
it’s February, and fried chicken wings.
The tv reports a frightening toll,
the emperor’s mad, and they’re still burning coal—
I take one more bite of my egg roll.
An antidote to life’s dangs and dings:
An egg roll, and fried chicken wings.
It’s not caviar, it’s just one of those things—
an egg roll, and fried chicken wings.
It's the little things.
A.A. Milne was an under-rated poet.
Alas, Mr. Seagull was more than enjoying his meal
each sweet bite, each tender morsel
He was in what they call "Food Heaven"

When along came a a Raven in a black dress
At his breakfast table, she smiled
Then softly cooed, "May I have a bite?"

Mr. Seagull never responded to her charms,
And so with a daring plan  she waited
until Mr. Seagull took another big bite

Then quickly before Mr. Seagull could blink
Raven left with food in beak, away she flew
Into the  far yonder's wild, wild blue
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