Mel Weisburd and Kathabela Wilson
It’s late November, and everyone has food on their mind. When you consider what to eat or cook for the season, you may want to consider it poetically, and playfully, as Mel Weisburd (1927 – 2015) and Kathabela did, early in 2014.
By Kathabela Wilson
Mel and I, always in touch and enjoying our collaborations, considered a new joint venture. I said to Mel – “What would you like to write about”? He did not hesitate a moment. He said FOOD. And so “To Taste” was born. Over a series of emails this very vibrant, tasty, savory collaboration was created easily and with a joyous abandon.
Let it inspire you with this very personal and delicious recipe for fun, where personalities and attitudes, history and culture is in the mixing bowl. We naturally stirred up the flavors, sweetness and spice of life, as you well, with a a tongue in cheek recognition of what it means to use what you have in your house to make the best of life.
Mel enjoying a glass of wine
To Taste
by Mel Weisburd and Kathabela Wilson
K:
something low salt
good for Mel
she said
even his tears
are spicy and sweet
M:
My dear, I love your brevity.
(You are indeed a great cook and poet.)
But I am a poet of long breath
who rambles. Let me confess to
you, that in these few years left
I need to consume as much
of mother earth herself,
to go down on her, as it were.
I want to go to the next world
with the tastes on my breath and
reflux and the odors in my nose
of immemorial tastes:
mint, garlic, onion, chili, jalapeno,
horseradish, cumin, curry, radish,
fennel, ginger — anything unforgettable
except salt and sugar so that I can
pass thinly through the eye of the needle,
the most divine tastes in all of the universe
from our mother earth, Queen of the Cosmos.
Mel and Kath
K:
and so she danced
into the kitchen
for him
dropped the sun into her dark pot
and the moon answered
feeling his lightness
upon her
she stirred
in thyme and sage
with the rest for his pleasure
M:
Thyme, that herb
eludes me. Does it give
the broth a theme
from the tree
of life or knowledge?
Does it require a sacrifice,
like the shank of a once
frisky lamb, or shall
we go on a wild goose chase
or settle for Navy beans.
(Am I getting silly
how can this end?
Mel Weisburd going over one of his poems
K:
a muse is better if she cooks
a long time or the morning after
we’re only beginning
to boil you Spring chicken
with your Maltese fricassee
M:
Oh! Chicken in the pot.
My grandma’s specialty!
Not too much salt like the
Delis ruin it.
Throw some gizzard in,
pupik and lachen kugel–
(does Rick know Yiddish?)
Yes, use that slow crock,
and save the wishbone for me.
________________________________________________________
Mel Weisburd (1927 – 2015)
> Poem was first published in Bright Stars 4, 2014
Leave a Reply