ScanPan Giveaway Winner

Expired Baking Soda (a haiku)

The dough was yummy,
But when the cookies emerged,
They flattened my hopes.


A random number generator chose from the finalists below and picked Erica as the winner.  Thank you all for participating.


A box of pasta swinging at my side:
The endless rasp of pebbles moving with the tide.

-Language Hat


Herbs cook quickly in a wok.
It’s not only Chinese — how fast
Thyme fries.



Kiss me with mangoes still on your lips
embrace me with dewberries clinging
Woo me when winds of morning are birds
softly singing
Hold me while summer cherries turn red
upon the reddest vine
and sun-ripe scuppernongs turn bronze upon
a swaying vine
Caress me where wild strawberries crush beneath
our dancing feet
and pomegranates hang like love
intricately sweet.



Expired Baking Soda (a haiku)

The dough was yummy,
But when the cookies emerged,
They flattened my hopes.



Cookie Diet

“Oh the COOKIE!” Cried John. “How delicious!
And nutritious and healthful and RIGHT!
Now for most they may seem somewhat naughty
But for ME they are naught but delight!

“You see,” he went on, “I have proof
Of their magic, salubrious ways
A psychic once told me my aura
Glows gold in a chocolate chip haze.

“Macadamia nut and white chocolate
Makes it sparkle like sun on the sea
And Girl Scout troop peanut butter patties
Has it shiver with uncontainable glee.

“Oatmeal raisin means purpley paisley
Snickerdoodles red cinnamon swirls
Gingerbread with black licorice buttons
Causes joyous cerulean curls.

“And with a cookie or two in my belly
I could exercise all night and day
With the power of sugar and flour
Losing thirty plus pounds is child’s play.

“So you might THINK that they just make me fatter,”
Said John as crumbs fell onto his shirt.
“But in FACT they’re my secret to weight loss
Contained in one multi-purpose dessert!”


ScanPan Giveaway! (Updated Below)

Pot Roast

I gaze upon the roast,
that is sliced and laid out
on my plate
and over it
I spoon the juices
of carrot and onion.
And for once I do not regret
The passage of time.

I sit by a window
that looks
on the soot-stained brick of buildings
and do not care that I see
no living thing-not a bird,
not a branch in bloom,
not a soul moving
in the rooms
behind the dark panes.
These days when there is little
to love or to praise
one could do worse
than yield
to the power of food.
So I bend

to inhale
the steam that rises
from my plate, and I think
of the first time
I tasted a roast
like this.
It was years ago
in Seabright,
Nova Scotia;
my mother leaned
over my dish and filled it
and when I finished
filled it again.
I remember the gravy,
its odor of garlic and celery,
and sopping it up
with pieces of bread.

And now
I taste it again.
The meat of memory.
The meat of no change.
I raise my fork in praise,
and I eat.

That is a food poem by one of my favorite poets, Mark Strand. By posting your own food poem in the comments section (any length, any form) you might just win yourself a ScanPan! You can also submit an unusual but successful egg recipe — quiche, frittata, scramble, whatever (not all cooks fancy themselves poets, after all, and everyone should have a shot). Robin and I will choose our favorite poems and recipes, aiming for a total of five entries (though we might include more if it’s close); then — because poems and recipes are in many ways subjective and because we’ll surely know some of the contestants — we’ll use the random number generator to pick the winner. Good luck!

Update: Whoops, I should have been clearer. Both poems and recipes must be original — lest, judging one masterwork after another, I be left feeling like a patient etherised upon a table. Seriously, though, I don’t see how it could work otherwise (Batali vs. Eliot vs. Joe the Blogger who thought to put something really tasty and inventive in his scrambled eggs…); I’m already pushing it by asking for poems and food. Those who’ve already submitted others’ poems/recipes should feel free to submit their own.