Sitting in a company meeting I realized our ages span from 26-62, converse and inverse. And our conversations often revolve around pop culture, not just contemporary but reminiscenses. And so it is that several of us were thinking about current chef rock stars and wondering aloud who were the non-rock, rock stars of the 1980’s.
Not yet chefs, but poets. Yes, indeed, Thom Gunn, Anne Sexton. Full of energy, and fury, highly personal, confessional, dealing with subjects majestic and forbidden.
So, take a little break and read a poem for a moment!
Two dumpy women with buns were drinking coffee
In a narrow kitchen—at least I think a kitchen
And I think it was whitewashed, in spite of all the shade.
They were flat brown, they were as brown as coffee.
Wearing brown muslin? I really could not tell.
How I loved this painting, they had grown so old
That everything had got less complicated,
Brown clothes and shade in a sunken whitewashed kitchen.
But it’s not like that for me: age is not simpler
Or less enjoyable, not dark, not whitewashed.
The people sitting on the marble steps
Of the national gallery, people in the sunlight,
A party of handsome children eating lunch
And drinking chocolate milk, and a young woman
Whose t-shirt bears the defiant word WHATEVER,
And wrinkled folk with visored hats and cameras
Are vivid, they are not browned, not in the least,
But if they do not look like coffee they look
As pungent and startling as good strong coffee tastes,
Possibly mixed with chicory. And no cream