An Ode

What vain verbalization, what divine appreciation
could do justice, could express
this great love which swells my breast?

For though no connoisseur, no expert to be sure
I am yet quick and able
when it comes to the dinner table.

No stranger to curries, chuño, or clams
having feasted on hummus, hoagies, and hams
I had thought, what error! what horror! what defeat!
for this world had nothing, just nothing left to eat!

Thus had my experience not inconsiderable left me a craving that seemed quite incurable.
And so in poor spirits, dejected, unstable!
did I, lamenting, sink down to the table.

Past each appetizer I chewed with a grimace
and on to the soups and a salad with spinach.
But then with a chorus of angels celestial, or was it a growling of something more bestial?
did that platter descend, the vessel awaited
at which I sat back, my breath quite abated.

I heard not a word, in profound contemplation
of the wondrous! the stunning! olfactory sensation.
Quite miraculous as health restored to a leper
'here you are sir' she said, 'parmesan? fresh ground pepper?'

But this was too much! What more could one add?
do a dish so adorned, so handsomely clad!
Let down from on high, I was sure it had been
prepared there by angels and yes even Him.

But wait, what was this? a devilish hiss?
for there lay a trap, a spice ill concealed!
There were peppers! hot chilies some demon might wield!
did my plate then arise to tempt and tantalize?

How slowly passed the time, what anguish in my heart!
as I reached out for my fork, and lifted it, to start!

The tines passed with ease, as the most delicate of cheese
that whitest, moistest flesh and the pasta oh so fresh.
But as I raised the morsel, what discovery! what bliss!
as I chanced to behold the tomatoes bright and crisp!

And as it reached my mouth, well words fail me, I admit.
For language, so prosaic! I am forced here to omit,
it has no place, it lacks proportion, so austere when it is writ!

Can I compare the flare of spice to fireworks? to burning ember?
Or soft warmth of fish to summer days? to sun drenched sea? a kiss so tender?
The crunch of tomato, the crackle of spinach
and before I realized, I had quite finished.

The garlic yet lingered, light in the air
the sting of jalapeno quite potently there
the pasta all gone now, the sauces quite scant
to convey the experience, I'm sorry, I just can't

I'm sorry to say, but it will have to suffice
that try it you must, it's really quite nice!
And so hope restored! I went on my way
singing, ecstatic, oh what a day!

An Ode:
- Jalapeno Garlic Tilapia
At Carino's Italian