I am from Quinoa,
from fields of golden grains,
and the Lake Titicaca,
I am from a burnt iron skillet,
multipurpose and treasured,
steeped in family history.
Sizzling, crackling, memories come alive.
Stanza 2
From the Lake Titicaca tales,
From my Italian grandmother,
and my mother Rosa’s guiding wisdom,
From lavender oil,
and wild flossflower.
Stanza 3
I am from the wooden mortar,
grinding and blending,
creating aromatic spice mixes,
embedded with the scent of rosemary,
and the scent of thyme.
Hello, I’m Belen, and I enrolled in LAST315 because I have a great interest in the different aspects of food. From its cultural significance to its impact on health and the environment. I believe that understanding the intricate connections is not only enriching but also essential in today’s globalized world. This semester, I’m excited to delve into the diverse dimensions of food. I look forward to gaining new insights and sharing my own perspectives.
Hello Belen, I love how your poem crosses from grains to spices and herbs. I do not think of spices and herbs as major foods when compared to meats, vegetables, fruits, etc. But, I use plenty of spices whenever I cook, so your poem definitely made me stop to reconsider how important they are for food and foodways. I also love your description of the way that ingredients mix together to create wonderful scents, and I could imagine the flavorful aromas you describe being created.
I’m with David! Lavender, rosemary, thyme… your poem is beautifully fragrant! I really appreciate the nostalgia of stanza two–the way the sounds of cooking rekindle memories. It’s a poignant use of synesthesia. Thanks for sharing this lovely piece, Belen! I’m glad things worked out and you could rejoin the class 🙂
Hello Belen! I loved your second paragraph about the skillet, the imagery was so beautiful! I’m exited to hear about all your perspectives on food ways and to get to know you better!
See you in class!
Sofia
Hi Belen!
I love your poem, it brought me back to the times when my grandma and I collected spices to cook together. I agree with Tamara and David, all the references to the spices make your poem fragrant.. It is almost as if I can smell them!
I also really enjoyed reading about the burnt iron skillet, how it symbolizes passing down the traditions in your family, and how it is jealously treasured because of this.