Manorama Gotur

Spice of Life

To those
Who choose
To Cooking find
A daily grind
And dreary chore
That they abhor,
I feel the urge—
Indeed a surge—
Within my soul
To make them whole,
To set them straight,
If not berate,
(Albeit gently);
So vehemently
Do I feel,
And to them appeal,
To ope their eyes
To prize that lies
In this mere thing
We call Cooking.
For when I cook
I will not brook
A label plain;
I higher aim,
For product great:
Yes, to “create”
A work divine,
Off’ring so fine
That heav’n and earth
Cry “who gave birth
To this edible prize?”
Amid audible sighs!
And when I bake
I see earth shake,
So darkly enticing’s
The decadent icing
I sweep in wide swirls
’round volcanic whirls
Of chocolate creation,
Now whirled-wide sensation.
Make no mistake:
When you broil or bake,
When you douse or dice,
When you slice or spice,
When you spoon or stir
When you fix or mix
A meal—or oatmeal
(No matter the deal),
It’s how you feel
That creates appeal:
For what is cook if not magician,
Gourmet technician,
Chef extraordinaire,
Dessertician with flair,
Great menupulator,
Second Creator?
I hope my case
You embrace fully;
Till then, mon ami,
Bon appetit!

Manorama Gotur was born in Bombay, India and at a young age moved to the United States. After an initial career in finance, she has worked for many years on global development issues, including education. Her interests include music, photography, and education in human values. This poem is from her first book, A Rangoli of Rhymes, which was released on August 29, 2014 and features poems and photographs.