[Jim Moonan]

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Bring forth your menu of culinary poetry. Fill us with your gustatory fantasies. Freshtival ain't got nothin on Foodfest : )

There is not a chance in heaven or hell that this is anywhere near finished, but I'll start things off with this:


White Clam Pizza Dreaming

In New Haven, Connecticut there is a pizzeria that makes the best white clam pizza in the world. I have proof.


Being there, tucked inside the dark green
high-backed vinyl upholstered booth numbered “9”
time slowed to the sound of banter commingling
with the smell of garlic and a coal-fired oven.
Heaven filled the air. I would ensconce myself in it...

...Today my kitchen invokes the ethereal memory
and heaven calls to me. I have everything
I need to create the gustatorial alchemy:
Fresh ball of dough, alive, rising
stretched out to skin with a rim of chub
Chopped canned clams
Anchovies and capers
Parmesan Reggiano
Olive oil infused with garlic
Oregano-dusted
Pepper pepper pepper salt.

Hot stone slab radiating
in a 500-degree oven.
My age-charred peel slips the offering in.
The vigil begins. Hope and dreams
have ferocious appetites when combined.
Alexa says it's done.
I peel it out and place it on brown paper,
dissecting the imperfect circle
into imperfect triangles.
Steam escapes, rises.
Heaven arrives in threes.



...But you can do better than that : ) Pull up a chair. Dig in.



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