Sauces, spices. They can bring
The bland alive or render
It inedible, painful,
Masochistic exercise
In torturous digestion.
They’re used in so many ways.
Sometimes they’re baked as a crust,
Lines of names layered on top,
As Frank O’Hara kicks off
His Having a Coke with You.
Sometimes they’re worked through the whole
Or sprinkled, whimsically,
Pale Ramon, as Stevens loved.
Sometimes they just pepper you,
As in Karthika Naïr’s
Piece, Remaindering: Habits,
So that you expect questions
To be asked while you tear up
Like a celebrity guest
In a Hot Ones episode.
One proper noun can jolt you
Awake, but swallow enough
And you begin to suspect
Either they’re meant to show off
The worldly tastes of the cook,
Or they’re covering something,
As in the hypothesis
Spices disguise the rancid
And the rotten in this dish.
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