Poem: Comfort Food

Under a bower of old pittosporum
at a once-grand Montecito estate,
thirty women under forty
gathered to discuss the state of the world.

As usual, it was grim.

Pain and suffering across the hemispheres.

Reproductive rights once again under siege.

Despite creature comforts,
extended educations,
successful climbs up success’s ladder,
they felt powerless. 

The conversation turned to brisket.

Each was convinced she
had the world’s best recipe.

The hostess, a former ballerina,
said she smothered her meat completely
with thin sliced onions and carrots
till not a glimpse of flesh remained.

Her toned arms flexed gracefully
under gauzy floral sleeves
thanks to genetics and a daily Pilates routine.

The TV executive,
who had once driven her Mercedes
through a closed garage door when the clicker malfunctioned,
swore by her French granny’s technique
of adding wine to beef and vegetables
in an old iron pot, or lacking that,
a new Le Creuset.

The CEO of a tech start-up
said she had no time to cook,
but chili sauce and Lipton’s onion soup
worked miracles and it was crazy
to spend money on a fancy pot
when you could get the same result
in a cheap enamel roasting pan from Amazon.

The yoga instructor swore
that extra-firm tofu was just as good
when baked with barbeque sauce
or mango chutney.

She had served it to carnivores
on many occasions and everyone
swore it was meat.

They all agreed the secret to brilliant brisket
was to cook it low and slow
with liquid in a covered pan,
and they would reconvene the following year
for a taste-off to see whose was the best.

Each would also bring her version
of the world’s best chocolate mousse.

Paula Rudnick is a former television writer and producer who has spent the past 30 years as a volunteer for nonprofit organizations. In the past several years, she has begun to write poetry — another nonprofit endeavor.