Just enjoyed my first home-grown mater of the season and decided to share a piece I penned several years back, but is still very much applicable today: Juneteenth By Bill Patrick Juneteenth. Not the holiday, but some nebulous day in late June. When the pommes de’ l’amour are prime for the plucking. Always Things happen in threes. Butchered for breakfast. That rich, bright-red, Early Bird, Drenched with pre-dawn dew, Beginning to warm in the early morning sun. Gorged right in the garden just as nature intended, Dripping down the front of your shirt. Sans salt, sans pepper, sans guilt. Devoured for dinner. That newly ripened Best Boy, Skinned and sliced thick, Slapped between two hunks of bread, Slathered with mayo, salted and peppered; consumed— Dripping down into the sink— With the gusto of a hound dog. Scarfed for supper. That prized Beefsteak, fully five-inches across, A thick slab, cooled in the fridge, Beguiled atop Boston Bibb and a wheel of Vidalia; Maple-smoked bacon, thick and pungent, Dripping all over your hands as you Cram it between two slices of toast. Ambrosia, fit for the gods . . . . . . . . . and the people!
Posted on: Tue, 08 Jul 2014 23:42:28 +0000
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