Anti-epic poems

Wars, calamity, ships a-sailin', Trojan horses, Grendel's mom, songs of yourself, cyclopses, burning cities, swords.

Ho-hum.

Don't get me wrong. Big poems on big themes are wonderful. But sometimes don't you just have a taste for a poem about something very small? Like a twig? A freckle? Or a cat's paw? How about an atom?

A fellow student just turned me on to these great atom-themed poems by Margaret Cavendish (1623-1673):

The Weight of Atomes If Atomes are as small, as small can bee, They must in quantity of Matter all agree: And if consisting Matter of the same (be right,) Then every Atome must weigh just alike. Thus Quantity, Quality and Weight, all Together meets in every Atome small.

What Atomes Make a Dropsie

WHen Atomes round do meet, joyne in one Ball,
Then they swell high, and grow Hydropicall.
Thus joyning they come strong, so powerfull grow,
All other Atomes they do overflow.

The joyning of severall Figur'd Atomes make other Figures.

Severall Figur'd Atomes well agreeing,
When joyn'd, do give another Figure being.
For as those Figures joyned, severall waies,
The Fabrick of each severall Creature raise.

Smokin’ Tomato Sauce

Justin is a cautious, yet deliberate cook. On the rare occasion that he makes dinner, all the clocks seem to grind to a halt as he measures and slices, tests and adds. Since I do most of the cooking, I have become very proficient in the quick meal. When I’m making something to eat, especially if it’s just for me, salad greens fly every which way, a pan of olive oil is invariably sputtering in the background, anticipating the burst and pop of a handful of mushrooms. One of the cats is likely dashing around the house, batting at a wayward green bean or redskin potato, while the other is lapping noisily from the faucet, baptizing the dirty dishes with water. I actually like the chaos and rush. I also do love to slow cook, but I know the difference between a weekday meal and a weekend one. Under pressure, I can whip up a breakfast burrito in four minutes flat and throw together a salad in seven (including homemade tahini dressing). Then again, on a Saturday, I like to shove my books off the counter and happily spend an hour slowly nestling layers of lasagna into a baking dish, listening to whatever happens to be wafting from NPR.

The other night I got home from my class and discovered Justin standing over the stove quietly stirring a pot of tomato sauce. He takes himself very seriously when he cooks and won’t abide uninvited sampling or cheerfulness. If I’m too upbeat or happen to burst into song--perhaps an innocent line or two from a Beyonce song that was blaring at gym that morning?—heaven help me, he narrows his eyes and returns to the slow, maestro-like work of stirring. Well, the other night, I took off my coat and threw down my bag, and he condescended to offer me a bite. The spoonful of tomato sauce looked like any ordinary marinara, but I was startled to discover one of the tastiest red sauces I’ve encountered in a long time—and that includes the sauces at Roberto’s, Frank, Palma, and some of the other beloved Italian restaurants in the city.

I managed to convince him to reveal the recipe. I think I'll call it...

Belgian Red Sauce (Come on, isn’t that better than “Flemish Sauce"?)

28 oz can Italian Style Peeled Plum Shaped Tomatoes in Juice (We love Tuttorosso brand)
good olive oil
sea salt
3 cloves garlic
1/2 tsp. truffle oil
1/4 cup sweet vermouth (or other white wine)
handful of yellow foot (or other variety) mushrooms

Add olive oil, tomatoes, garlic and salt to a medium heat saucepan. Cut tomatoes with a spoon or kitchen scissors into small chunks. Simmer for a few minutes and add truffle oil and vermouth. In a separate medium heat pan, warm olive olive oil and add mushrooms, stirring occasionally until they release any liquid (the amount will depend on the variety of mushroom). Salt and cook until lightly browned, but not crispy. Stir mushrooms into tomato sauce and simmer for a while, until sauce has a pleasant, even consistency.