It’s Yom Kippur, and the plate dedicated
to you sits in the upper right corner
of each place setting of gold-trimmed
fine china and gold-rimmed tablecloth.
You have been stewing for hours, the flavors
of your chicken parts
melting in your American pot. You know
you’re a good batch when the meat
falls off the bone and beads of fat
glisten and bob like buoys on a sea of tomato sauce.
I know the onion and the ever-faithful
matzoh meal are in there somewhere,
spiced by the Jewish trifecta
ancestors. My aunt wrote out the recipe
her mother likely dictated to her,
probably taught to her by her mother
when chickens came from the yard
and the tomatoes came from
someone’s field or garden.
Chicken fricassee, you are humble
yet noble. You are steeped in tradition,
layered in generations. You
are the taste of the past.
to you sits in the upper right corner
of each place setting of gold-trimmed
fine china and gold-rimmed tablecloth.
You have been stewing for hours, the flavors
of your chicken parts
Wings
Feet
Gizzard
Pipik
and those quarter-sized meatballsmelting in your American pot. You know
you’re a good batch when the meat
falls off the bone and beads of fat
glisten and bob like buoys on a sea of tomato sauce.
I know the onion and the ever-faithful
matzoh meal are in there somewhere,
spiced by the Jewish trifecta
Paprika
onion powder
garlic powder
You owe your existence to my femaleancestors. My aunt wrote out the recipe
her mother likely dictated to her,
probably taught to her by her mother
when chickens came from the yard
and the tomatoes came from
someone’s field or garden.
Chicken fricassee, you are humble
yet noble. You are steeped in tradition,
layered in generations. You
are the taste of the past.
