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The Gravy Train
Horrors. Something was amiss in the kitchen… the first few days of colony we were gravyless, desolate. Two roast dinners came and went without a drop to drown in. Nought but a few tears moistened my roast potatoes on Sunday, and we quietly despaired amongst ourselves in parched mutters. However, glad to say things have righted themselves since and our universe floats once more in its happy sea.
As fate would have it, when I was at the AWP conference last year I picked up a copy of Poetry International 9 (2005), which we’ve all been browsing and which – wouldn’t you know it – includes a recipe-like poem called Gravy, by Barbara Crooker, which tells us to:
Scrape off bits of skin, bits of meat; incorporate
them in the mixture, like a difficult uncle
or the lonely neighbor invited out of duty.Thus inspired, and still rejoicing after dinner, I reached for the gravy dish myself last night:
Gravy and More Gravy
Who’d want to live
in a world without gravy,
which makes all things
equal on the plate,
which gives potatoes
a smooth ride, which
comforts the meat
it came from…. -
Smoked Oysters
So. The poets (and prose writers and artists) gathered together last night at the writers and artists colony at St Peter’s Abbey admired the Fanny Bay smoked oyster dip (made from oysters I bought while last staying at The Cottage at Fanny Bay) and here is the recipe, which I tweaked as follows: instead of one tin of oysters, I used two. I added a dollop (couple of tablespoons) plain yogurt, a squeeze of lemon, a bit (half tsp) of minced lemon rind.
Instead of fresh, I used dried minced onion and dried parsley leaves, and as it sat for about an hour before we ate it, everything had time to soften up nicely I thought. It all seemed to go down equally well with french bread or chips.
I don’t think the Fanny Bay smoked oysters are as oily as other tinned commercial ones I’ve seen, so you might want to drain the oil off those if it looks like you’ll be swimming in it.
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In her latest collection, Rhona McAdam navigates the dark places of human movement through the earth and the exquisite intricacies lingering in backyard gardens and farmlands populated by insects and pollinators, all the while returning to the body, to the tune of staccato beats and the newly discovered symmetries within the human heart.
“…A beautiful, filling collection, Larder is a set of poems to read at the change of the seasons, to appreciate alongside a good meal, and to remind yourself of the beauty in everything, even the things you may not appreciate before opening McAdam’s collection….”
Rhona McAdam is a writer, poet, editor, and Registered Holistic Nutritionist with a Master’s in Food Culture from Italy and a deep-rooted passion for ecology and urban agriculture. Her work spans corporate and technical writing to poetry and creative nonfiction, often exploring the vital links between what we eat and how we live. Based in Victoria, BC, and available via Zoom, Rhona is always open to new writing commissions, readings, or workshops on nutrition and the culinary arts.
