I said I would put this in my blog so I could remember it.

This poem could also have been called, "Ode to the Red Onion."  During grad school we’d work long days in the woods, starting early and finishing at "half past dark."  We’d emerge from the woods hot, ravenous and muddy.

The Red Onion was my favorite place to refuel and rest.  It was civilized but not stuffy–nobody minded much our field gear, or  at least pretended that they didn’t.  The bathroom was the prettiest bathroom in East Texas (there were no such facilities of any kind in the woods!), a perfumed oasis adorned with silk flowers, delightfully clean.  After informing the waitress of our destination, we’d walk over to the buffet line, a gastronomical Shangri-La.  We’d laugh and dine on frahd okra, frahd fish, frahd hushpuppies, chicken frahd steak, and leave room for that chocolate goo at the end of the end of the line.  The buffet line included a small salad bar with a selection of non- and low-fat dressings.  What was the point? 

Good memories, those days in the woods and the rich dinners after.  Minus, maybe, the chiggers.

American Life in Poetry: Column 166

BY TED KOOSER, U.S. POET LAUREATE, 2004-2006

Texas poet R. S. Gwynn is a master of the light touch. Here he picks
up on Gerard Manley Hopkins’ sonnet "Pied Beauty," which many of you will remember from school, and offers us a picnic instead of a sermon. I hope you enjoy the feast!

Fried Beauty

Glory be to God for breaded things–
Catfish, steak finger, pork chop, chicken thigh,
Sliced green tomatoes, pots full to the brim
With french fries, fritters, life-float onion rings,
Hushpuppies, okra golden to the eye,
That in all oils, corn or canola, swim

Toward mastication’s maw (O molared mouth!);
Whatever browns, is dumped to drain and dry
On paper towels’ sleek translucent scrim,
These greasy, battered bounties of the South:
                      Eat them.