Wednesday, May 15, 2013

A poem

I found this poem here.
(I found this cute picture online)

In grandmamma's kitchen, things got in a riot.
The cream in a pot on the shelf,
Where everything always seemed peaceful and quiet,
Got whipped, for I heard it myself.
And grandmamma said. such a queer thing to say,
That it made some things better to whip them that way.

Some bold naughty eggs that refused to be eaten,
On toast with their brothers may be,
Were stripped of their clothing and cruelly beaten
Right where all the dishes could see.
And grandmamma said though the poor things might ache,
The harder the beating, the lighter the cake.

The bright golden butter was petted and patted
And coaxed to be shapely and good.
But it finally had to be taken and spatted
Right hard with a paddle of wood.
When grandmamma carrid the round balls away,
The buttermilk sulked and looked sour all day.

The water declared that the coffee was muddy,
But an egg settled that little fuss.
Then the steak and the gridiron got in a bloody
And terrible broil!  Such a muss!
And a flat-iron spat at grandmamma in the face,
And I ran away from the quarrelsome place.

~~~~~~

In Grandmamma's Kitchen 
~Ella Wheeler Wilcox~

8 comments:

  1. Cute poem, Denise.... My grandmothers were all dead before I was born --but my mother was an excellent cook --and her kitchen was always a busy place!!!!! She did alot of patting, beating, churning, etc.... ha

    Hugs,
    Betsy

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  2. Thank you for taking us back to quieter? times Denise.
    Funny how times have changed, When i was young before all the fancy kitchen gadgets, we beat egg whites with a fork and cream with a spoon, we rubbed butter by hand into our scone dough and made our own puff pastry. Now people use mix-masters to beat and stir and make dough. The machines don't make the cakes any lighter but they do build up the stack of washing up and make one hell of a racket as well, and ready made pastry never does taste quite real.
    When my husband went into the nursing home, I packed up all the electrical labour 'saving' devices and banished them to the back of a dark cupboard.
    Peace and simplicity once more reigns in my kitchen and I save a lot of electricity and water at the same time and I can enjoy thoughtful slow cooking once more.

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  3. Darling poem! Definitely different! :-) And sweet photo.

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  4. Big smile. So many culinary terms are on the violent side. Torture even.

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  5. Cute poem and photo, Denise! Have a happy day!

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  6. Ah gone are the days! Nice poem, I almost feel sorry for the eggs... smiles.

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  7. Adorable post dear Denise, thanks for sharing this poem!
    Léia

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  8. Belated mother's day to you! But to me, Mother's Day is every day, (my excuse :-)

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