Yeah, it's Dad

There was some great haiku last week, but nothing hit home quite like my dad's:

Just after broomball
Some white bread and a steaming
bowl of hot chili.

For some 20 years, on and off, I played broomball with my dad and a bunch of other guys (including Sleepy Walleye) on a frozen lake near Detroit.  It is a ridiculous game-- running around with brooms on the ice-- but sure built up an appetite. The Medievalist offered a Minnesota version:

After shoveling
Snow, never-ending sidewalk,
Steaming Spam hotdish.

MKS had another Minnesota variant:

Winter comfort food:
Meatballs with mushroom gravy
On mashed potatoes.

Of course, that is kinda limited to the experience of a certain group of people living here in the north. For others, you might relate more to the poetry of the Waco Friend:

Kielbasa stew!
Sausage, squash, zucchini, corn
tomatoes, onion.

Served with homemade
cornbread, mother's recipe
warmly fills tummies!

Finally, Renee gave us a poem/recipe (a beautiful thing!):

Allspice lifted it
Ambrosial,boulders of beef
Swam with potatoes

Celery,carrots,
Onion boldly gilded the
Broth.Succulent clouds

Of Spatzli,treasure
To discover in the blessed
Bowl. It cooked all day.