When the Palate Speaks

In Greece I patronized cafes
they said their coffee was the best, 
they’d put one next to my entrees
to sample as their foreign guest— 
‘twas smoky, gritty, super sweet
and cooled too fast in tiny cups,
I didn’t say, they’d not believe
I’d rather have my giant mugs
be filled to brims with Dunkin’ swill 
and then befouled with too much cream 
to pat my tummy overfilled
and exhale clouds of coffee steam.

I think sometimes the palette says 
enough! I now know what I like-–
so no new gustatory threats
from gastro pubs with nouveau bites.

When in New England for a time
I prompted ire to suggest
that store-bought maple syrup’s my 
first breakfast choice—won’t acquiesce 
to haughty east coast claims that you 
must have Vermont’s elixir dream,
the syrup they insist you choose
is tapped from perfect forest scenes
with crunchy snow and birds above— 
traditions held in families since
they told their kin “It’s this we love
and not that fake and low-rent spin
on our pure draught the rubes have made”, 
but see I come from Illinois
a corn-fed hick like you’ve portrayed 
where thick corn syrup is our ploy
to jack up east coast maple’s faint
elitist flavor, now you see
sophisticated I just ain’t
‘cause I like what I like–agreed?

I think sometimes the palette says 
experimenting has to end—
give us this day our daily bread
our taste buds now need no new friends.

Stephen Jordan was born and raised in the Midwest, the son of Colombian and Serbian immigrant parents. He has taught high school English for over twenty years, taking occasional leaves of absence to live and work in South America, East Africa, and the UK.