To my mind
the greatest treasures
the Europeans found
in the New World
were not gold, silver,
copper, or precious stones, 
wonderful as they are, 
but the native foods
they married to their own cuisines.

Riches of my beloved 
Hemisphere, I celebrate you;
you are native to me, too.
I have grown and thrived on you.
You have satisfied my hunger,
given me energy and health,
awakened in me
longings for your melded flavors.
I crave, and I eat, 
and you satiate me.

At the basis of the diet,
the “three sisters” –
corn, beans, squash –
dried or ground into meal,
roasted or boiled,
made into soups or stews:
the seeds, kernels, and beans
spill out of the cornucopia,
millions and millions adding up.

Starchy, substantial
yams and potatoes,
luscious tomatoes,
varieties of peppers
for spice and fire,
who doesn’t go a day
without one of them,
but loves above all
the divine dark 
brown bitter nibs
of theobroma cacao –
drink of the gods.

One snowy January 
Sunday morning
after the museum,
I stopped at Fauchon’s 
on Madison Avenue.
A boy and his father
sat next to me at the bar.
We ordered two hot chocolates;
in the thermos was not
enough for one cup,
 which the bartender 
split between us.
“It’s not prepared here.
Each morning we get 
three full thermoses 
a lady makes for us
from her special recipe.
We’re at the end of it now;
I’ll let you have what’s left.”

He handed me and the boy
large delicate cups
of thin white bone china
each a third full of a liquid 
so thick and luxurious
it was the essence of chocolate.
The wonderful aroma
crept up our nostrils;
we each spooned a drop 
on our tongues,
tasting in silence,
while the bartender waited
with the boy’s father.
Speechless, we tasted again;
it was as if we were dissolved 
in this substance we ingested;
it had to be savored drop by drop;
if we tried to gulp it down
we would choke on it,
but just a small amount, 
and we were rejuvenated.

We eyed ourselves 
in the opposite mirror.
The boy looked at me
and spoke for us both
“I feel so chocolate-y,”
he announced definitively.

Pt. Reyes, California
			
Sweetwater oysters grilled in their juices,
hot sauce and sourdough bread,
and raw oysters trembling in the shell,
piquant with lemon, consumed in a swallow.

Mushrooms simmered in a brown sauce,
wild rice and salad greens, olives, oranges, 
and wine—those virtuous transplants—
and tender cheeses, shaped lovingly by hand.