Food

Poem 994 – Tonight’s Curry

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I only put two teaspoons in,
A touch, a taste, no more,
And yet it blew our eye balls out,
They rolled along the floor.

The steam began to freely stream,
Out of our reddening ears,
Our hair stood up, alert and straight,
Our cheeks flowed with our tears.

A silent scream began to grow,
In brewing, roaring strength,
And from our mouths fierce anger poured,
A flaming dragon’s breath.

The mounting pressure grew and grew,
Alarms began to sound,
The panic overwhelming, shrill,
Causing our heads to pound

Until at last in desperation,
We ran to find the sink,
And wrapped our mouths around the taps,
And started to urgently drink!

I may have over estimated the amount of curry sauce required…
(05.09.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by LOLA AZIZADA on Unsplash

Poem 982 – Za Za’s Bazaar

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Senses are assaulted by the noise
and colour in this street of food.
It seems as if a thousand tongues resound
around us along with colour, scent and sound.
A flash of flame elicits gaps of joy
as frying noodles are skillfully tossed for show.
Children pile their plates with beige while adults
are tempted to test their pallets with something new.
Somewhere Za Za must be happy watching
customers in his raucous world of food.

Enjoyed a stunning lunch at Za Za’s Bazaar today.
(24.08.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 977 – Contentment

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Sat in the back of a foodbank van, the sun
is beating on my face. Right now this is
a happy place. I note the irony.

I tell myself it doesn’t matter what
you have, that things don’t fill a soul or make
you whole. That’s easy to say when you have things.

I have things. Too many things it’s true.
So many things I freely throw them in
the dump. That’s not a boast but a confession.

Once, a wise man found the secret of
contentment in plenty and in debt. Perhaps
I need to find it. …But maybe not just yet.

Musings whilst sitting on the back of the foodbank van today…
(19.08.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Autotrader UK on Unsplash

Poem 854 – Reynard’s Feast

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Reynard appears from behind a car, a mystery
carcass dangling from salivating jaws.
He pauses eyeing us with wary wondering
eyes. Are we a threat? Should he withdraw?

Our curious eyes return his look, where did
his meal come from? No doubt he stole it in
the veiling dark: embolded burglary from
a plate, or salvage from an upturned bin?

We read each others questioning looks and stay
awhile until resolved we walk away.

A dusk encounter in an evening stroll.
(17.04.26)

© Ben Quant 2026
Photo by Tim ten Cate on Unsplash

Poem 761 – The Cultural Pot

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The circling critics mass with clicking keys,
headlines angrily declaring that,
the multicultural culinary dish is dead.
They clearly haven’t tried our bubble and squeak.

Today a Brit, a Turk and a Kuwaiti worked
together, serving food to English neighbours.
Their dishes? Cuisine cooked from diverse cultures,
a blend of ingredients derived from different nations.

And as they did they shared from a common pot
of love and conversation. Send them home?
If we did, we’d find we’re left with silence, vacant
plates and empty hearts; a menu of empty lines.

I had a lovely afternoon today working at our foodbank with two volunteers both of whom have come from our Conversation Cafe for those who speak English and a second language.
(14.01.26)

© Ben Quant 2026

Poem 643 – Three Sandwiches

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A Bacon Sandwich:
Two slices of bread with meat in between,
The perfect blend (forgive me veggies),
Both perfectly complementing each other.

A Marken Sandwich:
Two gospel stories intertwined,
The second tucked inside the first,
Giving meaning to each other.

A Human Sandwich:
The symbiotic network
That comes from living in community,
Identify found in relation to each other.

We’re looking at Mark’s Gospel at church and how he structures his narrative to communicate to us. Tonight we talked about the Marken Sandwich.
(18.09.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by amirali mirhashemian on Unsplash

Poem 518 – Boundary Market

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A cacophony of smells assaults me,
seducing me with savoury scents.
Fresh cheeses pair with delicate herbs,
sitting by artisan breads and rolls.
Pies with flavours strange and familiar,
entice in rows of crisp gold cases.
Strawberries sell by cups or punnet,
(chocolate sauce is optional).
A brazen rainbow envelops me,
its racks of exotic, colourful fruits
transport me to a foreign land.
Within these streets life is compressed,
our bodies densely stirred together,
a heady cocktail of taste and language.

We were in London today for a show at The Globe today. Arriving early we wandered over to Borough Market, a first time for me.
(17.05.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Taylor Keeran on Unsplash

Poem 354 – Bread and Cheese

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You brought bread and cheese you’d made.
We sat and ate and talked about
ourselves around this simple feast.
And as we ate we opened up
about our differences. We talked
about our cultures, tastes and dreams,
the things that make us us, and learnt.
Somehow, this daily act brought us
together, across the miles that lay
between us; it made us one. I wonder
why it sometimes seems so hard,
when all it takes is bread and cheese.

On Fridays we run our Conversation Cafe at church for people with English as a second language. It is a big highlight each week.
(15.11.24)

© Ben Quant 2024
Photo by Alla Hetman on Unsplash