Why stew when I can
Make sauce instead?
In the kitchen,
There is no room for eyes misting
Over anything but onions
Which I chop with shocking brutality.
Other alliums are similarly savaged
With the heavy knife handle.
Having been stripped of their skins,
They huddle naked on the cutting board, ready to walk the plank.
I throw in profusion, handfuls of coarse salt, choke of bay leaves,
Cheap and bitter red wine
That is more for the benefit of the cook,
And naturally, enough tomatoes to resemble a trough of raw red heart
Which I will cook down for no less than ten hours
Until it is molten sweet
And ready to be served to one
Who will thank me
For cooking this sauce
With so much love.