--from the archives of The Broadkill Review
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José Andrés Travels in Spain Late night, I watch PBS through the static from my rabbit ears. José Andrés goes through Spain, tasting the finest pastries Hand-baked in a wood burning oven and sprinkled With powdered sugar. He takes a trip Through Catalonian wine country and samples Garnacha grapes from decade-old barrels On the estate of some noble family. José Andrés is a man going bald with a paunchy stomach. It seems he’s spent his life traveling and drinking. He knows much about pastries, deserts, and grapes, But I don’t think he knows wine. José Andrés drinks the glass That some other man places in front of him And always says it’s excellent. He doesn’t search For places to visit because producers pay vineyards and restaurants To bring him meals. Watching José Andrés makes me hungry And angry. The image of food on television doesn’t fill my stomach. I’m not the fat man in a club in Ibiza beside Half-dressed women at four in the morning. I haven’t Ambled through Cádiz down to the shore Hung-over after Carnival, but just a little. José Ramón Andrés Puerta, I’ll search out wine for myself, and there won’t be TV cameras. If I’m lucky, I’ll scuff my shoes, let ripped canvas have celebrity, Point to the bottom of the menu and say, “That. I want the bottle of that.”
Elijah Rene Mendoza is a graduate of Vanderbilt University and the University of California, Riverside. He has taught at Tarrant County College, Baylor University, and Texas Christian University. He enjoys formal poems, museums, and motorcycles.