This is the poem I’ve written for the Keats feast mentioned below. (Keats helped.)
Plump the Hazel Shell
A chop, junket, gingerbread, a pheasant or a partridge, cabbages, another bottle of claret, a hare, a dish of filberts, salt-fish, clotted cream, pippins, the wine of love, the bread of friendship, rum mixed with mountain water, a cup o’ tea, toddy, a ham, dirty bacon, dirtier eggs, dirtiest potatoes, oatcake, a pint of milk, two capital roastbeef sandwiches, radishes, buns and tarts, porridge, a grouse, a sugar plum, a great bit of apple dumpling, celery stalks, a woodcock, a poison fruit, barley sugar drops, ratafia cakes, ale, wine, cream, thin bread and butter, plenty of lobsters, pear, apricot, peach and melon, a piece of bride cake, ginger-beer, boil’d leg of mutton, jam and jellies, vegetable food, fish for dinner, a basket of grapes.
Talking of Pleasure, this moment I was writing with one hand, and with the other holding to my Mouth a Nectarine – how good how fine. It went down all pulpy, slushy, oozy, all its delicious embonpoint melted down my throat like a large, beautified Strawberry.
(The food mentioned by John Keats in the collection of letters to his family and friends edited by Sidney Colvin and first published in 1891.)
And this is me reading it.