by Alison

Death weaves into leaves,

vines, branches and flowers, too.

All is crackling brown.

by Alison

my lungs feel opened

with fresh cold air from the hours

spent raking wet leaves

by Kelly

Few things are more Minnesotan than hotdish.

In fact, those of us who call the state home often take a perverse pride in hotdish culture. We praise hotdishes and wax nostalgic for them.

There is no better proof of this, perhaps, than Hotdish Haiku, a tiny little book filled with teeny little poems about the humble hotdish (and some hotdish recipes).

A whole host of authors, each with a Minnesota tie, contributed haiku to this collection. And the book was even put out by a homespun publisher, based — of course — in Minnesota.

If you’re not from Minnesota (or the Upper Midwest), you might be wondering right about now exactly what a hotdish is. Let me fill you in — a hotdish is a casserole.

It’s an entire meal in one dish. Usually rice, pasta or potatoes makes up the bottom layer. The starch (for that’s what rice, pasta and potatoes are) is mixed with a can of cream of mushroom soup, cream of chicken soup or cream of celery soup to add the moisture needed for it to cook.

Meat of nearly any kind comes next. I grew up with with hamburger hotdish, pork chop hotdish, chicken hotdish and turkey hotdish. Tuna hotdish is also popular.

The final layer could be comprised of any number of things. Shredded cheese is popular. So are tatter tots or bread crumbs or dry Lipton onion soup.

Generally speaking, hotdish isn’t something you’ll find people eating in the summer. It’s too dense and thick to be enjoyable when the humidity is high.

Instead, hotdish is something we break out once the leaves start to change. Come January, hotdishes hit an all-time peak in popularity. Hotdishes keep us warm and cozy (and cushioned with calories) once the temperature drops below zero. Hotdishes are also a staple of church potluck suppers.

So, now that we’re all on the same page about what a hotdish is, I feel I can move on to reviewing Hotdish Haiku.

According to the book’s introduction, hotdish and haiku share something in common.

When reading a haiku, for one brief moment, you stop and reflect on the nature of how the world works.

When digging into a hotdish, there is one brief moment, when the first bite reaches your mouth and the steamy aroma fills your nose and fogs your glasses, when you stop and sigh and reflect on the goodness at hand.

Both, claim the authors of Hotdish Haiku, encourage you to be in the moment.

As the winds have turned chilly here in Minnesota, I’ve noticed that I’ve been cooking up hotdishes in my kitchen. I’m averaging one a week right now and while Hubby usually claims to like them, I must admit that this Hotdish Haiku gave me pause:

Cans being opened

She always serves hotdish

Divorce will follow

– Pat Dennis

Hmmmm. Mayve I should cool it on the hotdish? But then again:

Ghost of old hotdish

Memories from a childhood

Glass dish with cover

–Sandra Thomas

Instead of putting a kabash on my current hotdish streak, I decided to start penning some Hotdish Haiku of my own. Here’s one I came up with after discussing the hotdish phenomenon with a friend over the phone:

Tater tot hotdish,

says my East Coast, Jewish friend,

What the f*** is that?

I’d love to hear some of your hotdish haiku! Let’s start a running list below!

by Alison

newbie homeowners

we forget to order oil -

warmth comes from cuddles

by Kelly

onions, celery, broth

sustaining, satisfying

chicken noodle soup

by Kelly

rainy sleety snow

ping-pings against our window –

late fall’s lullaby

by Kelly

all the plants are brown

except the bushy sedum —

robust cabernet

by Kelly

damn boxelder bugs

have infiltrated my home –

invasive species

by Kelly

the darkness always

shocks — it’s so hard to wake up,

get up, motivate

by Kelly

the bonfires of hell

do not crackle crimson like

this lone burning bush