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Behold! Some moons ago, we were at ease,
When worthy work was thin upon this ground.
My matchless friends, each one a paragon,
Were hosted in Stark Tower to the last.
The Man of Iron gracious guest-right gave,
And never would let provender deplete,
For even in his most forgetful hour,
His chamberlain, a marvel and a friend,
That most magnificent of wit and jest,
Factotum and attendant to Stark's will,
Perfect amanuensis and right hand--
That seer and fulfiller of all need,
The great and loyal JARVIS, would provide.
And yet! It is a pleasure and a joy
To forage and attain fare for oneself,
As even with an interview in depth,
One cannot fully say what is to taste,
Especially when faring far from home.
And so, to sample what is to be had
Among the fine Midgardian repasts,
I undertook the goal of forging forth
To satisfy provision of our horde.
Of course, I did not set out sans advice,
For JARVIS is as sage, and less obscure,
Than thoughtful Huginn and wise Muninn are.
I asked of JARVIS whither I should go,
In order to return with meat enough
For all our comrades' feasting for a time.
His answer pleased me much, for it was near,
And sounded well to me, the Whole of Food.
What could there be, if it were to be had,
That would not be among the Whole of Food?
I cast the ordered streets forth in my mind:
A short block north on Park, to westward five,
A stroll along the edge of verdant green,
That haven in Manhattan's busy heart,
Until its westward corner came in sight,
And then around a pavement circle wide,
Columbus it is named. There, I arrived!
The Whole of Food was now within my grasp!
Accustomed as I am to public life,
I smiled and acquiesced to be engaged
By half the populace, or so it seemed,
In portraiture and greetings far afield.
A tiny child was most insistent then,
That I should prove my valor to the crowd,
And so I happily gave my consent
To try with her upon the pavement bare,
In contest of our strengths, a friendly bout.
So let her name be sung in every age,
The mighty Faizah threw me easily,
Victoriously chuckling in her mirth.
Once I conceded, gladly, to her win,
I heard a great demand from all the throng
To honor other calls for trial fights,
But I had come upon a mission bold,
And let all know, as I announced aloud,
That I could only manage one more foe
Before I passed the threshold of the store.
The worthiest was chosen from the host,
Another great opponent, flush with zeal,
This one a tiny boy in robes of rose.
As forward he advanced, he whisper'd soft
That he would rather fly than fight a round,
And though my destination was in sight,
And I had left great Mjölnir safe at home,
I could not be so miserly a churl
As to refuse his wishes for the sky.
And so, I held my hand out in the call,
And all the crowd grew quieter and still--
I secretly conferred, upon the wait,
With this rose-robéd boy's great guardian
To gain his son's permission for a flight,
For I would give no parent cause to fear.
And lo! My hammer came upon us quick,
And quick was I to set the boy astride
My shirted shoulders, jump, and take the sky.
And what a ride! He laughed till fit to burst,
Though never did I rise above the roof,
His joy was so infectious, none could help
But join him in his shrieks of happiness.
Our flight complete, I gently set him down,
And gave his beaming parent my best smile,
And threaded Mjölnir through my jeans' back loop,
And as the crowd dispersed, turned to the doors,
Which opened wide before me. I strode in.
But O, the Whole of Food, within its gates!
No longer set a limit on its hold,
For other stuffs than food were stockpiled there.
A vast array of luxuries and bliss
Awaited any traveler to see.
Wide rows of shelves, great piles and pallets full,
Enough to feast a war-band's night return,
This fine Midgardian emporium
Enraptured my Asgardian excess.
A corner and a row merely for bread,
For pastry and its fine delicate art,
The Bakery ensnared, enraptured me.
A swathe of heavy-laden cases passed,
And I could only turn and smile again,
For here was such variety of ale,
And lager, beer of every shade and pale,
That even I perhaps would be assuaged,
Despite my taste for stronger drinks from home.
And here, a row of drinks in every taste
That could be bottled into sparkling glass!
Not only ale and beer, but soda here,
In colors so bizarre to look upon
That I could scarce imagine what a taste
They might ensue, consumed by mortal tongue.
Another corner took me by surprise,
And lo! There were a multitude of jars,
All full of every kind of grain and flour!
A storeroom worthy of my mother's eye,
(That chatelaine of Asgard's highest feasts),
And delicacies I had never known,
In head-high ranks extending to the doors.
A wall of beans! A wall of cereals!
Another wall for nuts, in mix or plain.
A row of seeds, each jar with label clear.
A tiny station-mill, where one could grind
A nut of one's selection to a paste.
And yet another row, this of dried fruit!
And what a fine assortment found I there.
The store attendants kindly did oblige,
And led me through a tasting fit for kings,
As half these fruits I had no knowledge of.
The apple of tart pine, the mango sweet,
Each dried and clean, consumed with neat aplomb;
The strange papaya flesh, banana chips,
The kiwi in its puckered state of grace,
The sulfured apricot, the noble fig,
The candied ginger, succulent and gold--
And these were only those I tasted plain!
The raisins in their white delicious coats,
Attending on the pretzels' common theme,
Did justice to their neighbors, coffee beans
That boasted coats of chocolate for themselves.
On, jar by jar, advancing through the row,
I tasted of the bounty of the Earth,
Until I reached the turning of the aisle.
The paradisical expanse went on,
This time an endless wall of candied sweets,
A bounty such as I had never seen.
Confections came in every rainbow hue,
Competing for the eye as though the tongue
Itself could taste the colors here displayed.
They came in flavors never to be found
In any other food upon the Earth!
Indeed, there was a taste encountered there
Reminded me of childhood, early spring,
When flow'rs of Asgard spread a sweet perfume:
This fresh, light-orange concoction made me think,
Though for a moment, I was home again.
I turned another corner, chasing scent:
Along the wall, a smaller set of jars,
These ones with precious spices brimming full.
The names of these were stranger to my ear,
But not a one displeasing to the nose!
It made me think of networks vast and deep,
The trade routes of the Nine Realms, merchants' paths,
The distances these spices might have come
In times when travel was a greater feat.
The marvels of the next row were as wide,
For here came pots, jars, boxes, bags and bowls,
And all to do with steeping, steam, and tea!
This method of concoction seems to me
Mysterious as father's wisdom deep,
For though an essence of a leaf be great,
The difference can be slight between each kind,
And subtlety is not my strongest suit.
And yet! Such bounty, every kind of leaf
Or fruit or spice that haply may combine
Into a pleasing odor in a steam
To drink withal in ancient ritual.
Reluctantly, I left the fragrant aisle
Wherein the spices, teas and coffees lay,
And turned again upon a new array,
Now utterly apart from food or drink,
This aisle devoted to the care of hair.
Still aromatic was the air of this,
The row to find one's soap, shampoo, and balm,
And I was hypnotized a moment on,
For here were tiny bottles of fine oil,
Each of the essence of some fragrant tree,
And I could not resist the liniment.
I picked and chose the scents which suited me,
A highly entertaining form of choice,
And took a dozen bottles of shampoo,
For though it well befits a warrior
To oil his hair in times of martial need,
At peace there is no reason for such art,
And cleanliness is better mannerly,
As well as better pleasance for one's self.
Upon a vendor's questions, I admit,
I had no knowledge of conditioner,
And so I added some into the pile,
As well as lotions for my drying skin,
For each was such a satisfying scent,
And Mjölnir and my thunder much allow
Despite the rain, my skin to weather dry
Upon the discharge of my lightning bolt.
Much pleased, I traveled further down the row,
And came upon another gallant feast,
This time of diverse cheeses piled high,
With hawkers touting each variety.
I tried more cheeses than I've ever known,
And each was more enchanting than the last:
Soft sheep's cheese, paired with citrus ever sharp,
A goat cheese which reminded me of home,
Though not as great a miracle as that
Which Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr performed.
There were a myriad of cheeses left,
Besides those sheep and goat I did relate:
There were a hundred variations yet,
Of different bovine cheese from far-off lands,
Each named for its own place, a cave or town,
Where it was first produced in quantity.
And each suggested pairings with a wine,
Of which it greatly pleased me each to taste:
Before long, I was happy to a fault,
And left the fragile aisle for sturdier.
A chill surrounded me, as I looked on:
The butchery stood here before my eyes.
I greatly had desired to try each meat
That Midgard had to offer, one by one,
And here an opportunity arose!
Cured pork of every kind, sausages plump,
A kind of beef shaved thin to see right through,
A preparation curious to me.
I saw no goat or horse upon request,
Though quite ingenious substitutes made do.
There too was poultry, no feather in sight,
As every bird was plucked completely bald,
And most into constituents sliced through.
I saw none larger than a swan, although
I'm told that Midgard boasts a giant bird,
Conserved perhaps for beauty, not for meat.
Upon the aisle next over, colder still,
A feast of eggs and dairy did obtain,
For here were cold stores for their keeping long.
Upon my question, I was told the eggs
Were all of chickens' get, which seemed a shame,
Though different sizes could be had in crates.
The panoply of milks and yoghurts there
Was near enough to flummox me, for each
Was labeled for its contents differently!
The milkfat came in various percents,
While standing next to butter on the shelf,
Of which I took a generous amount
To add into my meals prepared at home,
For I prefer far more than many there.
It was a wonder, all the different kinds,
With salt, without, and made from other milks,
And from some substance never milk at all,
But made by some dark process I knew not;
And none in Asgard yet had thought to use
So many flavors in a yoghurt spread.
No sooner did my mind divert afield,
Then there behind me stood a row of jars
Devoted just to spreading on one's bread:
There, jams, fruits, jellies, butters, dark preserves
Of every kind of berry, nut, or fruit
With which one could imagine spreading bread,
Awaited my consumption on some day.
For I have known a delicacy sweet,
First given me by Stark, the gracious host,
Which even now transports my mind in full:
That Popping Tart, which toasts so short a time
To bring exquisite pleasure in the taste.
The jelly in the pastry of each tart
Is, though delicious, not of quality,
And I would try my hand at better kinds.
I called for aid, for though my strength is great,
I cannot juggle butter in one hand
And tiny jars of jelly in the next
Without a danger of their shattering.
A cart was brought to me, enough for now,
And I prepared my haul for fleeter flight.
And yet! I would need flour still for to try
At this sweet task which I had set myself,
And so I readied all for my return
Unto the aisle of flours, meals, rice, and beans,
But was distracted in a turn until
I was beset by produce on all sides!
How strange to see the frothing green of leaves
And vegetables all in ranks and piles!
Such variation in the greenery!
The tubers, melons, stalks, gourds, roots, and sprouts
All vying for attention in their rows,
A veritable leaf-cacophony
Upon my waiting senses, left and right.
The onions piled in pyramids beside
The hanging bags of garlic cloves beneath
The orderly potatoes in a mound,
Adjoining mounds of yams, red-yellow gems,
Which I could not resist filling a bag.
My purpose near-forgotten, I explored
These compact fields of fresh-harvested greens
And all the other colors of the yield.
And yet! Though I could eat a raft of yams,
I minded me, I needed still the flour
If I were to complete my chosen dish,
The Popping Tart, that flavorsome delight.
And so I took myself back to the aisle
Where flours of every kind stood in array
In sacks of every size and fineness ground.
I hailed the fine attendant at his work
And asked for his advice on my pursuit:
His counsel was to find flour fit for cakes,
For lower protein means a lighter crust,
And these my tarts would be a crisp affair,
Though thin enough to fit a toaster well;
Would cake flour make a sturdy pastry slab?
We argued on the merits of each kind,
And in the end he never did convince
That lower-protein flour was optimal:
I bought a great deal of all-purpose flour,
And put it in my cart of yams and jams.
By now enthusiasm had me fast,
But I could not pursue the baking quest
And just abandon this experience
Of exploration of the Whole of Food!
And so I wandered on, my cart in tow.
Now here appeared an aisle of flowers bright!
No kind of food, but many lovely blooms,
Which one could buy in singles or bouquets,
In order to impress, appreciate,
Or thank a loved one or associate.
This seemed a pleasing token of regard
To me, and so I gathered up a few
Nosegays of daisies, one for each at home,
And one of great sunflowers for our host,
Whose great forbearance cannot be believed.
These took I with me to the seafood stand,
Though truly they did not abate the smell;
In Asgard, fish are sore uncommon food,
And not highly regarded; yet I looked.
For these are different cultures from my own,
And one must do as it is done abroad
When one is far abroad as one may be.
There stood a metal table in the fore
Of that fishmonger's stall, a little thing,
And yet a great one too, for here it smelt
Of warming winter hearths and lazy nights.
For in this table there were set two bowls,
In one a soup, the other with a stew,
And each was even better than the next,
For surely magic had a hand in them.
I asked the dour fishmonger for a taste,
And read the name in Allspeak from the bowl:
This was a Bisque of Butternuts and Crabs.
The other was a Minestrone soup,
And I could not proceed without them both.
In fact, I took a paper tub, and poured
A greater share to eat after a wait,
For that fine bisque would call me back again
And I knew I would need another taste.
And now there were but three or four aisles left
That I had not encountered for myself:
I turned back from the corner with the bisque,
And crossed again behind the flours and rice,
And now beheld a plethora of cakes!
Upon my entrance, I had but surveyed,
And heeded not the Bakery so much,
But here were tables piled with goodly tarts,
And pies of all description, full of fruit,
And cookies, frosted cakes and brownies fine,
And all of them in travel-ready case.
Now I bethought myself of all my team,
And all their predilections for the sweet,
And could not but assign myself the goal
Of finding favorite pastries for them all,
For here at least I'd make myself my own,
And they surely deserved no less than I.
For our fine leader, blazoned with a star,
I spotted cookies decorated thus,
With stripes of white and red, a field of blue,
And five-point stars like his upon the field.
They seemed a proper tribute to his worth,
So gathered I a box of them for him.
For our team's quiet heart, the Doctor brave,
Whose other side can massacre a feast,
I hunted out by scent a spicéd cake,
Whose fine aroma minded me of such
Great meals as Banner made us at his turn
When comradely we all together dined.
For Romanoff, our sister valiant,
I spied a fine confection of a cake,
With curlicues and coffee beans inside,
And thought she might well like its subtlety,
As it was beautiful, but even more,
It packed a vicious, unexpected kick.
For Hawkeye, whom I knew the least of all,
I found a purple cookie, berry-rife,
As I observed his fondness for the tint,
And I had seen him near inhale a pie
Which seemed of the same berry to be made.
And lastly, and the hardest to predict,
I needed now to choose a baked delight
For Stark, the Man of Iron, to consume.
I thought perhaps a pie would give him joy,
But then a batch of brownies caught my eye;
I pondered the appeal of velvet cake,
And meditated on orange-ginger tarts.
The chocolate-walnut cookies had their say,
And Danishes of flavors various;
A cheesecake seemed appropriate as well,
Though whether turtle or New York was moot.
At last I hit upon a course to act:
My small, convenient handheld speech device
Would surely give me access to the one
Who knew all to be known of Stark's desires.
I stood there, in the aisle of Bakery,
And grappled with the pocket of my jeans,
Not helped by Mjölnir's pendulous accord
Or by the boxes in my other hand.
And there! I fished the tiny phone aloft,
Demanded JARVIS answer to my call,
And smiled a grateful smile at his reponse.
He made to ask my purpose, fearing ill,
Or so I thought I heard in his dry tone.
No ill had I to brief him, but a quest!
I asked him of Stark's favored sweet dessert,
And, as an afterthought, how to return
Unto the tower with my wondrous haul.
It seems, upon his answer, Stark prefers
The humble chocolate chip of cookies most!
Or so wise JARVIS said, and he would know.
I thanked him for his answer, and his help,
For he would also send a car to me
In order to return my provender.
But no! Before I carried back the load,
I must accomplish one more set of parts:
I had what's needed for the Popping Tarts,
But if I were to bring Stark what he liked,
I needed the constituents of it,
For he has known the finest of the fine,
And might turn better favor on attempts,
No matter how novitiate in the art,
To make him a dessert with my own hands,
Instead of bringing him the standard fare.
I further questioned JARVIS on the state
Of Stark's dry pantry, and what I would need
In order to effect this baking feat.
He pithily assured me all required
Could be found in the kitchen food supply,
Except perhaps a bag of chocolate chips,
Which I then hastened to find and acquire.
I once again made clear my many thanks
To JARVIS for assistance rendered me,
And rearranged my cart to move again.
Once more I now returned unto the aisle
Where I had seen the chips of chocolate dark,
And scooped myself a bag of them anon,
And labeled them according to their jar,
As I had found the custom to require.
At last! I had explored the vast expanse
Of this, the Whole of Food, and though the name
Perhaps was slight exaggeration, still,
So glorious a confluence of fare
I rarely had observed even at home.
And so I brought my contributions forth
Unto the registers of store accounts,
And, with the help of men with azure hair,
Provided payment fairly for the lot,
Upon a card of credit given me
By SHIELD, in recompense for my support
(Though at the time, I had tried to refuse
The gift, as I would not ask any pay
For helping to protect Midgardians
From dangers I had brought on them myself,
But SHIELD insisted, so I have the card).
In any case, the sky haired-man announced
My payment was sufficient, and bestowed
A pen on me, for me to make my sign
Upon a proof of purchase and depart.
Another man, so Jotun-blue of hair
That I looked twice upon him warily,
Was organizing all my provender
Efficiently into a set of bags,
So I received them from him with a smile,
And picked the lot up on my hammer's haft.
Now, once more into sunshine and a breeze
Departed I from this foodstore supreme,
Into the pavement circle once again,
Where Hogan in his chariot stood by
To take me to the Tower, to my friends,
To bathe for newly fragrant skin and hair,
And to my new adventures with dessert:
I had a dish all ready for each friend,
Except the Man of Iron and myself,
And JARVIS in his wisdom would assist.
I could produce for him his chocolate chips,
And he would know my gratitude and thanks,
And for myself the Popping Tarts of joy.
And even if attempts did not succeed,
I was assured that I might yet return
Even within a day, or yet a night,
Unto the grocery store, the Whole of Food.