I first met it in childhood,
eating Swedish butter crescentrolls laced with it. I called it
cardamon for years.
It's not sour or sweet or
hot or bland. Not among
the brash, ballistic, or
bombastic spices. A taste-shifter.
It comes from wee dark seeds
held in narrow, sage-green, three-
sided pods picked from low-growing
tropical plants. It cloaks sugar
in subtlety. Builds coalitions
inside pastry, pudding, or pilafs.
It attracts attention it never
demands. Cardamom allures
as it defers. Again
I move toward it with description
in hand. It dances aside, ever
out of reach. It might even grace
the taste of a peach.
hans ostrom 2025
