In just three short lines, this poem sets two images side by side: a plain, private act and a flash of luxury. The speaker eats straight from the pot, which suggests no table, no company, no ceremony. It is the kind of thing people do when they are alone, tired, or not bothered about appearances. Yet the speaker's mind is somewhere else, fixed on "his gold-laced suit."
We don't learn who "he" is, and the poem doesn't say. That gap is part of its effect. The suit could belong to someone admired, resented, or envied, and the speaker's feeling stays open. What the poem does show is a contrast: the humble food in front of the speaker against the glitter lingering in memory. Judging by the title, "Seasoning," that image may be the flavor the speaker is chewing over along with the meal.
The mood is quiet and a little wry, with a hint of unease. The image won't leave, even in the most ordinary moment.