SC - Suggestons Please

[bill mayfield]

A Cook's Lament

My tale of woe begins; the sautoir heats
On ever-hopeful jets of gas, the saucepan boils
The penne, in anticipation, waits. 

The bias-sliced asparagus, and fragrant garlic sit
In vigil for their union, attended by
Rounds of lamb and veal sausage, all enhanc'd

O'er fumes of soak-ed chips of oak.
Ne'er minding destiny's cruel joke,
Pignoles toast as oven's fires stoke.

And when, about to profit from my toils
I dropped the g-dd-mn bottle of olive oil.
Oy, soch a mess! You shouldn't know from it!

Oh, brimming, pristine liter jug of glass, you know
How, in falling on my til'd floor, the blow
Was more than I could bear. Unhappy shards! 

Oh, extra virgin that thou wert, all Apuleian green
You never underwent the pressure I did, to clean
And still get supper on the empty board.
 
Around the globe my scream'd fury flew
I shouted curses I never knew I knew!
Could my day be whole, without the hint of Apuleian gold?

Says I, with mop in hand, (among the goshes and the d-mns)
What will I do to save this meal? I search the shelves.
And there, with bright mem'ry returned, the sight.
   
The other two bottles I'd bought for cheap today
Those golden vessels of liquid Tuscan sun
$5.99 per liter, store's own brand

Among the other stuff at Fairway.



© 2000 G. Tacitus Adamantius
- -- 
Phil & Susan Troy

troy at asan.com