May 2020
prepared a meal fit for (psst... me) a king
Actually professional cook
(trained since infancy)
long a staple of our family
since... oh way before
my bubba's zayda's time
naturally became (according
to rules of primogeniture)
the feudal rule by
which whole real estate
of intestate passed
to eldest son, i.e. yours truly
automatically included:
aide de camp, chambermaid,
essential frisson gourmet hotelier,
jack of all trades.
Thus surprise meal of
mid/late afternoon May 17th, 2080
constituted: gluten free pasta
(celiac raged rampant
one generation to the next),
vegan cheese, V8 juice,
diced onions and garlic,
and steeped with special
ingredient – namely tlc,
not available anywhere
but, just enough
tender loving care to buzzfeed
the whole mishpacha,
which gathered from far and wide
every Sunday afternoon
since Moses parted the Red Sea.
How glorious to feast upon:
delicious smelling than tasting,
humongous apportioned
splendiferous concoction
conglomeration ofttimes referred
to as popslop,
which general household name
lacks culinary delicacy,
and honorary specificity.
The meal made manifold more appreciative
after a hard day's night sleeping
within an ornate bedchamber
comprising our lofty abode
upon groggily awakening each morning,
I betook sweeping view
out uppermost bay window
pleasant view of Schwenksville proper,
(which I accomplished
with flying colors
eight days a week)
experiencing vibrant dreams constituting
living social the life of Riley.
After adequately supping on repast
which if any leftovers got repurposed
for next sumptuous meal,
either one prepared later that same day,
or come the morrow promised taste buds
to experience out of this (Martian) world
another savory experience fit for none other
than king of schnorrers!
Contrary to popular belief
hen pecking mother goose,
nor her ilk of coterie of four
and twenty blackbirds
purportedly baked in a pie
completely groundless supposition
crust a stale rumor
circulating courtesy deluxe
twenty first century technological
and ecological (of course)
invidious rumor mill.
Actually professional cook
(trained since infancy)
long a staple of our family
since... oh way before
my bubba's zayda's time
naturally became (according
to rules of primogeniture)
the feudal rule by
which whole real estate
of intestate passed
to eldest son, i.e. yours truly
automatically included:
aide de camp, chambermaid,
essential frisson gourmet hotelier,
jack of all trades.
Thus surprise meal of
mid/late afternoon May 17th, 2080
constituted: gluten free pasta
(celiac raged rampant
one generation to the next),
vegan cheese, V8 juice,
diced onions and garlic,
and steeped with special
ingredient – namely tlc,
not available anywhere
but, just enough
tender loving care to buzzfeed
the whole mishpacha,
which gathered from far and wide
every Sunday afternoon
since Moses parted the Red Sea.
How glorious to feast upon:
delicious smelling than tasting,
humongous apportioned
splendiferous concoction
conglomeration ofttimes referred
to as popslop,
which general household name
lacks culinary delicacy,
and honorary specificity.
The meal made manifold more appreciative
after a hard day's night sleeping
within an ornate bedchamber
comprising our lofty abode
upon groggily awakening each morning,
I betook sweeping view
out uppermost bay window
pleasant view of Schwenksville proper,
(which I accomplished
with flying colors
eight days a week)
experiencing vibrant dreams constituting
living social the life of Riley.
After adequately supping on repast
which if any leftovers got repurposed
for next sumptuous meal,
either one prepared later that same day,
or come the morrow promised taste buds
to experience out of this (Martian) world
another savory experience fit for none other
than king of schnorrers!
Contrary to popular belief
hen pecking mother goose,
nor her ilk of coterie of four
and twenty blackbirds
purportedly baked in a pie
completely groundless supposition
crust a stale rumor
circulating courtesy deluxe
twenty first century technological
and ecological (of course)
invidious rumor mill.
