Best Chef Poems
Though I ain't a cordon bleu chef as the title might imply,
I can still whip up gourmet fare in the blink of an eye!
And to an oven or a fryin' pan I need not be a slave,
As long I can open cans and boxes and use my microwave!
No need for me to spend hours cookin' on languid afternoons,
Makin' a mess with spatulas, blenders and tablespoons.
I can simply open a box and fix Kraft's macaroni and cheese,
Or thaw Marie Callender's lasagna from a carton in a breeze!
Ah, the variety of Campbell's soups I can extract from a tin,
All prepared to perfection, not too thick and not too thin.
Doesn't take me long to create a scrumptious mulligan stew -
Just open a can of Dinty Moore and heat it up is all I do!
I never bother makin' vanilla waffles anymore from scratch,
When I can thaw Eggo things from a box and enjoy a tasty batch!
Thanks to my handy microwave I can fix Sara Lee frozen pies -
I didn't bake 'em but my gullible guests think otherwise!
My side kick Chef Boy-r-Dee and I make a fine spaghetti,
And also unrivaled ravioli, tortelline and capelleti!
I'm always happy to share with others the secret of my success,
And the proper presentation of fine cuisine with panache and finesse!
Entry for Lewis Raynes' "I Love Food" Contest)
If he were my Dad, he would be the best.
A distinguished Chef that taught me to cook.
An ever loving Heart, beats in his chest.
His spare time , he writes a Poetry book.
When its done; as a Poetry Family; We should all take a look.
.
I have a distinct advantage, in the Culinary Arts.
“Dad” was a self made Chef : Loved by Culinary : ALL.
You have an distinct advantage, with your Ever Loving Hearts.
We climb the stairs of Poetry; to the Poet Laureate’s Hall.
We spend half of Eternity, reading Poems upon the wall.
He's a teacher, a Chef, a poet; a husband that Loves his Wife.
Allthough she now lives in Heaven, as she has for forty years.
His heart has found someone new; that has given him new life.
Barbara Jean, whom I call Mom; has dried up past forlorn tears.
He is a man deeply in love with everyone he knows, he loves all his peers.
This is a Quintain I wrote for Francine Roberts Contest " English Quintain Contest
Dedicated to "Dad and Mom" Harry D. Johnson aka Harry, HG, Liege and Barbara Jean
Gorlick aka BG, Mom I wrote this Dec. 3 I added the third stanza today Dec. 14
Back when he was seven, our son won a contest
In his class, his turkey recipe adjudged the best
He was so happy, floating so high on cloud nine
but first prize was something less than 'quite fine'
He had to follow his recipe, cook our Thanksgiving meal
a prize which to his parents had no real appeal
As our son had never used the oven before
we planned on having problems galore
Sure enough, the new chef got off on the wrong foot
as into a pan, a frozen turkey in its package he put
Yet since the poor lad was so new to this game
we simply chuckled a bit, refused to lay blame
at the feet of our son, and explained so politely
that a turkey frozen solid won't cook quite rightly
He listened to us wide-eyed and dutifully
then gave that bird time to thaw proper-beautifully
Only --- so excited to start, he forgot the next instruction
which caused more than just some minor destruction
to the thawed bird, which was still in its package
as it entered the hot oven, awaiting the wreckage...
Well, you can imagine the looks on our faces
hearing the turkey begin to 'pop, crackle, snap'
For a moment, horrified, we were frozen in our places
before opening the oven, to a thunderous clap...
Our son was despondent; we had to cheer him right up
So we smiled our best smiles and said, "Just add a cup
or four of water to the pan--- after we scrape off the plastic"
~ I thought that my wife's laugh sounded a bit spastic
But our little budding chef put his heart into the task
and he basted that bird, doing all we had asked
So. when we finally sat down, and clasped our hands to say grace
~ You should have seen the big smile on our happy son's face
October 27, 2019
Thanksgiving Memory Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Regina Riddle
The angry learner chef
A discerning chap
Leers at how he's going to cook
That special meal he likes
In which pot shall he make his Asian delight
No one goes near
When he's about to take a turn
Stay calm little chef!
It's only an onion
It won't make you cry
If handle it properly
Make no mistake
We'll Stand well back and instruct
Even applause when you've made your dish!
Amen.
You ‘died’
You LIED
I live with my conscious
You live with yours!
You ‘died’
You LIED
I live with my heart
You died with yours!
You ‘died’
You LIED
My heart BEATS with love
You beat with fists
You ‘died’
You deceived the living
I dance with butterflies and rainbows
You drowned in booze long ago
You ‘died’
Along with selfish sins, resurrected
Verbal tirades spewing from devil mouth
Hypocrite from the grave
Note: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Me, I love to cook.
It makes me feel good.
I share my own skill.
Each time that I do.
It gives me such joy.
It may sound odd.
I try each time.
To cook for you.
Fills me with hope.
I do try.
When I do.
To give all.
Make it.
One thing
Burst
Being the little sister in a family with mostly boys
Was very hard and difficult liking all their toys
I loved to play in the dirt , could throw any ball
Played "running bases", "tag", and loved "off the wall"
My sister was way older and she was never home
So I was forced to battle with my brothers on my own
I fought my battles valiantly, but each time I would lose
Being youngest in a family,I often became the muse
I cried many tears those many years ago
For competing with those boys,I had a lot to show
I grew older,strong, and smarter and chose a tough career
Cooking for a living in a man's world, I showed no fear
Those brothers had taught me to always fight for what's right
A women could cook as well as a man, and besides I had a knife!
They've named a new dish of pasta and noodles
After my wannabe chef, makes dough by the oodles
They call it “la scotta”
To try it ya oughtta
Puts hair on your chest and makes you bug out your pupils!!!
© Jack Ellison 2015
(Commentary on a husband and wife relationship)
No one sees me, I’m in the back.
Cutting up the food for this evening’s snack.
Working my ass off every single day.
Then end up here, with not a dimes pay.
Every night’s the same, never any help.
Everybody wants to eat, at Johnny they yelp.
Is dinner ready yet, it’s getting close to eight.
My show is on at nine, don’t want to be late.
Some people may think it’s great to be chef.
I’ve heard enough of that, I’d rather be deaf.
But on and on I continue this confusing plight.
So everyone can have their evening’s delight.
One of these nights, I swear I’m going to quit.
And whoever wants to eat will probably throw a fit.
But when that day comes, everything will change.
I won’t be chef, I’ll have another name.
©2012 Guy Chaifetz
Chef Sang
Pick up your food now!
If I ring this bell once more
Too late it’s cold now.
a chef cordon bleu
black and white fish on the plate
other fish to fry
There once was a bad chef called Phyl
His cooking made customers ill
It sure was the pits
They all got the squits
So none of them would pay their bill
03~29~17
i am a pastry chef
the constant baker my lot in life
i have shelves filled with life's spices
grains from many different fields
my ovens are in constant heat
doors begging to be opened
that feed the outer shop
where the world may peruse, purchase
if it so cares
but on that end, i hardly bother
i am not interested in what life
saunters away with
more so the ghosts that come in
this kitchen for an illuminating chat
after the recipe has been prepared
and the tray safely behind the oven door
we sit and line by line remember the limns
that now rest in ages gone by
delighted i am with each new word
that passes the lips from fields long harvested
or explore a bit of myth, perfect metaphor
how can one ever be alone
when so many pastry chefs
come thru the door, accompanied by pages
that has served them well
and tho they never lift a tray
they are in every recipe
and every pastry you taste
OKC 6/27
Advice to the new hire ...
I heard tell, it's been said
that to make an omelet,
you have to break a few eggs
I regret I had to break a few,
I regret I'm gonna break a few more too
I'm a spiritual chef,
I serve food for the soul
I keep a clean kitchen here,
that's the first thing you should know
Just remember this,
every time you're breaking the bread
And don't you forget the other thing I said,
I don't wanna have to break a few of your eggs
Sometimes you have to shake things up,
to get to the bottom of what irks
Bang some pans, make a lot of noise ...
or maybe a little quiet shaming will work
Sometimes you gotta use finesse,
coax the trust with a dash of tenderness
Other times you gotta be tough:
bring the big cleaver down hard
to separate the truth from the lying fluff
Parse the meat from the bone,
to get to the heart of what could be wrong
Someone's feelings just might get hurt,
so knead lightly, use the butter smooth approach
Communication can get lost in the mix;
they ordered easy over, but they get it poached
Do what you have to do,
decide how you want to present the display
But if you can't stand the heat in the kitchen,
it's best you get out, don't get in the way
I ain't got time for the sob story clambake,
I'm gonna call you out,
if you keep making the same culinary mistake
My kitchen does clean cooking,
so put on your hand and head covering
You never know who's looking,
who's tasting the cuisine
So don't skip the minor details,
no matter how small they may seem to be
Telling the truth is the recipe that sells
It keeps you from getting your eggs cracked,
and getting your feelings scrambled like an omelet
It spares you from becoming a chef's regret
A chef fried sausages so well
The aroma confused him
So he sat on his bed
And made decision;
“I will push these sausages
one in my nose”
the other in my mouth
so that I can smell
and enjoy it for ever
quietly alone.”