BEASTLY TALES

THE CHEF

A chef supreme, with Michelin stars,
Worked for a fine restaurant. They didn’t use jars,
Of anything. It was all freshly made,
Known to be the peak in any trade.
This Chef was one Pierre Camembert,
He was a pompous ass, a bit of a squirt.
But, like the famous cheese that was his name,
Pierre was proud that from Normandy he came,
He had cooked at a most famous Palace,
Had been toasted by royalty from a golden chalice,
And when awarded with yet another Michelin Star,
He invariably celebrated with a fine Cuban cigar.

Whenever he cooked, food was at a high price,
But, of course, it was always exceedingly nice.
It does not matter, whoever you are,
Most dishes contained garnish of Beluga Caviar.
His Onion Soup was to die for,
When it finished, “More” they did cry for.
And it definitely did really matter,
When one simply ordered a cheese platter.
The waiter would say, “As you can readily see.”
“We only ever use the finest of Brie.”

Alphonse Amarillo was a most regular patron,
He would come by to dine with his matron.
No, she was not his good lady wife,
But a senior nurse, to keep him from strife.
For Alphonse was a gourmet of some renown,
He was always out dining at the best in town,
Consequently his well suited, corpulent figure,
Was overlarge, in fact significantly bigger,
Than recommended by the medical charts,
Yes, a victim of his high level dining arts.

Tonight Alphonse had decided on Bouillabaisse.
A complicated dish guaranteed to delight and amaze.
The waiter came by, with a complicated bib,
Which he fastened upon Alphonse as though a jib,
Sail on a fancy sailing boat. It kept Alphonse afloat.
So to speak, for he was in a mood to gloat.
Yes, staring at his Bouillabaisse put him in a buoyant mood.
As, indeed, usually happened when he viewed food.
He summoned the waiter, asking for Tabasco sauce,
Expecting the response, “Yes, Sir, of course.”
But the waiter instead just disappeared,
And returned with the Chef, something Alphonse feared.
“What’s this I hear,” said Pierre, “you do amaze,”
“To be ordering Tabasco sauce with my Bouillabaisse!”
“You go beyond acceptable reasoning,”
“To be questioning my Bouillabaisse seasoning!”
The Chef stomped off in a decided grump,
Leaving poor Alphonse feeling a bit of a lump.
Here was a gourmet of some renown,
Who’d just been given a sound dressing down!

Alphonse, deflated, felt like visiting his Club,
Or even, for his dinner, just a gastro – Pub.
He felt that Pierre Camembert had “cooked his goose,”
He really did not have anything to lose.
He would go on a “Cooks Tour” to find such a place.
The way he had been treated was a disgrace.
So rather than pursuing the Chef, to ask “What’s Cooking?”
He put on his coat and, with Matron, went out looking,
For another place, and if he liked the looks,
He would not return to Pierre, who could “cook the books!”