18d • Share your Poems
Planet of the Chefs
There is a problem I see
When people learn to cook
Not at their grandmother’s knee
But from an overpriced book.
Ridiculous measures
Ingredients rare
Supplanting real treasures
Meals of love and care.
A souçon of bollox,
A waft of gnat’s fart
Sweat from alcoholics
Replace food from the heart.
The measures I knew
Needed no microscales
Into the pot went a handful or two
A jug, a glug, bony fishtails.
Peel, deseed the tomatoes
A ridiculous thing
There’s goodness in those
No harm in the skin.
Don’t let it bubble
Stare at the pot
We had no time for that trouble,
Just made sure it was hot.
So mothers and fathers, daughters and sons
Turn off the TV, podcasts deride
Happiness comes from fillings our tums
Learning to cook at granny’s sweet side.
A planet of chefs starved to death
For want of a cook.
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Planet of the Chefs
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