Ode to Simon
by several grateful guests at his last Sunday lunch, 23/8/2009
On and idyllic Sunday we find
A common thread of our own foodie kind
The glow of the bisque was stamped on our cheeks
And led to a yearning to seek
Something better than fcuk found in duck
The mushrooms were magic, carpaccio blew my trumpet
And the venison sent me wild, slather me in parsnip puree….
Along with a Pinot Noir soiree
And collapse in a chocolate gooey inside
Drown me in jus
And give me who can produce
Such scrumptious food
So to the chef that’s kept us replete
He has achieved a gastronomical feat
So cheers until we next meet.
Obviously heartfelt, even if something (C2H5OH??) got between the heart and the art. Coleridge allegedly “dreamt” Xanadu while in an opium trance, transcribing it as fast as he could upon waking. Perhaps something stronger than pinot noir is needed to get those lines to scan; or were the mushrooms really magic?