(u)Compliments to the Chef(/u)
You see these stainless steel walls? The borders to my kingdom.
Whilst you are here, there is nobody,
Nobody higher than me.
You see this pearly white crown upon my skull, speckled with golden
Stained flecks? Means I am King.
This title was not just given to me. I have a gift.
I create masterpieces with food.
I am an artist.
Every night, I carve out David on a silver platter for starters.
Boiled, stewed, roasted and toasted
Flawless flesh, garnished with stuffed fig leaves
And Compliments to The Chef.
With these hands, the signs of a genius are branded upon the skin.
But I haven’t even begun to tell you of the main course,
The starter is nothing, simply an echo of the lion’s roar.
Next, I have the fruits of the sea to create my masterpiece.
Pearls are nothing to the treasures people discover in the clams I serve.
Venus rising out of each coral, her soft fair body is my beauty.
A dish fit for the Gods I believe.
Nothing more than the stale “compliments to the chef”
Well, you might as well stuff that back down your throat,
“The Chef” could be any philistine,
My name you do not even care to learn.
But I know if they could speak my language; Of gastronomic beauty
I bare my soul in these tour de forces in ways words can only scratch at.
You give me water instead of wine.
There will be no recognition for me, no fame, no glory.
My reign will never break these steely walls, my art no further than those tables.
These creations don’t last, They end within minutes from their birth.
Their carcasses are set back. It breaks my heart
When a plate is not cleared, my poor work of art.