He Prefers Pears
Apples may be the fruit of choice.
But the chef says he prefers pears in his kitchen.
'Are you ready to order?
Or would you rather find a more suitable view?
The chef wouldn't mind at all!
Afterall...
How did you know we were here?
Someone made to you
Our menu clear!
If not by taste...
Certainly by a choice that was voiced?
Quality here is our adventure.
With a hint of heat to leave you moist! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Check, Please!
Those who believe,
A quality obtained...
Can be kept and yet replace,
Those who initiated that quality to please...
In the first place.
With a keeping of the same taste expected,
Fool only themselves.
It takes much more than a replacement to restore,
That which has been established...
Patrons served came to adore.
And the ones who ignore this,
Know very little about 'their' business!
But a lesson learned that is earned...
Eventually teaches.
'Excuse me...
But,
Is your chef on vacation? '
The one we admired for his presentation? '
~No we've replaced that chef.
We could not meet his demands or expectations!
And frankly...
His arrogance we could no longer accept.
We paid him his worth.~
'I see.
May we have our checks, please? '
~Would you like to select something else from the menu? ~
'Why?
Would that change the ambiance?
You've already destroyed that,
By taking our preferences for granted.
Check, please! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Vanilla Sky
The chef prepares a special menu for your delight, oh my
Tonight you fly so high up in the vanilla sky
Unbearable or great
You gotta love every hour, you must appreciate
This is your time
This is your day
Youve got it all
Dont blow it away
The chef prepares a special menu for your delight, oh my
Tonight you fly so high up in the vanilla sky
Melted tinbeads cast your fortune in a glass of wine
Snail or fish, balloon or dolphin, see yourself shine
This is your time
This is your day
Youve got it all
Dont blow it away
The chef prepares a special menu for your delight, oh my
Tonight you fly so high up in the vanilla sky
In the vanilla, in the vanilla, in the vanilla sky
In the vanilla, in the vanilla, in the vanilla sky
In the vanilla sky
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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~~~The Chef~~~
Saucy as the tang of Chili...
...Warmed as gingers heated groans-
Taste delight of Curry to the palate...
...Sweet as Honey Bees, to their drones...
Sirens scented journey-
Into aroma's of London Town...
Satisfied a billowing hunger...
Placed a smile and erased a frown...
Courted with Heavenly Manna-
Ushered in, by taste buds sweet...
Raised and baked in sheer splendour-
Temperature of ovens complete!
In the kitchen of attractions wonder-
Sizzles a Chef So Supreme...
Seasoned and hand crafted taste delight
He's todays: 'Cream De La Cream'
Ordinary cook, no never? !
Naturally adept at La Cuisine...
Evermore shall he create...
Succulent, saucy, dreams...
Watch: Take Home Chef
TLC, Weekdays
4: 00 P.M. Eastern
Dedicated to:
Chef: Curtis Stone
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nibbles Abandoned On Picked Over Plates
Do people honestly care who initiated their ability,
To continue eating at a feast?
Since some who have come to munch,
Have desires to have their selections chosen...
By placing them out in front,
To 'try' to duplicate what others obviously appreciate.
The only time people express concern,
Is when it is believed...
Fewer people are eating up all the selected treats.
And it is assumed one chef has been favored...
Because it seems as if this one chef,
Has secret recipes that teases a choice for many to eat.
And it is suspected there is a cheating...
To make those unbeatable delicious treats,
The ones preferred by those who eat them.
No matter what the grade of taste the others are given.
Or the nibbles abandoned on picked over plates,
Given undeserved ratings for being great although mediocre.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From Seats to Feet
A style that brings the people,
From seats to feet...
Is something that isn't easily done.
Especially if more than a few are pleased.
This is a skill of a master,
Unmasked.
And more than any other,
Who has crafted a task.
And it...
Takes a chef to know just how to bake a cake.
It takes a chef to know just how to bake a cake.
Yes it,
Takes a chef to know just how to bake a cake.
To whip a cake to taste takes more than a...
Shake and bake!
A style that brings the people,
From seats to feet...
Is something that isn't easily done.
This is a skill of a master,
Unmasked.
And more than any other,
Who has crafted a task.
And it...
Takes a chef to know just how to bake a cake.
It takes a chef to know just how to bake a cake.
Yes it,
Takes a chef to know just how to bake a cake.
To whip a cake to taste takes more than a...
Shake and bake!
No need to ask a master what is the task.
When people move from seats to feet,
They've been razz-a-ma-tazzed.
And it...
Takes a chef to know just how to bake a cake.
It takes a chef to know just how to bake a cake.
Yes it,
Takes a chef to know just how to bake a cake.
To whip a cake to taste takes more than a...
Shake and bake!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Butter?
No Butter? (when a country practice monopoly)
“Butter, the chef said, I can’t fry a snitzel without butter? If I use margarine
it gets too salty and tastes like whale, if I use olive oil, it gets a Portuguese
flavour, a snitzel is Austrian. How can you fry an egg without using butter,
one loses the taste of clover and rural idyll, farm yards and chickens looking
for worms? ” ” Sorry the restaurant manager said, but we have no butter,
you gotta use margarine and anyway the guests are not chefs they will not
notice the difference.”The chef looked aghast, put down his ladle and said:
“You can’t mean that, has all my work comes to nothing? ” Took off his apron,
had tears in his eyes, ready to walk out into the cold night and not return.
“Hang on the manager said, without you I can’t run this place, it is the caring
way you prepare food that our guests like you they know there is a butter
shortage, but they don’t mind as long as they now you are the chef.”
Mollified the cook took his apron back on lifted his ladle and said, “Ok, but
see if you can get some butter even if you have to buy it from the Danes.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Like None Other Can Produce
I've been both on top and on the bottom,
And have witnessed those mediocre...
Perform with pretentions to get attention.
Believing to get noticed,
Will aid in their feelings of self worth.
But if one truly is connected to self,
And appreciates the ownership of an identity...
It matters not,
Who decides who should deliver what to whom...
To have it expressed and rated.
It will still achieve a quality like none other can produce.
Regardless where in the kitchen it is placed,
It will still be sought after...
For the taste it satisfies.
And that is why the texture of the mix can not be replicated.
Only a knowing 'chef' not just a 'cook' does this!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Highly Recommend You Find Another Job
You want the oven turned on,
But you don't want to go into the kitchen?
And you expect the pots and pans to be spotless,
Because you are a new arrival.
With a jumping into this heat...
With a full set of teeth seen grinning from ear to ear.
And you wish the others to greet you,
Living in the home as if you are a queen...
And 'not' the MAID they will believe they own?
I highly recommend you find another job!
Because this one you 'claim' to qualify for,
Is not going to be what you've been led to believe.
Because of positions you have had before.
You will not believe how unique this one will be.
The people living in this home,
Think of it as a mansion.
And not only expect you to be the chef...
They expect you to clean up after them,
And cater to every whim they have for you to expect.
With no complaints from you about being worked to death.
Or moaning about being disrespected.
Oh...
And before you leave for the day,
Be sure to mow the lawn and scent each pillow...
That the 'family' living here sleep on!
And after you have made the beds,
From hand washing and Sun drying clean sheets...
Go to each one and listen to their sorrows.
They will love you for it!
And...
I wouldn't advise you to wear make-up on this job.
You've come to serve.
Not the other way around!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sautéed In Fiasco
Simmering and sautéed in fiasco,
This chef finds himself...
Blending a mix the patrons have nixed!
Overheated in a kitchen,
With a haste that loses taste.
And a flair that has been wasted,
On those baited to sip!
They split in droves...
And leave him this tip:
'This feast you prepared,
For us to eat...
Continues to sour
The air on the streets!
The menu was fabulous.
One we all thought we would like!
But you have shown you're a flapjack king...
With promises of pheasant to delight!
You offered us substance,
And we have waited too long for that!
Your skills are based on delusion...
Infusing hors d'oeuvres served in crap!
We can no longer wait for more,
We are sealing your doors...
With you entrapped!
Nothing you have done has pleased anyone.
We want our money back,
Before the others come...
And burn down your shack! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Too Cheap And Cheesy
I am not a garbage creator.
But I do understand,
Those who have a taste for it
May rate it as great.
To satisfy that taste.
And I am far too original
To substitute what I do,
Just to get a cheap nibble or two.
I offer more to the menu,
From which to choose.
But just to throw together garbage
Is not what I choose to do.
That's too cheap and cheesy.
I am a chef.
Not just another cook on the pursuit.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Animal Rights (A Restaurant Sold Fried Fish Cruelly)
In Taiwan, there was a restaurant,
sale promotion gimmick of which was very abhorrent.
It was a smoky fried fish,
a spicy and good -smelled dish.
There was a glass fish pond,
swimming in it were fish...big, fat and long.
Beside it was a fish net,
by which the chef would catch.
Then he quickly removed the scale with a knife,
and on the body he cut and sprinkled with salt and spice,
while the fish was still alive.
Then with wet towel he grabbed the fish head,
while the gill huffing and puffing to catch the breath.
Into the sizzling hot oil, the body was slowly dipped,
which in painful agony, flapped and flipped.
The fish struggled in a desperate attempt,
causing the hot oil to splash,
onto the chef's hand,
making him cry in pain as if the world was going to end.
Before the fried fish was going to be served,
he put into the mouth of it the lighted cigarette,
an act so sickening,
horrifying and disgusting.
Then the Animal Rights Group lodged a strong protest.
The chef was afraid his business got into the red.
removed that dish from the list of menu.
He was almost legally sued,
making his mood get into the blue.
The chef sells the fish in a way so cruel and selfish,
to the animals he shows pity, not a little bit.
Girls best friend.
This Cocker spaniel rules the roost
She takes no commands unless her interests it suits
Prawn snacks, chicken dinners
Controlling this mistress is a winner
She goggle eyes the chef as he prepares his banquet
At squiggly icing she shows no interest
Her belly has a place for the roast
The very thing of which the chef continually boasts
Slinking under the table, she surfaces beside
Now there’s nothing else under which to hide
A deft lunge, teeth take hold
She’s not to think `hot or cold?
Amid clatter, there’s also some heavy`
And now she on the retreat and covered in gravy
In his fury, chef has found a meat cleaver
Sanity returns, that wouldn’t clever
`how am I to feed them? Heaven, give me fate
An unflustered owner rescues her pooch, she orders `Let them eat cake`!
poem by Brian Roy Skyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fruit Together
A plum went to market
to buy some grapes,
everyone was was there
that day.
They didn't come
just to play.
Fruit was what
they needed most.
The apple came
to buy some pears,
Pears came to
buy some apples.
They ended up
buying each other.
What a fix,
so fruity was it.
Everyone went home
that day,
so they could all
make some fruit pies.
What a site this
was, seeing each
one making pies out,
of each other,
somehow pies
were made this
day, you ask
How was this done?
you figure it out,
I just wrote
the poem.
wrote 4-14-07
A Dish (cuisine) that talks
I am a dish that talks
and usually i want the chef
to do his stuff my way
wishing this, wishing that
hoping to be the next best dish
to top the restaurant list
as the chef sprinkles
his spices and salt onto me
i diffident would complain of
the excesses, the overindulgent
use of veggies and mutton
or mollusks, mustard
vinegar and pepper
and even the overheating,
charbroiled, stir fried
steam cooked or stewed
i want it my way giving
little regard to the chef's expertise
for fear of becoming an
offensive blandness on
the tongues of the masters
over enthusiastic over
what would turn out of me
only when my fragrance
spreads over the table
to trigger that salivating
nerves in mouths that
the buddha himself would
jump over the wall to
have me in his belly that
i realise the chef is correct
he is cooking me and he knows
how best i should be served
that exquisiteness that could only
result from an original recipe
the chef himself knows best
how he should turn out his creation
i take the opportunity to ask him
what he finds most in the way
as he tries to realise his dream of me
and he says 'Your load of bland ego
with the toughness of a three year old chicken.'
'It takes such a long time to just
boil them down to edible portions.'
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Infested and Compromised
Concentrate on removing that stuff off your plate.
The 'stuff' that you ordered but now say you hate?
On the menu it may look tempting to please..
But the picture is painted,
To attract with its photography!
The presentation is meatless...
It's lacking of beef!
There's nothing to sink the teeth into...
Nothing worthy enough to repeat!
Hoping one might be ready,
For a taste of exquisite dessert...
But the chef that has mixed this wasted crap,
Gets paid under the table and lays in dirt!
This place was selected,
Since many thought they had 'arrived'!
But it seems more nastier at the top...
Than anyone of merit could ever realize.
There is much more filthyness,
With an urgency to be sanitized!
When those climbing to achieve prestigious success,
Leave those on the bottom...
Infested and compromised!
Unconcerned where they head,
Or how steep their nose dive!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I'd made my choice
What the hell is it with you?
I had made my choice to go.
And once again you saved me.
I wanted to die.
To bring a means to an end.
I just want to die.
Why can't you see its for the best?
Just let me go.
If I am dead.
You will no longer be burdened.
I've now made my choice.
I am about to try again soon.
If you should find me,
Don't save let me go.
For this is the choice I have made.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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I always had a fantasy of being a chef, because I like kitchen life.
quote by Geoffrey Rush
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Tree's Fruit
Good fruit or bad fruit, a tree can only bear one,
This parable was taught by God's one and only Son.
First mentioned by John as a warning for the Pharisees to heed,
But being blind to The Truth, most of them would not believe.
Your life is the tree and your deeds are the fruit,
This is a simple analogy that it hard to dispute.
But the Pharisees who knew the Word and lived in the land,
Were rebuked by John the Baptist, as they didn't understand.
Christians need to produce fruit for the Lord and nothing less,
And all the fruit that we produce should be fruits of righteousness.
Our old nature will produce fruit that comes from the past,
Not only is this fruit bad, but it's the kind that won't last.
Not only is bearing good fruit The Lord's heart desire,
But trees that continue to bear bad fruit may be cast in the fire.
Within your own heart is where the good or bad fruit is stored,
And by your fruits men will know you, is made clear by The Lord.
The fruit of righteousness is a tree of life, was once said,
However, a tree that bears bad fruit may be eternally dead.
What fruit you produce is strictly your choice my dear friend,
And by this choice you will either be blessed or condemned.
( 03/2002)
Choice of life
Human have a gift named a choice
Human have an illusion named a choice
There is no other creature that should decide more to live
Human have a hope called a choice
Human have despair called a choice
There is no other creature that trapped often in such continuous and repeat conflict
Some could turn good because one choice
Some could turn bad because one choice
All have the consequence but right or wrong will never be known before
Human have a wish for a choice
Human have regret for a choice
There is no other creature that always goes between happiness and sorrow
When a choice made not all may be satisfied
When a choice made not all may be rescued
But the change will never happened if we stay silent
Human have fate to choose
Human also choose their fate
The interaction of those things will create what people called the choice of life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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I chose my way
The road I took came to a fork.
I had no choice but to decide
which of the two paths I would walk.
One narrow way, one broad and wide.
Whichever path I choose to take
a question lingers in my mind.
Perhaps I’ve made a grave mistake
but I press on leave doubts behind.
The narrow way; I made my choice.
Although I chose impulsively
I listened to some inner voice.
That whispered it was right for me.
I reached my goal successfully
which made me what I am today
Although I wonder where I’d be
if I had gone the other way.
Once you decide don’t second guess
but execute the choice you made.
The only way to reach success
is to keep on unafraid.
20-Jan-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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