‘Twas Brillat, and the Savarin
did toil and trouble at the stove
Escoffier was baking raths
as well as a borogrove.
“Prepare that Caesarean bull,
those horns that pierce, those hooves that toss;
Prepare the Turkey, stuffed and full
and topped with bearnaise sauce!”
He took his Knife and fork in hand:
long time bullish beef he sought–
so rested he by the big pantry,
of seasonings he thought.
And as in stuffed-ish thought he stewed,
the bull’s brought in; ’twas all a-flame,
flambe’d–it was a hot, fine food;
it bubbled as it came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through;
the knife and fork went snicker-snack!
Then he was fed, but then, ’tis said,
for seconds, went galumphing back.
“And have I slain the Caesar’s Bull?
with clams and figs and hams of pigs
O foods galore, and meals I adore!”
He chortled in his joy.
‘Twas Brillat and did Savarin
still toil and trouble at the stove,
And Fritz from ear to ear with grin
was basking in the glow!