Alchemisland

Esculents proffered for perusal by epicures particular-paletted surplus to dietary requirement

Lauding their judging tongues as diamonds, what lies upon them they summary in solemn deduction like wise old Solomon 

They call the lovely food inedible 

Words indented, printed made such indelible impressions

In sweaty kitchens mounting pressure

Hissing kettle chef triple checking and blessing every meal they send out

Asking Saint Laurence to infuse with good taste, that star may be raised

Braised meats heroic on plates, vapours issuing

As vikings or high kings might eat in songful longhalls, Odin’s vespers having defeated Grendel

War’s call a horn sound, let laughter sorrow drown out

Loki whispers, sewing quarrel as much a victim of nature as the sparrow who returns to where the arrow missed him

Clipped of wings like recalcitrant angels in moral fables from Law-requiring ages 

Seedheaded breads raise, unlike low-lying unleaveneds sustaining Levantines alongside snowy Manna 

Basmati rice girdling steaming piles of rarha gosht, dotted foliate decor 

As main course among four, table for four far from kitchen floor

At centre somewhere, where they can watch all unfold.

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Chaotic syncretic cogs each other mimic

Minds fog-clogged, red light fever

Elver with fried semolina side

Must be the critic, who else would try it

Especially without fries 

Poorly hidden, eyes above kitchen parapet casting barely-concealed glances 

Waiters peering around corners, carefully ensuring glasses o’erflow

Hearing laughter, wondering what jape it came after

Prattling for hours, more words than the King James

Who can blame these Harold Bloom types

Bloomsday stations, one day and one night

Delighting tastes but like more power over fates, methinks 

Fattest one like a beluga whale dressed as a used car salesman takes a drink of house vintage

Sparkling singsong berry from rain-spared, sun-speared Italy

Raised with care from birth by Catholic virgins with tonsured hair, liquified underheel

And did those feet… 

Parker pen his steel, fealty alone to stele

Coiled beneath oily creme

Ridges seen like Loch Ness Monster loops

Cuts into eel’s wiry drum, greaseless uneasy

Knife with surgeon-skill excises oversalty thin epidermis 

Quill with demon’s ill, furnace-hot nib exercise head-turning 

Ecstatic feeding frenzy, plenty luxuriant verbs customers luring

Or failure’s pain

Food tending plain

I say pan is not to blame

Average poor, would not eat again.