All because of Masterchef

This amusing poem is Teresa’s take on the amateur Masterchef finals week, not that she has any burning ambition. She says “I wouldn’t know a foam from a quenelle….”

All because of Masterchef

Inspired by lavish cooking ,
and the lure of style and grace,
the thought of a veloute
put a smile upon her face.

She hinted to her husband
that tonight would be superb.
A gastronomic classic
for his juices to be stirred!

With great anticipation
her hubby went to work.
He pecked her cheek before he left
then gave a little smirk.

Enthused and full of vigour
to the kitchen she did leap.
Her ingredients were waiting
on the side there in a heap.

The plan was really simple,
a masterchef delight.
No slacking on the samphire
or the bain-marie tonight.

Her faithful pets observing
as she chopped and diced away.
Perhaps they would be lucky,
if the odd scrap went astray.

She started with her cumin foam
to serve with pea shoot mousse.
The blender turned it all to pap
which really cooked her goose!

Moving on to smoked duck breasts,
infused with tea and sage,
the kindle burnt it like a pyre.
The fire began to rage.

Her ballotine just shrivelled up,
a blackened, wrinkled, sight.
The mousse she made became a drink.
It added to her plight.

That deconstructed apple pie ?
Demolished and a mess.
No buttery biscuit base for her,
or pudding to impress.

Her husband met the fire brigade
as he came home through the gate.
The very thought of fine cuisine
was rather sealed by fate.

So off to Albert’s chippy
for cod and mushy peas.
She’s given up her cordon blue,
he has her guarantees!

Written by: Teresa Harrison-Best