Stop eating pudding with a fork

 

Supper is a light snack just before bed. It's not an evening meal. Get a fucking grip!

 

There is no such thing as an English muffin

 

Cheese

Its flavours dance, a taste divine.
Oh, cheese, thy textures intertwine

In dairy realms where curds align,

A wheel of cheese, a tempting fare,
Its flavours dance, a taste divine.
From Swiss that dreams in holes design,

To cheddar's sharp and aged affair,
In dairy realms where curds align.
Gouda whispers, a subtle sign,

A melody of dairy's rare,
Its flavours dance, a taste divine.
Brie unfolds in soft recline,

A creamy canvas, rich and rare,
In dairy realms where curds align.
Blue veins streak, a noble shrine,

Roquefort's tang, a bold affair,
A symphony in each layer,
In dairy realms where curds align,
Its flavours dance, a taste divine.

G.P. Thomson

Ode to Bread and Butter Pudding, in the style of William McGonagall

Oh, bread and butter pudding, a marvel so grand,
In the kitchen it reigns, a dessert so unplanned.
With buttered slices, in layers they lay,
A culinary masterpiece, brightening the day.


Eggs and milk, in a whisking embrace,
A concoction divine, a pudding with grace.
Baked in the oven, a magical spell,
Transforming simple ingredients, as stories to tell.


Golden and crusty, a sight to behold,
In the world of desserts, a tale to unfold.
No poet's verse can truly convey,
The joy in each bite, like sunshine in May.


So here's to the pudding, in McGonagall's rhyme,
A humble delight, standing the test of time.
In kitchens it sings, a comforting tune,
Bread and butter pudding, beneath the moon.

G.P. Thomson