The Song of the Gentleman Cook

by Barbara, Barcelona, Spain

If you wake at Christmas and smell the cooking meat
Don't go sitting up in bed and turning back the sheet
Snuggle back to sleep again for I will tell no lie;
A turkey takes while to cook; let the time go by!

Four and twenty mince pies sitting on the side
A teaspoonful of brandy and double cream inside
Mulled wine for the ladies, whiskey for the gents
And a paring knife for any who at kitchen door presents!

Coming down for breakfast you may well receive
Bacon and eggs in one hand, while the other gets a sieve
With Brussels sprouts to clean and cross, Please do not reply;
"If that's what Christmas means here, I'll let it all go by."

Turkey in the oven, roast potatoes too,
Carrots, parsnips and the ham, is that enough for you?
Christmas pudding all aflame, brandy butter, cream,
And then they offer Christmas cake! A nightmare or a dream?

Those who give the cook a hand on this special day,
May realise how hard it is when they hear him say
You make a lovely stuffing, you really are a boon,
And nobody will notice that the spuds were done too soon!"

Sitting at the table with a hungry crowd around,
The clatter of the knives and forks is the loudest sound,
When we reach the final glass somebody should say!
"A toast to John, the gentleman who cooked the meal today."

Editor's note:

• Apology to the Kipling who makes exceedingly good cakes
• This was written about John Probst, bridge player and tournament director, by a house guest.

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