I was raised in the South, eating simple foods and lots of gravy. When I end up eating at fancy restaurants, I am frequently baffled by the menus. I wrote this little ditty after dining at a fancy restaurant in Key West.
Ode to Soup de Jour
I love to eat out every time I possibly can,
Don’t want to cook, or toss or baste, just sit and lift my hand;
And simple food is all I want, none of this fancy stuff,
Just feed my face till I can feel that I have had enough.
Throughout the years, a friend and I have eaten out a lot,
I really do not fuss at all unless the food’s not hot;
He likes the fancy restaurants where menus are in “Greek;”
Then I must figure out what is just plain ol’ charbroiled steak.
The salads come with vinaigrette; I want just good ol’ Ranch,
I’d never heard of turbadoes which caused my cheeks to blanch;
I learned that vichyssoise’s a soup, served cold instead of hot,
Why in the world a soul would choose a cold soup–I would not.
I love my taters hot or cold; they serve just pome de terre,
I search and search the menu but potatoes are not there;
I ask for cake with ice cream, but they serve it a la mode,
How is a man to eat when every menu is in code?
So give me Subway sandwiches and Checkers with French fries,
Don’t give me au gratin, garçon; it’s cheese I idolize;
My taste is so plebeian that I truly want it plain,
To analyze the language of a menu strains my brain.