No doubt, my wife, she married me
For wit or charm or my great look
But it was not, I am assured
For anything I tried to cook
Although I tried. To me it seemed
Incumbent on me as a guy
To grill some to display my love
Just cook something. You know, to try.
And she, as gracious as she is
She showed the error of my thought:
And said it would be better if
She cooked our meals
And I did not
= = = = =
What’s the one item in your kitchen you can’t possibly cook without? A spice, your grandma’s measuring cup, instant ramen — what’s your magic ingredient, and why?
4 thoughts on “Burnt”
My mom’s cooking bring what it was, I was sixteen before I realized they were supposed to be red.
In New Orleans, they’re called “blackened”.
Love this little poem! Definitely made me smile.
And, like some others, I pretty much now only like hotdogs that are at least somewhat burnt. Over a campfire is best.
To answer your question… I probably would not function without a microwave.
Thank you. I’m glad to see burnt hot dogs getting some love!