T’was the night before Hallowe’en, when all through the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a louse.
The cookbook was sitting on the counter with care,
In hopes that Marcella’s genius would soon be laid bare.
The veal was cut, dipped in flour, on and on I was led,
Be sure that the onions and garlic are chopped fine, she said.
Next I browned the cubes quick in a snap,
Although one or two did fly out of the pan and become scrap.
When out in the hall there arose such a clatter,
I rushed from the kitchen to see what was the matter.
Away to the hall I flew like a flash,
To find Paul eagerly sniffing the delicious scents from the stash.
The rosemary, sage, and parsley were next, you know,
and the wonderful scents from the kitchen did grow.
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a hungry Paul staring at the stew with a leer.
‘Not yet, not yet, it won’t be quick!’,
Although the scents made one positively lovesick.
More rapid than eagles the wonderful scents they came,
And Paul whistled, and shouted, and stared at the flame!
Now hurry up and cook don’t be a vixen!
Be sure to stir as the flavours are mixin’!
The mushrooms are sauteed, large and small,
And then dumped in the stew, I do recall.
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky.
Those luscious scents kocked me askew,
soon I was eagerly awaiting my dinner too.
And then, in a twinkling, I realized I was a goof,
The wine had been forgotten – ooof.
As I drew in my head, and fell to the ground,
I slowly realized that hope was still around.
With the cats and Paul all underfoot,
I knew that eventually good eating was afoot.
The wine was added, I was back on track,
Things were smelling so good that I refused to snack.
When I finally served the stew up, Paul looked at me and said ‘Jerry!
all other stews this one really does bury!
What did you do, I need to know!’,
I smiled and said with a glow . . . .
‘I measured the ingredients and followed the words beneath,
And the wonderful scents encircled our heads like a wreath.
While you were busy watching shows on the telly,
I listened to Marcella and made the kitchen so wonderfully smelly!’
She really is a wonderful cooking elf,
And to celebrate her genius we raised a glass to her health!
With a wink of Paul’s eye and a twist of his head,
He gobbled up his stew and reached for some bread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And making sure that he gobbled it all up like clockwork.
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up from the table he rose!
‘He left me with the dishes’, I thought with a bristle,
Hmmmm . . . next time I shall serve him nothing but gristle.
But I heard him exclaim, ‘ere he ran out of sight,
“Marcella rocks my world, more cookbooks she MUST write!”
(with apologies to Clement Clarke Moore )
Happy Hallowe’en y’all!