CONTEXT: Last week, my workmates and I went to a team event at the Social Cooking Kitchen. Our Masterchef-esque challenge was to impress our judge, a Mrs Georgina Ramsey, with the dish of the day.
Alongside this, quite unexpectedly, each team had to write a poem to influence our case. Bringing dubious cooking skills to the table, I volunteered to put something down on paper in our final 10 minutes.
This poem, titled simply: Mrs Ramsey, is the result of that frantic scribble.
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(To be read in as seductive a tone as possible)
Roses are red
Violets are blue
There's no one I want to impress
More than you
With sparkling eyes
And a velvet tone
You're the only one I'd want
To teach me to debone
The Queen of sous vide,
Techniques I could keep listing,
Your ex Gordon Ramsey
Doesn't know what he's missing
Watching you whip around
That stove in a bluster
Does something to my heart
All hot and in a fluster
Together we could
Turn pure milk into curd
Fermentation they call it?
That could be our safe word
Alas, I must end,
Because I've gone on for too long.
But don't you worry,
I make sure I finish strong
Georgina,
There's only one thing we ask of you,
To give us the win, because these others
Have got no clue.
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