Chef Dad

There’s drama in the kitchen
For our dad’s the chef tonight
He’s cooking up a storm (of sorts)
And he promises delight.

It’s true the scents are pleasing
That the menu sounds a treat
But I wonder if he’s in too deep
Will he fall by his conceit?

The orchestra is restless
For the curtain call is due
The actors want to break a leg
We’re all waiting for his cue.

It’s been at least two hours
Since our appetites were whet
If only mom had cooked instead
We’d be fed before sunset.

At last the chef is ready
To reveal his labour’s fruit
“Soupe à l’oignon” he proudly cries
His conviction’s resolute

We couldn’t help but snigger
That he’d taken all this time
To make for us an onion soup
What a tawdry pantomime.

Still we were very hungry
That we ate it up with glee
When asked if we’d like second bowls
As one voice we all said “oui!”

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