"Ode to a Decent Family Meal" (a Misanthrope's Guide
My eyes, they must be deceiving,
For over or undercooked rice I'm not seeing.
Before me a steaming and colorful spread
Doesn't, for once, look too cold and/or dead.
One's palate really cannot help but salivate,
And all at once I begin to gravitate
Away from the floor
(Fuck that belligerent guy awaiting mimosa number four).
Blurs of boozy bloodies and pancakes, eggs scrambled with no yolks,
Makes any sane person charge towards unruly children, ready to choke.
When was the last time I peed? I ponder.
Good god I need coffee, or at least ten pints of lager.
The end is in sight.
My stomach growls with shockingly loud might.
My back and feet ache, this tired tongue wont wag another order.
At this point I'm so hungry, I'll eat whatever.
Surprise! The chefs have made family meal with fervor!
Despite working hot endless hours, they're one friend a gas burner,
They've taken mercy on the front of house.
I hear muttering, "We're just grateful we don't have to negotiate menu items with that one crazy regular who has an appetite of a mouse."
Before me lies beauty beyond compare.
Grateful, and starving, I dish brioche topped with compote of pear.
Fresh huevos rancheros, sizzling sausage, beignets to boot!
If my face wasn't stuffed, I'd definitely hoot.
Delicious and decadent, my plate balances in one hand.
The other high fives the pastry chef for his dope flan.
Another brunch shift is done, the nightmare is over,
But this family meal is legendary, much like tomorrow's hangover.
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