CHEF PERNOLLET by BERTON BRALEY

(@3The greatest cook in the world is said to be Pernollet of the town of Belley,
France@1)

Some bards may prate of warriors great,
Or statesmen mighty in debate
Who sit amid the halls of state,
Discussing many questions;
But I aspire to touch my lyre
And sing with fervor and with fire
Of him whose one and sole desire
Is pleasing our digestions;
Thus I a wreath eternal lay,
A laurel ever vernal lay
Beneath the Gallic kelly,
And on the head of Pernollet,
Chef Pernollet of Belley!

Well-named the town of such renown,
Where monarch, merchant, prince or clown,
With gustatory bliss gulp down
Roasts, ices, entrées, salads;
To come across the special sauce
Of Pernollet, makes words a loss,
And makes the versifiers toss
A sheaf of noble ballads;
Such cooking might well earn a lay
From poets who could turn a lay
As well as Keats or Shelley,
To celebrate Chef Pernollet
Chef Pernollet of Belley!

Oh, gluttony may justly be
Viewed as a sin of low degree,
But Pernollet's great cookery
Entirely justifies it;
And gourmets come to fill their tum
With food that leaves them wholly dumb
Except to say "Um, yum, yum, yum!"
To show how much they prize it.
So, all good livers, learn a lay
That sings the fame of Pernollet,
His soups, his meats, his jelly;
As I a wreath eternal lay
On Pernollet of Belley!

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