Bit of a silly poem about food… No deep-and-meaningfuls here, just a lot of food…
Cheese. It’s all about the cheese.
And the gory tomato sauce,
so hot you blister your tongue
on those first few gorging
mouthfuls of diet-blowing bliss.
You can’t resist. You get stuck in.
Mushrooms and mozzarella
slopping down your chin.
Deep pan decadence or thin.
Garlic-slicked fingers ripping,
lustful, even for the crusts,
herb butter stuffed for dipping.
Toppings piled and spilling.
Perfect pepperoni polkadots.
Pineapple, ham, spicy chicken.
Salty anchovies – love or hate.
Jalapenos kick a feisty bite.
Smoked rashers lashed across.
But in the end, every single time,
it’s the essential magic that binds.
Continental or British. Smoked
or goat’s. Feta, Edam, Roquefort.
A pungent bit of blue or sneaky brie.
It’ll always be all about the cheese.