Chef Beauregard : my nonsense writing entry
"How do you prepare your chickens?"
I slipped my menu to the side and looked at the chef who had come to the table. It was clear that he was extremely proud of his establishment, and wanted to present as many of the fine details of his unique techniques as possible. Here I was, expecting to hear the the chickens were prepared in wine, or simmered in an aromatic garlic butter concoction. But no, not for today. His response to how the chickens were prepared?
"Simple, I tell them they're going to die."
I shook my head. I had heard the joke from my father all throughout my childhood, but the look on this chef's face held not a trace of humour.
"Is that so?"
"But of course! We have a little ceremony for them. Come, I'll show you."
We walked through the restaurant, into the back garden and before me was - yes, a chicken cemetery. Little headstones, with names written in - yes, chicken scratch.
"Here lies Cluck, a chipper fellow."
"Goodbye Fritz, you fowl bird."
"Delectable Delores. Until we eat again."
And so on. When we had met with all his past feathered friends, I thought it was over. How mistaken I was! It was time to collect the greens for the salad and what a show! As he clipped each one, he spoke a solemn prayer for the plant life taken. I assumed a reverent position, but was torn between bowing my head in solemnity or a fit of giggles. I failed in one and succeeded in the other. When I raised my head to wipe the moisture from my eyes, the chef mistook the tears for sorrow.
"There, there, my dear. Life goes on! We shall celebrate their sacrifice today with the finest meal! Come!"
He was nuttier than a fruitcake, but how could I sneak away now? Lives had been taken! They shan't have died in vain on my account!
I sat at the table and folded my hands, waiting for each course.
In a word, divine! Each course was heaven on my tastebuds. If this is what was required for this gorgeous party happening in my mouth, I should hold mass for every ingredient in my pantry from now on! The man was onto something! A genius! I should never doubt him again! As the chef made his way back to me, he clasped his hands together in anticipation for the final course.
"And I hope the lady has saved room for dessert?"
Everything he had "sacrificed" on my behalf had been perfection. He had gained my full trust as a patron! I could barely contain my excitement and breathily asked, "Do tell what culinary delight awaits me!"
"Ladyfingers, drizzled in a blood orange syrup!"
"Check, please."
This post is my entry into the Second Nonsense Writing Contest by @rycharde
Thank you for the invitation. It's a pleasure to meet someone new here! I took your advice @jamerussell and used some of the tags that @rycharde used on his post. I hope I chose ones that make sense for this post.
I can't forget four cupcakes for my crew of friends here: @crazy-unicorn, @thekittygirl, @jamerussell and @brittandjosie. Thank you for coming to say hi to me and continuing to bring cheer.
