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Schnitzel Supper
By Shirley Friedman
Oh reckless spider, what was your plan
when you dropped from the extractor fan?
Were you the forerunner of others of your ilk
as you dangled from the tenuous silk
viewing the scene; wondering what
was cooking in the bubbling pot –
pieces of meat that sizzled and spat,
and thinking ‘What strange stuff is that?’
Did a splatter of oil, a gust of steam
then rise up and disturb the scene,
make you lose your grip or fumble
so into the pot you did tumble?
A dismayed gasp, a swift reaction,
but rescue attempts bring no satisfaction.
Your cries for help are very few
as you’re lost in the crumbled residue.
To whom does this morsel now get served?
Our troubled cook feels quite absurd
and hopes your presence just adds flavour
for all the family to savour.
Not a word of caution does she utter
as she serves the Sabbath supper,
the food that she prepared with care,
and yet she knows the spider’s there
Somewhere on somebody’s plate.
A comment‘s made ‘This schnitzel’s great.
The best you’ve made in a quite a while.’
I wonder why she doesn’t smile
or lay a claim to haute cuisine,
the epitome of each chef's dream?
Oh silly spider, why didn’t you sit all
Snug in your web? Now you’re spider schnitzel.
Oh reckless spider, spinning down from the canopy fan
without a thought of what danger might lie beneath.
What was your plan as you dangled from your
tenuous silk?
Were you inspecting the busy scene below,
wondering what could keep a cook so occupied with
crumbing and frying she doesn’t notice your entry
into her realm?
Or was it an act of desperation by an unloved heart?
A show of bravado? An attempt to prove your supreme spirit
that sent you plummeting into the volcano of hot steam and
bubbling oil.
Perhaps a splatter of hot oil, a gust of warm air made you
lose your grip and plummet into the crumbed, crisping meat
being prepared for Sabbath supper.
A gasp of dismay. Swift reaction. But attempts at rescue
are futile as you are lost in the bubbles and blackened residue,
a seared soul that has no hope, a daring devil that lost his
safety rope.
To whom does this unexpected morsel now get served?
What piquant flavour have you added to the meal on this
singular occasion? No one knows - not even the cook,
oh deep-fried spider.
Oh reckless spider, what was your plan when you dropped from
the extractor fan? Like Robbie Bruce did you wear a kilt
as you dangled from the tenuous silk
viewing the scene. Were you wondering what
Was cooking in the bubbling pot with pieces of meat that sizzled and spat
And thinking ‘What strange stuff is that?’
Did a splatter of oil, a gust of steam then rise up and
disturb the scene, make you lose your grip and tumble
into the pot – or did you fumble?
A dismayed gasp, a swift reaction. Attempts at rescue bring
no satisfaction. Your cries for help are very few as you’re lost
in the blackened residue.
To whom does this morsel now get served? Our troubled cook feels
quite absurd and hopes your presence just adds flavour
for the family to savour.
Not a word of caution does she utter as she serves the
Sunday supper, the schnitzel she prepared with care, and yet
she knows the spider’s there
somewhere on somebody’s plate. A comment ‘s made ‘This
food is great. The best you’ve made in a quite a while.’
I wonder why she doesn’t smile?
Oh silly spider, what a pity you didn’t sit all
snug in your web. Now you’re spider schnitzel!
~~~~~~~
from the July 2010 Edition of the Jewish Magazine
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