Haute Cuisine Poem by Sheena Blackhall

Haute Cuisine
The higher the price,
The less lies on your plate

The incredible anorexic carrots
Trained to grow through straws thinner than pencils
Have miniscule tufts of green
Attached on top
A miracle of horticultural engineering
You could use them to dental floss

A single new potato has been squashed
Into the shape of a square
Very Georges Braque
Very cubist
Très chic, an amuse bouche

A small ball of indeterminate substances
Lies on the plate like a Lilliputian bomb

Set a little apart
A knob of beef
Like a plug of congested faeces
Adds a brown note to this culinary composition

And the pièce de résistance?
A slender green squiggle
Tiny as a caterpillar's piddle
Pretending to be a sauce
Or a trickle in the Kalahari desert

Stop for a takeaway on the way home.
You know you need to.