There’s an egg you can boil…
There’s an egg you can poach…
There’s an egg you can scramble…
And spread on your toast.
You can fry one in a pan,
Make a fluffy omelet,
But I just have to sing the praises
of the very best egg yet.
It’s much bigger than an ostrich egg
In fact it’s a Cordon Bleu machine,
And can turn out steaks and ribs
The likes of which you’ve never seen.
Housed within it’s big green shell
It may look like staring into the jaws of hell
But there has to be an angel overseeing the job
For the grub this egg produces tastes like ambrosia to the gods
The aroma when it sets to work
Will set your taste buds poppin’,
In anticipation of a culinary delight
That is definitely heart stoppin’.
But even an angel can do with a hand
To create a delicious dream
And the hand overseeing it all
Is Roman, the chef supreme.
It’s a long process getting everything perfect
But he handles it all with good grace
For the love he has for this art, which comes from his heart
Can’t fail to put a smile on your face.
So enjoy every morsel, savour every bite
Of this feast he’s prepared for you.
As all of us here – give a great big cheer
For Roman and his Big Green Egg barbecue!
-Ann Brown March 2015
My wonderful, adorable and hilariously funny mother-in-law is a bit of a poet. She penned this ode to the egg on her latest visit to Singapore in March. I think both Granny & Papa enjoyed the fruits of the egg and it was only fitting to pay homage with prose. Thanks Maw… one of my favourite poems yet!