Your honour, members of the jury,
I’m sure you’ll understand my clients fury
When for an afternoon with love he toiled
Only to have his masterwork despoiled.
Steak and kidney pudding, food of kings,
His flatmates only being used to things
Like Big Macs, chips, Kentucky Fried,
Their culinary crassness cannot be denied
But to excuse them surely it does not
Their mothers too must answer for a lot
Denying sons this epicurian delight.
My client was resolved to set this right.
The meat he diced and floured and salted.
Added onions finely chopped.
Browned all in a hot pan with a little oil.
Transfered then to a pot. More salt, some water.
Then his art began. His symphony of taste.
He squeezed three cloves of garlic
Added sage and thyme, a little nutmeg,
Soy and Worcester sauces gave their piquancy.
And simmered ever tasting, adding, blending.
At perfection stirred in corn-flour thickening.
And then the crust. A suet crust of course.
Who cares about chloresterol?
Flour, suet, salt, teaspoon of baking powder.
Water in exact amount to get the texture right.
Rolled out and used to line a pudding bowl.
A circle cut to roof this tour-de-force.
The meat put in ( that heavenly aroma!)
Mingled with left over chunks of dough.
The top put on and sealed, covered with foil,
And set to simmer gently in a water bath.
When his mates came home that night
He was on edge to witness their delight
At what their taste buds told them but, of course,
They being Cretins doused it with tomato sauce
The crowning insult to a cook which served
To bring the retribution they deserved.
By chance a large meat cleaver lay at hand.
And in my clients state of mind you’ll understand,
His right arm moved entirely of its own accord
Decapitating both. Most surely an appropriate reward.
My client’s act was warranted—worthy of praise..
See justice done and set him free. Find him ‘Not Guilty!’