In Other Words/Lines in Appreciation of a Lady's Art
Lines in Appreciation of a Lady’s Art
Madura maid that o’er the stove holdeth despotic sway,
Small is the labor that you do, though great your weekly pay,
Far from a Savarin are you in the rôle that you have picked,
Tortoni could have beaten you from clams to Benedict.
Nay, I’ll make one exception, and one that bids me sing
Your o. f. strob’ry shortcake, a Rare and Perfect Thing.
Small is the labor that you do, though great your weekly pay,
Far from a Savarin are you in the rôle that you have picked,
Tortoni could have beaten you from clams to Benedict.
Nay, I’ll make one exception, and one that bids me sing
Your o. f. strob’ry shortcake, a Rare and Perfect Thing.
In many a line of cooking your ineptitude is great,
You have three afternoons a week, you come each morning late.
You burn an awful lot of gas, you waste a lot of stuff,
Your soups are generally weak, your steaks are always tough,
Yet here is to Virginia, the state that gave you birth,
And your o. f. strob’ry short cake, the Finest Thing on Earth!
You have three afternoons a week, you come each morning late.
You burn an awful lot of gas, you waste a lot of stuff,
Your soups are generally weak, your steaks are always tough,
Yet here is to Virginia, the state that gave you birth,
And your o. f. strob’ry short cake, the Finest Thing on Earth!
Madura maiden, rob a bank, yet should you be enthroned,
Commit a century of crime, yet shall you be condoned
So long as you may build those joys, those Benisons of Bliss,
Whose memory is with me now as I unlimber this;
Whose recollection this here apostrophic stuff has stirred
On your o. f. strob’ry shortcake, which is Cooking’s Final Word.
Commit a century of crime, yet shall you be condoned
So long as you may build those joys, those Benisons of Bliss,
Whose memory is with me now as I unlimber this;
Whose recollection this here apostrophic stuff has stirred
On your o. f. strob’ry shortcake, which is Cooking’s Final Word.