X-men powers

What would I do if I had x-men powers?

I wouldn’t hesitate or think for hours.

Cyclops’ laser eyes are handy for cooking,

No need for a stove, I’d just do some looking

And the onions would be sautéed to perfection,

Later to be eaten by objects of my affection.

Wolverine’s claws could open all the letters,

Persuasion +10 when chased by debtors.

Also, good for chopping up an onion

Chopping them cleanly, like trees with Paul Bunyan.

Being telepathic, like Professor X,

Could stop an international annex.

Also, I’d know if onions are ok to cook

For my guests without asking, just a quick look.

In summary I’d say, the powers would be pretty cool

All of them help polish that culinary jewel.


Black beans and onions

Black beans! And onions!

Black beans! And onions!

I have a frying pan and those two ingredients,

A rapeseed oil bottle brimming with its contents,

Salt and black pepper and a spatulaaaaa,

Plus a knife as sharp as the fang of Draculaaaa!

Chip-chap-chop makes the onions small,

But not so much you can’t see them at all.

The kitchen becomes my private pool,

The onions make me always a fool.

Drain the beans and wash them like a sweet baby,

Gently and well, with warm water maybe.

Sauté the onions in the heat of a dragon,

High time for me to get on the dragon bandwagon.

Stir with the beans and give the saltiest season,

Where they live, sweet water is treason!

Sprinkle enough pepper to give them coal lung,

So that you can taste it in the air on your tongue.

Make them dance with the spatulaic grace,

Put them on a plate and stuff your face.

If you burnt your tongue, points for the zeal,

And good luck tasting the rest of the meal.


I love you, I love you, my dear oats.

My affection is deeper than medieval moats.

You taste so good with sugar or salt,

Giving me your all, I can’t find a fault.

Boiled in water you feed me in the morn,

Removing the night time hunger’s thorn.

In a sugar flour mix and baked real well,

You conjure up the most tastiest smell.

My teeth love you as much as I do,

The feeling they get biting into

Your oaty texture is entrancing,

When I feel it I can’t stop dancing.

If oats are my love, then can’t you say,

That eating one’s love is a monstrous display?

Therefore I think that calling this love,

Is like calling a cowboy boot a glove.

Yes, they do have a lot in common,

But to tell them apart you don’t need a lawman.

Cooking and math

Cooking and math are both very fun,

Almost identical, both the same one.

Why? Because rules are all you need.

Follow them if you’re mixing mead.

A soufflé or cake, stick to the rule,

Deriv-integrating, don’t be a fool.

Remember the rules and you’ll get there,

Just make sure that you don’t err.

A tea or tablespoon is not quite the same,

Plus before powered? Improve your aim.

If it doesn’t work, it’s all on you,

That’s so good, if only you knew.

If the blame is totally and only on me,

So is the solution, I’ve got the key.

That’s why cooking and math are fun,

If I succeed, it’s me who won.

Minimal Communication Cooking

Welcome to Minimal Communication Cooking!

Tonight in MCC we’ll be looking

At how to make a soufflé with four angry cooks,

Using no words you find in books.

Grunting through the ingredient phase.

Screeching and nodding when lighting a blaze.

Discussing the temperature mostly by pointing,

And some knife-related change dis-jointing.

How long should it stay in the high heat?

Grumble, leer, deep sigh, obedient bleat.

Let the judges judge the taste by tasting it through,

Approving harrumphs, a delighted coo.

It’s a success! You can remove your hat.

A perfect execution without futile chat.

Free-willed vampire

In some movies with monsters and such,

People want to be like them too much.

Vampires or werewolves, doesn’t really matter,

They’ll serve themselves on a non-silver platter,

Become vampires free willingly or so.

I couldn’t say anything but “NO NO NO!”

Vampires can’t really go into the sun,

And I do think that tanning is fun.

Also, when I’m doing any kind of cooking,

You shouldn’t smell, but just stick to looking,

I use garlic more than pirates use rum,

Enough to lay a whole town on its bum.

Thus I can’t be a vampire of my own will,

No garlicky stews, the rest are just swill.

I wouldn’t mind taking the life of a stranger,

Not a second thought in the alley or the manger.

But frying veggies without the angel of taste,

Is like a turkey with water for a baste.

So, Mr. Dracula, please stay away,

Go bother others, if you please may.

Baking pizza

Baking pizza in the oven. Can’t it be done?

Not quite as much as the eating, the baking was still fun.

Kneading dough with my bare fists,

Checking herby ingredient lists,

If I check what it looks like it’s yellow as the sun.

That’s the cheesy crust it has, moustache licking good!

Tomato sauce and salty things, like a pizza should!

Onions and garlic. Onions and garlic!

Onions in onions, garlic on garlic!

If I had a fireproof mouth, chomp down on it I would.

It’s done! It’s done! It’s been a half hour!

Its red and yellow is prettier than any flower.

Bye bye now, my dear friend.

I’ll salivate all the way till the end.

I’ll be so greased I will need a soapy shower!