THE CONTEST IS NOW CLOSED.
Back in July of 2006, I ran a “Food Limerick” contest. It turned out to be one of the most popular contests ever. Thanks to some generous sponsors, I’m going to have a 2010 contest!
A good limerick is not an easy feat. The first two lines come easy enough, but the next aren’t quite so easy. Pay careful attention to the examples below. For that reason, I’ll make it worth your while.
The prizes, you ask? How about a first-prize of a $75.00 gift certificate from Accanto and a $25.00 gift certificate from Bruce Bauer Bruce Bauer over at Vino Buys in Sellwood? Second prize $25.00 gift certificate to Story Teller Wine Company? Third prize $20 gift certificate to Laughing Planet Cafe? Enough to make it worth while?
This year, the prizes will all be awarded on March 17th; Saint Patrick’s Day!
You’ve all heard limericks at one time or another; I’m sure we all learned the dirty ones when we were ten. Now it is time to put those memories to work.
Here are the rules:
Keep in mind, a limerick has to fit a certain rhythmic meter and rhyme. For example:
A: What is a limerick, Mother?
A: It’s a form of verse, said brother
B: In which lines one and two
B: Rhyme with five when it’s through
A: And three and four always rhyme with each other
Some entries from 2006:
“There’s a hair in my soup!” complained Shirley
to the head waiter, short bald and surly;
“You know, I’m appalled…”
“Ma’am, the whole staff is bald…”
“Yes I know, but the hair’s short and curly!”
You go to a place like Castagna
And order the spinach lasagne
Six pinots later
You flirt with the waiter
And most of it just ends up on ya.
Sweeney ordered a simple crab Louis;
What arrived was an herbed ratatouille.
So he sniffed, turned his head,
Grabbed a lighter, and said,
“Time for waiter flambé, with Drambuie.”
There once was a gourmet of mystery,
Who hid his identity and history
His reviews women read
And swooned in their head
Thinking thoughts that were very non-sisterly
Murmured Wolfgang in tones most appealing
As he poured the food critic’s Darjeeling,
“I’m an Iron Chef, miss…”
He leaned in for a kiss
is equipment now hangs from the ceiling
I said to my girlfriend, “Don’t hurry.”
When she went to Bombay’s for the curry,
but after the fall
and a card from Bengal
I’ll tell you – I’m starting to worry
The rules: All entries must be original. They must be related to food. They must be reasonably clean and in good taste. A panel of judges will narrow down the winning list, the prize will be picked by a vote of readers. Knock yourselves out!
You’ve all heard limericks at one time or another; I’m sure we all learned the dirty ones when we were ten (did they all involve France?). Now it is time to put those memories to work.
This is at best a marginal effort, but I can’t resist:
A&E sacks KB, bringing howls
That the O’s down to nothing but vowels.
No M.H. at FD,
So it’s easy to see
U and I should hold onto their towels.
There will doubtless be more later as the mood and the culinary rhymes warrant.
In Portland the burger is treasured.
From fine dining to carts it is measured.
Though our dollars are tight,
there is rarely a site,
where the beef lover cannot be pleasured.
It’s been said that we eat with our eyes.
Not a stretch if you look at my thighs.
If it’s true, I’m in trouble,
’cause my eyes seeing double,
just ate up two orders of fries!
My boyfriend eats nothing but meat,
but then he demands something sweet,
I do all the dishes,
while he eats franks and knishes,
and then he won’t even rub my feet!
My quaffing an Aussie shiraz
is cause for haute winos to razz.
Syrah is the plonk
for a pretentious wonk
who probably listens to jazz.
Brooks lost her job as Portland’s critic,
Some folks deemed her reviews too acidic,
Internet cretins rejoiced,
A few spurned chefs became moist,
And the Oregonian needs a medic.
It was bacon last year that was shining
as a showcased component of dining.
Now the tables have turned,
and the the pigs have just learned,
though we loved it before, we’re now whining.
Aren’t we glad that the Hebb’s in Seattle,
where one pot can be stirred without rattle?
Seems the blogs all agree
that up north he could flee
with no evident scars from the battle.
I used to be on a ” see food diet ”
If I saw food I’d definitely try it
then as I got older I sadly found
that it leads to a shape I’m going to call round
I wish I could – but I can’t deny it!
Cooking al fresco’s an art,
That sets out fair city apart.
You’d think us quite odd,
‘Til you hit a pod,
And visit our latest food cart.
More Asian food now if you please
Thai, Indian, Pho, Japanese
With all this cuisine
Why is Portland so mean,
Lacking good restauraunts Chinese?
In the South we drank plenty o’ bourbon,
And the rednecks eat ‘que with no shirt on.
I thought in the West
Folks loved veggies the best,
But the taste for pork is most disturbin’.
:)
I found myself wandering streets
In search of the ultimate eats
At each cart I tasted
Not one crumb was wasted
Oh food carts, you make me complete!
Most Portlanders love to eat out
Of that there is clearly no doubt.
There are rest’rants galore,
with more always in store,
It’s surprising we’re all not more stout!
There once was a restauranteur
who’s salmon had grown quite mature
So using his head,
he baked doughnut-shaped bread
And covered his gaffe with salt cure
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Bagels%27n%27Lox.jpg
I think Food Dude is astute
His blog’s a restaurants tribute
But his reviews are too slow
And so we’ll never quite know
Which restaurant deserves a boot or salute.
In Vancouver, one must go dim summing
Where the har gao, they just keep on coming
From the kitchen divine,
That lo bak kou’s MINE!
And the cheung fun will soon have me humming…
Portland’s cuisine runs the gamut,
No matter which side the Willamette.
In the restaurant battle
We beat Seattle
With more choices per capita, damnit!
In the battle of restaurant bands,
Portland beats SF, down-hands.
A recent transplant,
I know where it’s at,
Portland gets my salivary glands.
The mere sight of that sign
Is tingling my spine
Red Velvet, Big Top,
Fat Elvis, don’t stop!
St. Cupcake…be mine.
I’m a wine drinker most of the time
I prefer pinot to vodka with lime
Portland is my home
And I’ve no need to roam
Cuz the wineries here are sublime
Hello everyone my name is Bob
My favorite food is corn on the cob
I also love a plate of lasagna
My wife will say ” don’t get any on ya ”
I guess ’cause I’m a bit of a slob
My boyfriend and I love to try Portland restaurants for breakfast
Sometimes there is such a long wait, even longer than at the dentist
All kinds of scrambles, benedicts and pancakes we’ve tried
Within Portland we venture to NW, SW and even the East side
We love brunch and will eat anything on the menu, to be honest.
We Ping and we Pok and we Clyde
(Over Sel Gris and Carlyle we cried)
Tonight Ned Ludd? Nostrana?
I want Kir! No, Castagna!
Oh, let’s drink and be Immortal Pie’d.
Nice.
A sniff suits a scoff
This drink smells a bit off
Your bitters are rotten
Your manners forgotten
I think they belong in a trough
Portland’s secret ingredient in bloody mary,
is Hot Monkey and can be quite hairy.
A peppery infusion with the right heat,
gets the tourists out on the street,
singing in Voodoo Donuts real scary!
Sandwich, o sandwich, it’s clear
You’re the darlingest food of the year
Torta, steak or bahn mi
Meat Cheese Bread’s BLB
In my gullet you’ll soon disappear
Lest you think that my bread song is done
I assure you we’ve only begun
First stop egg, bacon, toast
Course two: tender beef roast
With a moon pie that’s second to none
Still hungry? then skip the salami
For Ken and Zuke’s tender pastrami
Vaya torta and ‘cue
And this Döner’s for you
Sound the sirens for sando tsunami!
My sugar wanted dessert from one of the carts
So I carried my own box, I felt pretty smart
Then lo! I saw my life’s sweetie
Lapping ice cream with Petey
And I found out my cupcake was tart!
Why go to the bother of simmering stock?
when they’re opening another cart on the block.
Though our wallets are thinner,
We’re still covered for dinner.
We can order gourmet, from a guy in a box!
Down Under they eat Vegemite,
The first time it gave me a fright.
Lord! What a smell,
But to hear Ozzies tell,
With practice ’twill be a delight.
there once was a lass in Northeast
who’s diet was pork and roast beast
one day on the scale
she screamed out a wail
“Green veggies must be my new feast!”
Topical R Us:
Food Dude wanted the menu and hours
For a place near the new condo towers.
But their Flash crashed his browser
Like an oversexed Schnauzer.
So their Web site’s been sent to the showers.
////
At the Ringside, the smell was appalling;
Seems the mildew brigade had come calling.
So they’ve now pulled up steaks
For as long as it takes
For the legend’s bright star to stop falling.
Grand Central’s croissant are quite flaky
Fred Meyer’s are downright cakey
Petite Provence’s are best for dipping
St. Honore’s baker must be tripping
You all will think my analysis quite shaky
As long as there exists rare steak
I will not be tempted by soy cake
I have heard the sad song
from the vegans all year long
Can we just have dinner for our sake!
Said the Burgerville fan from Yoncalla,
“The One Ring is the sweet Walla Walla.
The Vidalia? Too light.
Foreign Mayas? Not right.
Walla-Squared is the Onion Valhalla.”
You are KILLING me! Here I thought salami/pastrami/tsunami was pretty darn good, and then THIS!
Salami/pastrami/tsunami is pretty darn good, all the more so since the scansion for the limerick as a whole is also on target. And I haven’t managed anything this year that I’d rank with the best of my efforts from the last time around.
A big purple octopus looming
Above Washington street, needing grooming
The place now looks haunted
’cause nobody wanted
A meal that might leave you fuming.
Portland’d foodies love anything fry-able,
A good burger’s worth is undeniable.
Forego salads of green,
Opting for the poutine,
Make these sewer’s repairs justifiable!
typo: Portland’s not Portland’d
In tasting cuisines far and wide,
I’ll eat about anything fried.
The doc says, “I quit,
find a coffin to fit —
at least you can say that I tried.”
“Do you enjoy food more than sex?”,
My girlfriend inquires, perplexed.
She started to cry,
As I rushed to reply,
“I would if it weren’t for the check.”
The chorus resounds absolute,
“Ned Ludd!” all the food critics hoot.
The wood oven is quaint,
But delicious it ain’t.
My order came buried in soot.
Please tell me this is no illusion,
I’m unable to draw a conclusion,
Oh yes! I have sighted
two wolds now united
Belly smiles, I have found koi fusion.
there once was a restaurant named Beast
whose prices left me feeling fleeced
I do like their cooks
and their mega-watt looks
but their food does not give full release
“Your small portions,” said young Miguelito,
“Aren’t enough to appease a mosquito.”
“Then I hope you’ll buy more,”
Said the elder senor,
“For you see, I’m the Frito Bandito!”
There once was a brunch spot du jour
with service both haughty and poor
how hard can it get
to have one serviette
or a spoon in this uber eyesore?
Said the Chef to the Sous “Know your place!”
“I’m the current arbiter of your taste.”
“You don’t have the chops,
your specials all flops,
in ten years you can have you own space!”
He preferred to take things much slower,
But a good time he wanted to show her.
She said, “Please be quicker,
with that cabinet of liquor!”
Liquor cabinet? I hardly know ‘er!
What’s that funny hum?
I’m afraid it’s just the sum
of franks and beans
and beers and greens
in Ivor Wynn D. Bumme.
Better to live in a city of Foodies,
Than to live anywhere near a city of Cooties,
So many great shops, restaurants and bars,
Places you can visit by bus, bike, or car,
Or picnic at Reeder and dine with the Nudies.
At Autentica, they serve nopales
“Sunday special,” says Waiter Gonzalez
Don’t bring me menudo,
I didn’t come crudo*,
Chef Oswaldo, where ARE the tamales?
*hung over…menudo is traditional after a hard night out
On Iron Chef, five points for sizzle
And more for an herb oil drizzle
But big points are taken
When you serve the bacon
And Jeffrey says ‘Yeah, that’s the shizzle’
My date tried to order merlot
And stuck to her guns even though
I said it’s a sin
Those grapes kill the zin
But I shouldn’t have called her a ho
That’s mean…but I’m laughing! Down with “Merlot!”
My vegan wife really gets torqued
My steak dinner has her uncorked
But she’s sort of faking
She really likes bacon
Even vegans like getting porked
They all used to think me a yokel
Dumb redneck; sometimes they were vocal
They thought me a fool
But now think I’m cool
I’ve spent my whole life eating local
A bit of culinary advice:
The New Englanders tend to be louder
When defending the one true clam chowder.
Here’s a tip: don’t be quick
To make chowder too thick;
Stay away from potato-starch powder.
And on a related question:
Where to find the best chowder, my brothers?
Well, there’s Mo’s and there’s Jake’s, and some others,
But the one I recall
As the best of them all
I can’t get any more — my grandmother’s.
[When I was small, there were family gatherings every so often during clamming season on the Long Beach Peninsula, which would conclude in the evenings with my grandmother's homemade New England style chowder made from clams we'd dug ourselves. As far as I'm concerned, that was and always will be the best clam chowder in the world, and not only because of the memories. She was an extremely good cook.]
In the ’80s, Mom went on a quest
To serve veggies and whole grains with zest
With no meat in our bowl,
Every evening we’d stroll
Through Enchanted Broccoli Forest
Though my palate is now more mature
And dinner might be downed with Latour
Every once in a while,
Mama’s number I’ll dial
For a dish from The Veg Epicure
Prosciutto is surely good ham
And who doesn’t like a good yam?
But though they are nice
Sheep pleasure you twice
I’m glad that I’ve gone on the lamb
If I get a last meal on death row
You can spare me your spendy Bordeaux
The point tally’s greater
Just check Wine Spectator
In a bottle of local Pinot
with my date a bottle of Pinot
And after a Sherry Fino
My eyes looked away
to a blonde in grey
to wear Matello on my Chinos
Old flatulent Major Carew
ate a volatile Indian stew,
five beers and a curry,
some beans in a hurry,
some franks and some pickles, some….PHEWWW!!!
On a castaway isle Henry met a
mermaid and managed to net her;
such a tail and such lips!
such a bosom, such hips!
such a wonderful shape – Henrietta.