The Bad Baker

"I don't make Ecclefechan Tarts any more. Whenever anybody asked me what they were it sounded like I was being most awfully rude."  B.P.R.

 

 

Who put strychnine in the scones?

Who put magic mushrooms in the vol-au-vents?

The Bad Baker.

 

Who stole the cream of the crop, the cherry off the top and the apple from your eye?

Who baked four and twenty crows and a "Best in Show" beagle in a pie?

The Bad Baker.

 

Who keeps Jamie Oliver on a chain?

Who drove Worrall Thompson quite insane?

The Bad Baker.

 

Who plied a guide dog with absinthe?

Who gave tablet to a coachload of diabetic pensioners?

Whose career hit the stratosphere due to his crew of pastry slaves

yet he can't bring himself to mention us?

The Bad Baker.

 

Who makes us all sleep on a twelve foot by six foot breadboard?

Who pours syrup in our hair, treacle in our pants and honey in our shoes?

Yes, you guessed it, it's The Bad Baker.

Who else but The Bad Baker?

 

 

His desiccated conquests betwixt puff pastry sheets.

His enemies all vanquished and turned into mincemeats.

His scandals all get hushed up.

His Amaretti biscuits all get crushed up

(by me in the pantry - a small twilight victory).

 

I rue the day that St Pithivier

egg-washed this curse!

 

Drunkenly slumped,

passed out in a proving drawer,

his squat square face

like an old lady purse.

I'd like to bung him in the oven

at one eighty (gas mark 4)

but, gosh darn it,

I've got to let him rest first...

 

B.P.R. 31/01/2015

 

Paul "To Resist Me Is Sheer" Follywood. By putting this picture here I am in no way implying that this gentleman is in any way a bad baker. That wouldn't be good for my kitchen karma. I would most likely be accursed with a soggy bottom for the rest of my days. Which may not be many.  B.P.R