Le Sacre du Printemps au Ferme By
Le poete recompense by Rene Margritte
The Rites of Spring at the Farmhouse
Spring has sprung though you couldn’t be sure.
From snowing to hot it seems is the cure.
But change in the air is afoot, and the reason:
Our Fruits of the Farm is very in season.
So a lull for this week of rants and derision.
A paean to Spring is our final decision.
Spring menus are printed and our point is quite focal:
As we shop for our groceries we like to stay local.
From sausage of veggies (though we don’t mean to coax).
They’re made in Louisa from our pals at Twin Oaks.
To the savory aromas of freshly baked cookies.
From our kitchen of course! We don’t shop at Snookies.
Perhaps a nice smoothie with organic soy.
Or maybe we’re bragging and being too coy.
But we blend with precision and practice our craft
And the berries are only from old Stuart’s Draft.
But first dust our hands, though not from a roux;
But from baking a chicken for another Q Bleu.
If you’re thinking of morning—We’ve got just the staple:
Our Brioche French Toast with syrup pure maple.
Or a lunch light and crisp, and a regular pleaser?
To wake up the palette: Our Lemony Caesar.
We’ll open the windows—give the weather a damn
With a smoky Cubano of Virginia Ham.
And as Cary Street beckons we think, “What could be better?”
Than steamy grilled cheese with fine Vermont Cheddar.
As we celebrate spring we dispense with the nag
About bees going away and rants on Big Ag.
But instead smell the air and bask in the sun
And posit some prose. So please pardon the pun.
Just loosen the tie, or the jacket, or turban.
You only need taste buds to visit The Urban.
