Orsay

Orsay, Orsay, what can I say?

Hello dear friend, let’s go to Orsay!

What do you say?

Out past the river, where the yuppies drink wine.

Into Avondale, that’s where we’ll dine.

On to Park Street, for a dinner divine.

A table for two and a feast  so fine.

Good company, good food that’s all we need.

A Raura, a Nubs and two stomachs to feed.

Taco Bell? Mickey Dee?

NO SIR!

It’s Orsay for me!

The one with mohawk and the other with the bob.

They’d eat all day as if it were a job.

I’d eat all day and turn into a blob.

What will you have, my Laura, my dear?

Escargot? That’s a snail I fear!

It comes with a shell and you must remove it I hear.

With surgical tools and a tiny fork I fear.

Slithered and slathered with garlic and butter.

It’s a mollusk (we Googled) and don’t get much better.

What you got?

Sir Lance-a-lot?

Is that cat food?

NO!

That’s steak tartare!

Cat food it isn’t!

Not cat food by far!

You eat it with a crostini.

And it is quite good.

Don’t it feed to a cat.

It’s human food.

Entrées are next on the table I see.

A chicken for you and a duck for me.

That’s a Roasted Black Hog Chicken, you see,

along with truffled mashed potatoes and spring veggie.

And Maple Leaf Farm Duck Breast,

over lentils and parsnip puree at its best.

Room for desert? Why yes indeed!

Vanilla Bean Crème Brulee. That’s what I need.

And what’s this? A tasty surprise!

Is that a fancy S’more?  I can’t believe my eyes!

Orsay, Orsay. I do say. We enjoyed Orsay.