Pastry Capers

 

I have me pastry, puff, some cheese,

an egg and pepper, Himself to please.

Ma’s Talmouses don’t take much time,

less than getting this list to rhyme.

After rolling the paste to squish it flat,

cut four inch circles, place on a mat,

no, on a tray, where they’ll flop and rest.

It’s feeble, I know, but I’m doing my best

to get this wretched verse to rhyme

and taking liberties takes time,

even if the rhyme repeats

as I fail to persist preparing these eats.

Now, I’ll behave, so back to the text.

Cheese and eggs and pepper are next.

The cheese is grated, mixed with the rest

till all adhere – in a bowl is best.

Yes, I know the rhyme repeats

and, no, I won’t be using ‘eats.’

It’s not as if I’m being lazy;

trying, maybe, certainly hazy.

Doing two things at the same time

(Bugger! But ‘slime’ is worse than ‘rhyme.’)

is hard if you’re unused to baking

and worse if naff at poetry making.

So, back to fillings. Dollop some mix

on the rounds of pastry. Now to fix

all of the edges. Take egg, then brush

a little around the cheese. Don’t rush.

You see I avoided the use of ‘time.’

Arrghh! Can’t escape the use of ‘rhyme’

‘cause ‘crime’ and ‘dime’ and ‘mime’ won’t fit

what this verse requires of it.

And ‘it’ is weak; it’s a nothing stress

to end a line. Trust me to mess

up poetic metre time out of number!

Writing’s a pressure to be humbler.

Right! Here’s the final fiddly part -

at the end, thank God, and not the start!

Take up three sides of the egged-edge paste,

a job that can’t be done in haste,

and match the sides, squeezing well

along the edges. So that they swell,  

leave a smallish hole at the top

through which, when baked, the mix will pop.
You’re making a three-cornered hat.

I wonder who first thought of that!

Note: no repeat rhymes here, so take

the tray, full as it is, and bake

for 15 minutes at 200C

(I’m dying here for want of tea)

till golden. Eat them warm, not hot

and make sure you don’t scoff the lot

all at one sitting. Take your time

Yes, I knew there’d be this rhyme.

I’m resigned to repetition.

It’s the same with baking: repetition

of Ma’s past recipes, most of them good,

as she was when focused on making food.

Time’s at an end, but a fond farewell?

Baking with making’s nowt but hell!