CASSOULET
He sits solemnly as the prince of the table,
Captivating our sight and all our senses delighted,
Families and neighbors brought together by him,
Come to taste such a delectable dish.
Just out of the oven, crackly, tasty,
Its fragrant scent perfumes the kitchen,
Comrade eager from a neighboring dive,
An old bottle with a dusty cap.
Around the glazed earthenware “cassole”,
Their flesh full of juice, duck legs,
Call upon our desire and offer themselves to the gaze,
The disorder of pleasure touches the mind.
Every guest is there, come for the feast,
The subject is light, the anecdote is teeming,
The beans are served, the word is heard,
In front of their succulence in a gratin hat.
Whether they are ingots, coconuts or more modest names,
In their luscious dress, and their plump belly,
They have no equal for the defeated gourmand,
They are the victors, the phoenixes of the party.
Guy says l’Arié…..Joie