Weining Wang
As I child, my great-grandfather frequently recalled,
His life as a chef in the imperial kitchen.
The kitchen, marvelous, was built of diamonds and gold.
He glazed the herbal spices all over the chicken.
He wore a court dress draped with a hood.
Stirred in freshened sauce, while the soup was boiling.
Herbal Chicken, roast duck, the table full of great grandpa’s food.
He was sweating, the dining room was rolling.
The dynasty was destroyed, palace flooded,
When my grand-grandfather had to leave here,
The kitchen collapsed, it is where he still stuck
To his cooking and why it is so dear.
My great-grandfather was eighty as his death,
He formulated skills in cuisines,
His son began to record the journey at infancy,
Great-grandfather died on a great hill at eighty.
I recalled the history of the old dynasty’s tomb,
My great-grand father cooks every night,
He was summoned and entered into emperor’s room
Preparing the dishes and food looks bright.
In the last ten years of the decadent dynasty,
Colorful ingredients added in the emperors ‘recipes.
Great-grandfather divide the dishes into different types.
Tomatoes, potatoes, carrots and coffee beans.
Be wildered by these gems, confused
He thought and wandered,
“What artistry could I formable?”
At midnights stoke, he saw the light
Potatoes pat at café de crème, drizzle carrots
The emperor was pleased with his cuisine,
“I request you stay in my kitchen, be in my hierarchy.”
Great-grandfather supersized and confused, shivered to flee.
After I thought to myself, “I desire to complete my journey”
Decisions, decisions, he looked in the emperor’s eyes
“I am privileged to thank your grace but I must decline,
My journey has just begun, my soul desires to fly.”
Grant me this wish for a bird in a cage, is a bird destined to die.