There’s an egg you can boil… There’s an egg you can poach… There’s an egg you can scramble… And spread on your toast.
You can fry one in a pan, Make a fluffy omelet, But I just have to sing the praises of the very best egg yet.
It’s much bigger than an ostrich egg In fact it’s a Cordon Bleu machine, And can turn out steaks and ribs The likes of which you’ve never seen.
Housed within it’s big green shell It may look like staring into the jaws of hell But there has to be an angel overseeing the job For the grub this egg produces tastes like ambrosia to the gods
The aroma when it sets to work Will set your taste buds poppin’, In anticipation of a culinary delight That is definitely heart stoppin’.
But even an angel can do with a hand To create a delicious dream And the hand overseeing it all Is Roman, the chef supreme.
It’s a long process getting everything perfect But he handles it all with good grace For the love he has for this art, which comes from his heart Can’t fail to put a smile on your face.
So enjoy every morsel, savour every bite Of this feast he’s prepared for you. As all of us here – give a great big cheer For Roman and his Big Green Egg barbecue!
-Ann Brown March 2015
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My wonderful, adorable and hilariously funny mother-in-law is a bit of a poet. She penned this ode to the egg on her latest visit to Singapore in March. I think both Granny & Papa enjoyed the fruits of the egg and it was only fitting to pay homage with prose. Thanks Maw… one of my favourite poems yet!