Round Six: Dark and stormy site...

[Chad]

Okay, here are mine:

Edwin had a brush with Death, a potato brush to be exact, which he used to scrub merrily away at other vegetables as well, never daring to guess at the sinister purposes to which Death might put the aged scrub brush with its splayed bristles and thin wire handle.

“Onions, rutabagas, carrots,” recited Chef Paul, running through the list of root vegetables like a man trying to remember the batting averages of the ’56 Mets, attempting heroically to prolong this stockroom dalliance, but the seductions of pink, firm flesh became to much for him and he cried out in his climax, “Radishes! Radishes!” much to the puzzlement of Marie, the garde manger squirming lustily beneath him.

“Romaine, it was Romaine,” sous-chef Olaf cried in horror as he stared at his Norwegian-French dictionary, cursing himself for not questioning, but no one ever questioned the orders of Chef Jean-Pierre Guignol with his impenetrable Basque accent when he and his exotic cuisine demanded an ingredient, one simply barked “Oui, Chef!” and started running, though Olaf had wondered when he presented the head of Roman, the Estonian busboy, to the chef what dish it might inspire, never realizing that the Chef was thinking the exact same thing.

Hey! I even managed to keep to the one-sentence opening requirement. Cool.

Chad

(edited to correct the spelling of Romaine)

Edited June 27, 2003 by Chad (log)

[Chad]

"Clang, clang, clang" went the food trolley! In its wake - a dirty martini glass, and a bloody, sequined apron proclaiming “I love Rocco Di Spirito’s Cannoli”

This is truly disturbing and brilliant.

Chad

[pogophiles]

Nice job Chad. I enjoyed all of those...

[GordonCooks]

As dusk washed the Tuscan hillside and bathed my aged face with warm rays - I recounted to my precious nipote the day I met his nonna – “Mingya, Piero” - “She was looking at me like I was a big bowl a raviolis”

Edited June 27, 2003 by GordonCooks (log)

[hollywood]

“Onions, rutabagas, carrots,” recited Chef Paul, running through the list of root vegetables like a man trying to remember the batting averages of the ’56 Mets, attempting heroically to prolong this stockroom dalliance, but the seductions of pink, firm flesh became to much for him and he cried out in his climax, “Radishes! Radishes!” much to the puzzlement of Marie, the garde manger squirming lustily beneath him.

Were there Mets in 1956?

[Arey]

It was on a damp and foggy morning that I wandered into The Mocha Dippe, New Bedford's worse coffee bar, and had hardly sat down at my customary table and begun the connect the dots puzzle on my place mat when a fish eyed waiter I'd never seen before walked over, and said "I'm your server, call me Ishmael".

Arey

[fifi]

The rough board shack on the bayou was shaking in the storm. Within, the voluptuous Marie stirred the pot over a hot fire, her bosom heaving with each turn of the spoon, preparing the roux for what Bertrand might bring from his hunt in the swamp. As she cut the vegetables for the roux, she thought of Bertrand's dalliance with the slut down the way. As she chopped the celery, she imagined chopping parts of Bertrand's body. Bertrand's body, a piece of art. The door slams back. Bertrand is framed by the violence of the storm. He is carrying a large alligator tail.

"I have alligator for our dinner."

"I have the roux at the ready."

Bertrand sees Marie's heaving bosom. He takes her in his arms and all else is forgot.

The roux burns.

[maggiethecat]

It truly pains me to announce the official cut-off of this contest, terrible as the entries were--- as bad as that bean dip that was left in the sun for five days, as putrid as the eggs that got thrown at me when I suggested Seagram's was the best gin for martinis, as foul as the rep chicken breast has around here, as stinky as lutefisk on Christmas Eve.

But closed it is, as far as official entries go. Feel free to continue to post 'em here, for Art's Sake.

And check out the new competition later tonight. Thanks.