The Wit & Wisdom of Mr. Cutlets

[Fat Guy]

As the Mr. Cutlets Q&A marches inexorably on, I will occasionally be chiming in with short quotations from his latest masterwork, Meat Me in Manhattan: A Carnivore's Guide to New York (Ig Publishing, 2003). Some of Mr. Cutlets' comments, standing alone, raise more questions than they answer. You'll just have to acquire his book if you wish to immerse yourself in the full, glorious context of his wisdom. However, you will be able to get a taste here.

Allow me to begin with the following food for thought:

The perturbations of a troubled conscience are not easily stilled, once they set in. Mr. Cutlets second-guesses himself for weeks after a bad restaurant decision. Sure bets have ever been my motto; every bad dinner is an irrecoverable error, which can neither be blotted out from memory, nor redeemed by remorse. Bend your mind, and play the percentages: fortune favors the cautious, in eating as in everything else.

Page 79

[Mister_Cutlets]

It's true. I am still haunted by a bad meal I had in Ceylon in 1952.

[Fat Guy]

Now Sri Lanka.

[Fat Guy]

From the introduction to Mr. Cutlets' bestselling opus, Meat Me in Manhattan: A Carnivore's Guide to New York (Ig Publishing, 2003):

Mr. Cutlets is an opinionated old coot, whose ex cathedra pronouncements and dogmatic decrees may rub some people the wrong way. But I make no apology. The faux-populist thrust of so many current guides is nothing less than a key to chaos. Although the focus-group and write-in vote may be sweet and fitting to marketing executives and Family Feud contestants, it's not Mr. Cutlets' way. My carcass has been spent in the service of my readers; I therefore submit my guide to the hands of the people with tranquility, my conscience as clear as consomme, my opinions unrepentant and undisguised.

[Mister_Cutlets]

I might add in the book's envoi:

Mister Cutlets’ Prayer

ON the long road of life, the journey’s full of bumps,

Troubles and viscissitudes, and a man must take his lumps.

Women bear the burdens of a thousand daily cares;

And disaster may at any time strike us unawares

But let us now be happy, at least while we eat

That’s Mr. Cutlets’ prayer, for people who love meat

Let your beef be always bloody,

and your soul as white as veal;

May your pork be pink and salty

With nothing wasted but the squeal.

May your sausage always be plump,

and your chicken always crisp,

May your stews and daubes be unctuous,

nourishing and rich.

Let your table always be covered

With the thickest steaks and chops

Let those who would restrain you

May themselves be stopped.

Let your bacon be well-cured,

As a kindly-tended patient,

May you your palate not get bored

Nor your restaurants complacent.

From Harlem to the Battery

On sidewalk or on street,

May Mr. Cutlets bless you,

Wherever we may MEAT.

[Fat Guy]

I would give all my earthly possessions just for the amount of poetic prowess stored in Mr. Cutlets' pinky toe.