Of all the skills I’ve taught myself,
“How to tenderize an Elf”
has proven useful, for my whole crew
finds Elves a little tough to chew.
You’d think it strange. They seem so light.
But it’s hard to get the texture right.
Those pointy ears, those pointy teeth,
and pointy bones all underneath.
(And let’s not speak of Elvin ribs
On which nobody will call dibs;
Oddly stringy, low on meat
Even a whole rack seems incomplete.)
Now, granted, Elves are sometimes-foods
For Elves (and all their catty broods)
Are hard to catch, and full of wile
Claim to like ’em? You’re in denial.
But Elves hold grudges, ancient scores
And think they’re apex carnivores
It’s nice to take them down a notch
(And somewhat worth a culinary botch.)
Elves dance a tricky arabesque
Pretending to be Tolkienesque.
But if their ancient wisdom fails,
They fall back on lying in Fairy Tales.
Now, taste-wise, Elves are full of ick.
And I’d rather chew on a muddy brick
But evolution’s competitive
And I’d rather not let Elf-meat live.
I like The Last Homely Home
And I’ve made friends with the odd sprite or gnome.
But on the whole, if candor’s sought:
I think Elves are only kind when they’re caught.
So I recommend a marinade
And of spice and seasoning, be unafraid.
Be they Elves of forest, sea or grove,
We recommend a very hot stove.
Elves are sometimes rather scary
But less so when your interest is culinary.
They live thousands of years, so they can’t gripe:
It’s time to eat them. They’re finally ripe.
_________
“It’s a little-known fact, but Unicorns are something like 20% paint, and their horns are stolen exclusively from endangered species.”
― There and Never, Ever Back Again
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