Back in the Hollandaise

It’s the
Pensioners’ special
2 for a fiver
Rag pudding trade
It’s as slow
As their speech

As low as the zip
On the gammon faced
Brickie
Who’s up for a corner bit
With the underage waitress

It’s a safe
A bet
As the barmaids
Ignoring
The lad’s pint orders
As they gawp at Corrie
Later

For now
It’s dead as the mate
Who dares call
Into question
The sexuality of
The landlord’s
Son who snorts
A bit of 5 o’clock heroism
From my
Wiped down kitchen top
When I go for a smoke
Now and then

It’s dead
As I said
At this time
Before my favourite
Hour 5 till 6
When the lads
I knew from school
Turned plumbers sparkies
And pricks
Would swap steak butties
For pints and I’d get
Nicely early evening pissed
Before all of that
This

Sweetly
Toothless owd lad
With blazer
And unimportant badge
Alone
Missing his 50p
Off for two
Asking me
On serving his fish n chips
(As unlike the nail filing
Barmaids
Has fuck all else to do)

(So fuck me
The joy of joys
Of all days
When the challenge came)
‘Ave you got any Hollandaise?
Fuck me yes
I said
(Sort of)
Be a couple of minutes
Whipped into action
Small pan
Bits
Vinegar
Pieces
Mace
Any lemon?
Ace
Separate the egg yolks
Whisk like fuck
For a 5 minute reduction of that
With the butter like this
Was miraculous shit
And the golden sauce presented
While the fella
Fumbled with his peas
Was so ramekin glorious
I nearly
Got down on my knees
(Though I say so myself)

So in Bourdain spirit
With the scrubbed pans
And accoutrements
Back on the shelf
The empty plate
Came back
And the tip was fuck all
I said
Go fuck youself