The invitation to supply an ode to a greasy spoon was prompted by a recent column that Melissa Kite wrote bemoaning the rise of independent cafés and the consequent demise of the decent, non-locally foraged fry-up. In my neck of the woods, certainly, you can’t move for avocado and buckwheat while options that pack that satisfying fat-carb-combo punch are thin on the ground.
Most of your odes were to a caff, but a few chose to address a greasy piece of cutlery instead. I liked Josh Ekroy’s spin on Keats’s ‘Ode on Melancholy’ and there was nice work, too, from Nick Campailla and John Priestland. The winners take £25; Brian Murdoch pockets £30.
Brian Murdoch Thou spreadst a breakfast in my sight, Thy filling grease bestoweth, O transport caff, such pure delight, My tea mug overfloweth!
Embryos of a farmyard fowll Fried in the oil, and shining, With strips of swine-flesh cheek-by-jowl, Well crisped, by them reclining,
Fat tubes of offal, fungi too, And bread of heaven grillèd.
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