La Maison Foi Toi

For those who fortune's favoured all your lives;
you can't abide green onions but are very fond of chives;
your silver cutlery was as silver as could be,
not only spoons but also forks and knives,

No time for folks less fortunate than you are.
"Let them all eat burgers," you say over steak tartare.
"I'll buy it twice," you rage, "I'll pay them minimum wage,
to labour at my prosperous abattoir."

For you a modest proposal. Food for thought.
A delicacy privilege has wrought.
Epicures attest, made for and from the best.
A stew of fine game. Deadly. Rarely caught.

It won't come cheap. The most expensive dish ever.
Let the riff raff dine on it? No never!
Their unrefined tongues will stop as fast as bungs
even if they try to name it: Hossinpfeiffer.

It may have Hoss in it. It might have Pfeiffer.
The chef is mum and psychotically clever.
Statesmen and sophists he licks when they try their tricks.
The recipe from him no one can sever.

But lest I mock, belittle or disparage,
our chef is world renowned for hospitable carriage!
And for a standard fee, a fortune to most, not me,
he'll cater a barmitzvah or a marriage.

And though he bolts the cuisiniary door,
where vats of Hossinpfeiffer lay in store,
a culinary adventure craver, so long as he signs a waiver,
can enter the kitchen and help him make some more.

No plebeians, we seek a higher breed.
Advanced palate and income you will need.
Though in an abstract way, you do so every day,
you've never indulged like this. Bon appetit!

So come to the Maison Foi Toi where we dine
roughly between the hours of six and nine.
If you want to see gourmet philanthropy,
we make the world a better place one dinner at a time.