"Cuisine sculptor, painter, poet, will feed your brain, for the worries I am here, in white, also black. My creativity is fed, the eye looks full in the Louvre, soups, roasts, cakes also ice, satisfied when it has mouthed. Cuisinier, Cuoco, cook for them, combine spices in verse, color in soups, roast bride, rounded with good wines. Marbled beef, pig, poultry, fish, cook rich in taste, all fresh on the table. When they cook their loved ones, they think that the best broth gives bones, can cook with little good. Love goes through the stomach, learns to cook, loves tired, so let's tell you who learned it. Folk poet Frank Poschau"
