COOKING CLASS
Everything should be measured down to the smallest gram,
The right amount of this or that, a flat spoonful of jam,
Nothing just thrown in the bowl and hope for the best,
Perfect amounts, then everything will surely pass the test.

Hair tied back, hands washed, many tools at the ready,
The oven at the exact temperature, all set and steady.
Whatever we made had to be just right, no guessing,
Washing cups out between every different measuring .

I went home wanting all that had I learned the family to tell,
And wondered why things made at home turned out so well,
When we had no measuring spoons or fancy measuring cup,
Everyone agreed food was good by those who did often sup.

The Christmas cake I made was raved about for days on end,
On measuring I was sure I would always be sure to depend,
Then I watch my grandmother make bread and cup cakes,
I could not believe my eyes she guessed without mistakes.

Now cooking classes are long past and gone, how do I cook?
Very little measuring things, rarely ever use a cookery book,
Grandma’s way was best after all, baked with love and caring,
The only problem it is hard all my cooking ideas to be sharing.

It’s a pinch of this, a blob of that five hand-fulls or so of flour,
Mix until it feels right, especially for short bread kneed for an hour,
Yorkshire pud’s beaten in a certain order, how much doesn’t matter
Until it feels right is all that you can say as you mix the batter.

Although I have measuring cups and spoons, they are hardly used
If I don’t just throw things in together I tend to get confused,
I learned more from home where things were cooked with love
Than the classes on cooking, even Granny Smiths Christmas pud.

M Ann Margetson February 22, 2002