To a Macaroni Pie

Politics has been a bit fraught this week, and I'm sure you need another how-you-should-vote article like a hedgehog needs a steamroller, so I thought I'd give everyone a nice break.  Happily, this accords with my long-standing policy of being a snivelling coward, so it's a win all round.

It's Burns season, so here's another wee pastiche. I present it in the spirit of peace, love and understanding, so those losers at the Forfar Bridie People's Front had better not accuse me of hectoring or organise someone to slag me off in the National.  And who knows what the Deep Fried Mars Bar Cult will think of it?  They probably don't know themselves, not yet having had their instructions from Central Control.  God, it's a minefield out there.

To a Macaroni Pie

Fair fa’ your sharp, acidic tang

Great Chieftain o’ the Scotch Pie gang!

Ye staun aboon the whole shebang

Steak, Mince or Mutton

Sworn foe of every hunger pang

And strainin’ button!

Behind the Co-Op checkout’s shield

Ye stand in majesty revealed

Proud pasta tubes in pastry sealed

Wi’ milky sheen

And topped wi’ grated cheese congealed

Like plasticine.

His lunch see rustic Labour crave

And bung ye in the microwave

Until your stodgy guts behave

Like lava streams

And scalded diners rant and rave

Wi’ anguished screams.

What setting suits your charms the best?

A banquet for an honoured guest?

Or watching Strictly in a vest?

Each maun be prized.

The eve of a blood glucose test?

That’s no’ advised.

Is there that owre his wilted greens

Or trumpety Aduki beans

Or juices packed wi’ carotenes

An’ mingin’ flavour

Regards this dish for kings an’ queens

Wi’ stern disfavour?

Poor devil!  See him at the gym

Astride a treadmill to keep trim

Sae puritanical and prim

That joy’s forbidden!

The wind could sweep him on a whim

Intae a midden.

But mark the pasta-nurtured chiel!

Life holds for him a rich appeal

The cauld blast canna mak him kneel

Or idly drift

He’s blubbered like an Arctic seal

And hard to shift.

 

Ye Powers wha strive for mankind’s good

And keep them healthy, fit and rude

Auld Scotland wants nae rabbit food

That maks her bony

But one thing stirs her gratitude:

Baked Macaroni!