Homage to the Sawsajez
Bobby Cook
Oh my Sawsajez, whose aroma calls stronger than the Sirens, whose sizzling symphony of popping-percussion becomes the rhythm of my very being.
Oh great Sawsajez, the joy that flows at the sight of your lovingly-sizzled skin, each droplet of Sawsajez juices flowing out, like lifeblood, like manna from the heavens!
Most divinely edible conglomeration of masterfully sliced and diced pieces and parts…bathe me in your flavor, I lust for the first crisp bite.
Alas, only when you are perfectly ready, my adorable Sawsajez, ‘til then, I’ll gaze on the zeppelenesque grandeur of your perfect probe-like plumpness whilst it grills, and ponder:
“Regular mustard or the spicy kind?”
