Yea, though I wander the land of late-night takeout,
I shall fear no soggy noodle,
For breakfast cometh, and with it—eggs.
Blessed be the humble carton,
And the sacred wok that receiveth the day-old pad thai.
Lo, I scramble, I stir, I resurrect—
The tamarind tang, the peanuts’ crunch,
And the yolk, golden as morning sun, binding all things anew.
Let not the naysayers scoff,
For cold pizza is but the gateway,
But this, my friends—this is culinary resurrection.
A squeeze of lime, a scattering of scallion,
And thou art nourished.
Taymen.
