ISLE OF ]URA

SI,GLF HILT MICH 1111511

ISLE OF

JSKLE MAU SCOrCH IMF

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COMPETITION

Kitchen prayer

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 1845 you were invited to provide a modern 'kitchen prayer', either in verse or in prose.

'God He rejects all Prayers that are sleight/And want their Poise: words ought to have their weight,' wrote Herrick, who could have won this competition on his head. The 'kitchen prayer' on the plate on my wall is hardly to modern feminist taste, e.g.:

Although I must have Martha's hands, I have a Mary mind, And when I black the boots and shoes Thy sandals, Lord, I find.

It was an excellent entry, verse over- whelming prose, and John Twells, Bowen Bradings and 0. Smith shining among the runners-up. The prizewinners, printed below, take £20 each, and the bonus bottle of Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky goes to Ken Hodgson.

Within this place, dear Lord, may I be shielded From any muck my Dad would not have eaten.

In here, Lord, let no Chinese wok be wielded Nor anything but Yorkshire batter beaten. Pray let no guests of mine be seen here brooding

On khaki-coloured pseudo-ethnic messes Poured artlessly on underdone rice pudding, Inviting unimaginable guesses.

Protect me too, if this my prayer be answered, From chilli, spice and garlic-tainted sauces, Which have their place where poor men's meat is rancid And where they dish up bits of frogs and horses.

Though taunting trendies venture to unnerve me, I'll shun these alien tastes with little sorrow. In all your loving mercy, Lord, preserve me From every taste that I'd still taste tomorrow. (Ken Hodgson) Give us this day our daily bread, White or, for preference, wholemeal, But let it not be ever said This constitutes our sole meal.

To taste a wider menu, Lord, We lick our eager lips, From early morning smorgasbord To evening fish and chips.

But as we greet each toothsome treat, Our gluttony forgive, Teach us we should not live to eat, But rather eat to live.

A glass of water let us set, To cheer the odd abstainer, But none of us will e'er forget Thy miracle at Cana.

(Stanley J. Sharpless) Lord, midst this gear so new and nude — Pepper-mills of suggestive look, Those phallic toupins, pestles lewd — Preserve thy Cook.

Let no vanilla-pod inspire,

Nor carrot with its nibbly root, Thy modest kitchen-maid's desire. Forbidden fruit!

No capsicum with burning juice, No spicy bark nor heating seed Beneath my apron chaste induce A wanton need!

Surrounded thus, I humbly pray, By things that whip, whisk, cream and swirl,

And all those foreign foods, I stay

A Normal, Healthy Girl.

(Alyson Nikiteas) 0 Lord, may everything I cook Within these walls, whether from book Or from my head, please every dweller, Without a trace of salmonella.

May no one say, 'There's too much fat', Or 'Look, you know I can't eat that', And may there be no interference From those who are fast food adherents. And when I've done my part, 0 Lord, May I then gain my just reward — Smiles and compliments from friends

Who follow all the eating trends — And when at last the dirty plates Are sorted from the After Eights May someone overfill my cup Of happiness by washing up. (Katie Mallett) Lord of all Power, to You I pray That in this kitchen every day My freezer freeze, my toaster toast, My fan-assisted oven roast, My coffee-maker brew for me, My auto-pot dispense strong tea, My microwave defrost and heat The ready meals we love to eat.

May both my washers banish grime, My tumbler dry in record time, My blender blend, my mixer mix, No gadget leave me in a fix.

Then gladly I'll forsake such things When at my end Your timer pings.

(Alanna Blake)