JAMIE OLIVER KNIFE BRAKE
07/10/2013 12:10
My Jamie Oliver knife broke so I wrote them a poem. They responded in kind. Legends.
Dear Jamie O,
T’other day I was cutting some bread,
A baguette to be precise.
I’d turned to my wooden block of courage,
As hefty in weight as price.
A flick of the wrist pulled that black handle of bliss,
Out of it’s sturdy sheaf.
As tried and tested as Excalibur,
I’d named him Gulliver;
As he’s travelled with me far and wide –
Both in distance and girth -
Either way, he’s never far from my side.
As I set the serrated blade to the soft white bread,
A little voice said in my head:
‘Be careful now Ollie,
This could be folly…’
Nonsense! I thought: this mighty steed?
Foiled by bird feed?
I think not! And I sliced with practiced speed.
With a push and a pull,
And the strength of a bull,
The baguette was diminished by half.
But half way along,
With an almighty bong,
The blade was severed at the hilt – just wrong!
I’m not one to cry over milk not spilt,
But my smile really did wilt.
I can’t imagine King Arthur,
Or even his father,
Thought HIS mighty beast,
Could be felled by mere flour and yeast.
Outraged and angry,
I flicked a twitpic to Jamie;
Ollie Scarth @jamieoliver ...or don't. Got any spares? pic.twitter.com/tswcvO32eX
I prayed to the gods,
And against all the odds,
You replied!
And answered my prayers:
@olliescarth Hey Ollie, sorry to see that! If you wing your contact details over to missioncontrol@jamieoliver.com we'll be in touch shortly
So please email me back (but not with a bomb)
It really would be tit for tat,
And better than crack…
If you just send me a new knife set to:
Ollie Scarth, 40 Churchway, Euston
NW1 1LW.
Thanks and all that.
OS.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They replied:
On an ordinary Thursday a letter arrived
One of many; some happy some not.
But this one was different because of its style
And its substance which glowed quite a lot.
As most people knows, a letter's in prose
When a poem is more good and proper.
So Ollie's stood out with his plea and his pout
That his carving knife had come a cropper.
He'd been carving some bread; not sharpening lead.
A baguette to be more precise.
When his Oliver knife had been rendered all dead
By a vicious and evil French slice.
Now this knife was beloved; twas almost a friend.
It was named like a kid or a pet.
So he set out his sadness in emotional verse.
You could see the poor chap was upset.
But as luck would have it, the Oliver team
Are a kindly old bunch it is said
So they searched out another, a sturdier blade
Which would not buckle up against bread.
And they packaged it off to dear Ollie with love
He should get it with great celebration
At his work in north London, a mecca for knives
In Euston, just east of the station.
Happy carving.
PB - Head of PR
Quality.
