Rob Wickings acts up and makes a spectacle of himself.
The Cook’s Creed
This is my spatula. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
My spatula is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life.
My spatula, without me, is useless. Without my spatula, I am useless. I must use my spatula true. I must scrape straighter than my dinner, which is trying to burn onto the pan. I must scrape the pan before it burns on me. I will…
My spatula and I know that what counts at dinnertime is not the heat we cook at, the sharpness of our knives, nor the smoke we make. We know that it is the meal that counts. We will cook…
My spatula is human, even as I, because it is my life. Thus, I will learn it as a brother. I will learn its weaknesses, its strength, its handle and its leading edge. I will keep my spatula clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready. We will become part of each other. We will…
Before God, I swear this creed. My spatula and I are the defenders of my kitchen. We are the masters of our ingredients. We are the saviours of dinnertime.
So be it, until the meal is ours and there is no washing-up.
(adapted, with apologies, from The Rifleman’s Creed, written by Major General William H. Rupertus and still learnt by U. S. Marines at their recruit training.)