Rouxin’ in food-preparation room;
feedin’it to folks when I am through.

First step: to mix the fat and flour together,
then whip it up till it’s light as a feather.
It is gonna be so tasty, but I could ruin
it and thus sabotage my menu;
that’s what preparation gaffes can do.

I pride myself on making haute cuisine,
some of the best dishes you’ve ever seen.
People are happy when my food they eat,
not booin’ what I’ve cooked, includin’ roux;
beaming are their faces when they chew—
chomp, chomp, chomp, chomp.

But I see: the roux’s in a runny way.
“You must have made a grand goof,” they all say.
Through all this, on TV “La Grande Bouffe” plays.
Everyone’s vexed at me; filing out guests will be.

Ruined is my buffet afternoon;
ruin’ am I as I bask in gloom.
Woe, woe, woe, woe!

Roux, I done f**ked it up.