“Eat every single dish that you find across the lands,
and you will surely find that these chef’s two hands.
Make better than any elf, dwarf, or human chef of expertise
The yummiest and most delicious sandwich of gooey grilled cheese!”
‘Twas the boasting of the great and prideful orcish chef.
Across these wild lands, they all say he is the best.
But the brave little lad had no spare time to lend an ear,
for a quest he was pursuing and off-track, he would not veer.
For the land that he came from, his hometown was at stake.
He mustn’t dawdle one moment. He couldn’t afford one mistake.
But this chef blocked his passage and would not let him on his way
‘til the brave little lad challenged him to a cook-off on this day.
The brave little lad was at an impasse with this chef,
so agreeing to his demands was the only choice he had left.
“The choice is yours! So I give you, my challenger, so bold!
What dish should we prepare? Be it new or old?”
The brave little lad was not a talented cook, he knew.
So what could he prepare that could help him see this through?
“If you should win this challenge, I shall bestow to you
safe passage on your quest and a grilled cheese sandwich too!
But if you fail now to best me in this competition,
I shall dine on a dish made up of your meaty composition!”
‘Twas a frightening proposition the young lad face ahead,
so he thought hard on a dish that may yet keep him not dead.
While the young lad was no chef, there were some dishes that he knew,
His mother taught him cooking, such as how to brew a simple stew.
He thought for a while of all the dishes he could make,
but none seemed right to protect him from his proposed dark fate.
But since leaving on this journey, he had stayed in some friendly villages.
Different people taught him new things. Perhaps he could use one of these dishes?
A decent plethora of knowledge he had been obtaining along the way.
But could that help him at this moment? It was rather tough to say.
The lad checked his pack, and through his ingredients, he perused.
He hoped something in there he would think of how to use.
“I’m sorry to rush you, young lad, for I know it’s a tough decision,
but if you could pick a dish, we could move on to the kitchen!”
As the carnivorous orcish chef rushed the young lad to pick a course.
From within his bag, he drew two fish he had collected from a port.
“They call it the Galerka fish,” the young lad held them out.
“These shall be our dish!” The fish were portly and stout.
“Galerka, I don’t know, but of fish, I can stew.
I can gut it and fillet it, cook it up good I shall do!”
The Galerka fish has several small spikes in a row along its sides,
they could withdraw and protrude through these holes that look like eyes.
As the orcish chef gutted it, he saw the spikes met with the meat,
but he snapped ‘em free with ease. He didn’t miss a beat.
The young lad removed them with much more care and ease.
He slid his blade in and detached the spikes. He made it look like a breeze.
O’er the flames of the grill, they cooked their bizarre fish,
The aroma was unusual; it was a salty, smelly dish.
The orcish chef’s flames climbed high up in the air,
if they burned him, he did not notice; neither did he care.
But the brave lad’s flames were much, much lower,
but do you think that this cooked the fish any slower?
As the smoke climbed up the chimney, it drew the attention of the wildlife.
Their fish were cooked so tender they would cut without a knife.
So they plated their fish dishes, and they cared little for presentation.
This is all about taste and texture; no need for physical persuasion.
First, they ate the lad’s fish, and it was salty as the sea,
“Ha!” said the Orc chef, “looks like the winner shall be me!”
The orc ate down his own fish, and the lad just stood aside.
“Mine has a lovely buttery flavor!” the orc said with evident pride.
But you see what the lad knew that the orcish chef did not,
Galerka fish venom was deadly. That’s why few of these fish were caught.
Well, that is to say, the females are. Their venom poisons their meat.
The male meat is safe. One must know which fish is safe to eat.
The lad had cooked the male. So his fish meat was safe.
But the orc did not know that his dish held his fate.
The poison ran down the orc’s throat, but He did not feel it yet.
‘Til it hit him in the stomach, he doubled over in distress.
He threw up all his bile, for the poison made him ill.
Then he finally gave in to it, and his body fell still.
The lad looked at the orc who he bested on this day.
He was sad he had to die, but there was no other way.
The lad looked across the kitchen for something of the chef’s.
Sitting alone on the counter was something he had left.
He had boasted to the lad that his sandwich was the best.
The lad had to know, was it better than the rest?
So he took a bite and tasted all its gooey cheesiness.
If he had to describe it, he would say that this was bliss.
He looked once more upon the orc, who had wanted the lad to eat.
But hated him not. He felt bad that he gave him poisoned meat.
“I am sorry that you are dead now, and I don’t think you were evil.
But you must understand it is unkind to eat people.
I must tell you, sir, your self-praise was no tease.
You did, in fact, make the most delicious grilled cheese.”