The King’s Cook…


… was cutting up a bullock.

Every blow of the cleaver, every heave of the shoulders, every step of the feet,

every ‘sluice’ of rent flesh, every ‘clunk’ of the cleaver on chopping board was in harmony,

rhythmical like the Flamenco’s dance to an acapella of plucked chords.


“Bravo!” cried the King, and clapped his hands missing the beat

and bringing his cook to an abrupt halt.

“A rare skill,” continued the King beaming…

“It is more than skill,” replied the King’s Cook, “I work with mind not eye,

I follow the openings and cavities according to the constitution of the animal and

never slice through joint or bone. A good cook changes his cleaver once a year

because he cuts. An ordinary cook once a month because he hacks. I have

had my cleaver for nineteen years and its edge is fresh as if from a whetstone.

Even, so when my blade meets with resistance I am all caution. I stay my hand

and gently apply the blade until with a ‘huwah’ the part yields like earth crumbling to ground…”


“Bravo!” cried the King again, “From the mouth of this cook

I have learned how to conduct my life.”


1 thought on “The King’s Cook…”

We'd love to hear from you...

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.