By Lou Craft
The New York Times
June 12, 2016
Dear Mrs. Sprat was enormously fat,
Her hubby (the rat!) took a powder.
She found some relief from her gluttonous grief
In a bowl of Manhattan clam chowder.
As it simmered and steamed, she pondered and dreamed
Of the time when she might become svelte.
“It’s unchic to be chubby, the hell with my hubby,
And one day I just might wear a belt.”
Oh, how firm, resolute, she considered each glute,
“I’ll be pretty and lovely and fair.”
So she went to the gym, took a sauna, a swim,
And thus chiseled her huge derrière.
She counted each carbo, was losing her cargo,
She fasted, she cleansed and she juiced.
Getting slimmer and slimmer and trimmer and trimmer,
Behold, Mrs. Sprat had reduced!
But that was before a knock on the door,
Cousin Izzy was there with a smile.
“My, you’re looking much thinner, I’ll take you to dinner,
How ‘bout Katz’s, we’ll go kosher style.”
The name made her blood flow, that deli on Ludlow,
Puts dieters into a coma.
It’s part the décor, and linoleum floor,
And, the punchy and pungent aroma.
Her nostrils assaulted (how could she be faulted?)
Pass up pastrami? Who’d risk it?
The kishke! The kugel! They’re still-lifes by Bruegel.
Oh, the corned beef, the tongue and the brisket!
She sweated and shivered, was blintzed and chopped livered,
Indulged every possible urge.
Enraptured, enthralled, egg creamed, matzo balled,
Such a sad and spontaneous splurge.
For poor Mrs. Sprat once again grew quite fat,
While swimming in dangerous waters.
And oh my, Gott in himmel, the great Yonah Schimmel,
She discovered as well Russ & Daughters.
It isn’t ironic that restaurants iconic,
Have fabulous treats here to sell you.
When it comes to the fork, there’s no place like New York,
Just ask Mrs. Sprat and she’ll tell you.
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