From the Evening Star, August 25, 1914. By Philander Johnson.
As imports grow uncertain, various epicures turn pale.
The truffle crop for us, they say, is almost sure to fail,
And persons of luxurious thirst in accents sad complain
That gout must be acquired without assistance from champagne.
The busy chef gets gloomy as he peels the pomme de terre
And spoils the consomme with tears of anger and despair
As we, the Kommonpeeple, gastronomic grief defy
And merrily meander ‘mongst ham sandwiches and pie.
Who cares though Wienerwurst may sell at fifty cents an inch
And caviare may bring two dollars and a half per pinch!
Although we’ll miss the dainties from a distant foreign shore,
The good old lunchroom’s handing out its blessings as of yore.
A restful refuge for the hoi polloi that has to work,
All free from apprehensions caused by Serbian or Turk.
Familiar luxuries are ours beneath a placid sky,
And it’s easy to be happy with ham sandwiches and pie!