The Pasta Pig

The Pasta Pig by Evelyn Olson

Bitte, Babi

There was a little piggy
And his given name was Ray
He lived in Italy near the sea
Where waves danced on the bay

Now Ray was only happy
When he ate the whole day long
He soon became a big ol' pig
His slender days were gone

Ray loved to eat spaghetti
All of Italy loves it so
And pasta is the native name
For this most scrumptious dough

Each cook makes his spaghetti
With a special sauce you see
Each tries to make a better one
The way a sauce should be

Some use a bit of sugar
Others use a bit of spice
But in Naples, oh that Naples
The poor piggies pay a price

Ray loved to visit cities
Where he ate all that he could
He ate and ate the whole day long
More than a piggy should

"Señor, Señor, please tell me this
May I speak to your Grand Chef?
Indeed, indeed I want to know
Why is his sauce the best?"

The chef looked straight at piggy
He stroked his chin and cried,
"I use a very special sauce
Then add some pork inside."

"Oh no!" cried fatty Raymond
As he straightened out his tail
"My goodness and my gracious me
That's me in sheer detail."

Ray changed his way of eating
And would never, ever stop
In Naples where they all ate pork
He could end up in a pot

Piggy Raymond moved far away
Where the people all loved pigs
And they would never hurt a soul
Because their hearts where big.

Note: This is one of my mother's poems, she'll be 91 this July. Look for more of her poetry and recipes on Mondays.
Next week, Lorenzo's Neapolitan Pasta Sauce.