Whoever said men cannot bake
A chocolate-covered birthday cake
Or crusty bread from sourdough
With luscious spreads atop to go?
“Forest Ranger Elmer Kraut
Will want to get his mixer out,”
Says Jerry Jenkins with a grin,
Absolutely sure he’ll win
Any bake-off with this foe,
Who doesn’t even seem to know
That puce and brown and periwinkle
Are not the proper shades to sprinkle
Cakes with the very lofty purpose
To entice us and divert us.
The storefront of Bob Chitlin’s shop
Provides the space to mix and chop.
Both men want very much to win.
The prize: a pint of finest gin.
With aprons on, they take their places
And bake the goods of baking races.
Now Bob, he is the best of judges
And never takes sides or begrudges
The rightful winner of the match
To whom he gives his treasured cache.
This time though, it went too far
When both men emptied Bob’s own bar
When Elmer Kraut had finished making
The cake, now in the oven baking,
He sat down on a rattan chair
And Jerry Jenkins joined him there.
They sipped the last of Chitlin’s wine
Not asking Chitlin, bear in mind.
And when the baking cakes were done,
Did all the neighbors have their fun.
Kraut’s angelfood looks like a spare
Tire gone flat from lack of air.
Jerry Jenkins’ laughs at that
Until he sees his own so flat.
Bob Chitlin laughs sardonically
And grabs the pint ironically.
When neither Bob or Jerry wins,
Then old Bob Chitlin claims the gin.
So that’s the tale of two men baking –
A sad but humorous undertaking.