Do you think he scats,
That blazing Chef Achatz?
Scats as in jazz, I mean,
Improvising on simple things,
Meatloaf or popcorn becoming unfamiliar,
Guinness or garlic turned into elixir.
Passion thrumming through the core---
Some hear nonsense, others joy.
I am of the latter camp, As long as the dish bears the stamp
Of a story, feeling, or memory,
Then I'm hooked, definitively.