Top 7 Poems about the Culinary Profession

Your arms are marked with the blue veins of hard work,
Your eyes still sparkle with brilliance.
In the kitchen, smoke and flames swirl intensely.

It was the first day I stepped into the kitchen,
At twenty, you were anxious and uncertain,
Your youthful energy shrouded in the kitchen's haze,
Your knife and chopping board moving gracefully with the ingredients.

The culinary profession doesn’t allow time for rest,
Sweat drips as you stir with enthusiasm,
Always busy, yet a smile that never fades,
When a dish is complete, happiness fills your heart.

I met you one cold winter’s day in the kitchen,
At first, you were clumsy, out of place,
Confused amidst the never-ending chaos,
And at night, you ate with tears in your eyes.

All the scolding couldn’t make you give up,
Even as blood was shed, you kept going,
Through hardship, practicing day and night,
Your room still bright at three in the morning.

As time passed, you blossomed with success,
Achieved a position, your talent acknowledged,
Amid the storms, you still believed,
That God had blessed you with the gift of the kitchen.

When we met again, you smiled briefly,
“How are you? Have you gone to school yet?”
But for you, it was always your career,
The culinary path was above all else.

Sitting here, savoring the food you prepared,
I still taste the sweetness of the past,
Whether it’s sunny or rainy, you remain the same,
A heartfelt soul, the essence of a chef.

-Trung Thành-

I am the head chef of this restaurant,
A five-star establishment by the shores of Nha Trang.
Come, sir, come, madam,
We offer a variety of appetizers and drinks, all the dishes are delicious.

Roast duck, char siu, shrimp, crab,
Roast beef, stewed pork, chicken rice, and western wine,
Especially our seven kinds of goat hot pot,
And Thai hot pot, crab hot pot, stir-fried eel.

While you eat, enjoy the piano music,
With a gentle, sweet voice singing, easy to listen to.
Our restaurant is elegant and charming,
We invite travelers to stop by and enjoy.

(Source: Internet)

Step into anyone's kitchen,
Where even the simplest dishes are incredibly delicious.
Gaze around and you’ll feel the pulse of Saigon,
And find another new restaurant near Nha Trang.

The breakfast is simply delightful,
And there’s a variety of hot pots so elegant,
The piano plays a soothing melody,
And I can’t help but return, even uninvited.

The chef is truly skilled,
Cooking so many dishes that you’ll get hooked on every bite.

-Collected-

Someone, I miss you,
Like the oppressive heat, craving sweet ice cream,
Like syrup longing for shaved ice,
All the memories come together… oh, my teeth.

Like flowers and leaves longing for the moon,
Like me, I miss you, needing food to ease my sadness.

Beef noodles, snail soup, meatballs, dumplings,...
Crab rolls, fried pork, grilled pork,...

After eating, I miss you again,
Having pho with tender beef, soft cartilage, and brisket...

The longing still lingers,
I try to control myself, but I just crave more.

Eggs, liver, meat, gizzards, sausages,
My Tho noodle soup followed by eel hotpot...

The longing keeps coming back.

Ugh! Eating rice rolls, shrimp cakes, spring rolls,...
Adding some stuffed snails, lobster, crab, fish, clams,...

I thought the longing would fade,
But as soon as I stopped eating, I missed you immediately.

The longing never fades,
The more I eat, the more I miss you, the more I crave, the more I eat.

-Collected-

It's been six or seven years living away from home, spending every day by the stove,
Always smelling like oil and grease,
And that's why I'm still lost today.

Every day, I'm stuck in the kitchen,
Cooking meat, fish, and chicken,
With vegetables, shrimp paste, and fermented shrimp,
Vinegar, ginger, and the smell of gas.

Sometimes I take a break to go home,
Stay for a day or two, then head back out.
No time for dating or meeting anyone,
And no chance for any romantic escapades.

My parents scold me for choosing the wrong career,
That's why I’m still single.

Every day, I carry a ladle and a frying pan,
Chopping vegetables, sharpening knives.
But I'm perfectly fine with it.
Even though people talk about me, I don't mind.

I do what I love, and that’s what matters,
I don’t care about the small talk.

(Source: Vô Hối)

The five-spice blend has shaped my young life,
The red flame has burned through my youthful years.
The smell of oil and grease marks all the holidays,
A trace of chicken blood stains the love I hold.

Day by day, I keep moving forward,
Missing dates, failing to keep my heart in rhythm.
I'm sorry, I chose to be a chef,

To ignite the flame of life and spread joy.

People often ask how I stay so cheerful,
I just smile and bow my head, staying happy.

My profession is tough, but my passion burns bright,
In my youthful years, I burn with enthusiasm.

To love the profession is to love it fully,
So there's no sadness in being alone.

Hey girl, if you're hesitant,
Don’t fall for a chef.

Because there will be many long days apart,
Not a single holiday spent by your side.

If you love me, love the chef within me too.

(Source: Internet)

I remember with great affection
When you would go to the kitchen
To cook meals for me,
To boil water just right.

As summer heat began to rise,
The village was filled with the smell of straw,
In the cramped kitchen you worked,
As you cooked our meals with care.

The fire crackled and burned bright,
As straw drifted lightly in the air.
Your hands added a pinch of salt,
And the flame continued without delay.

I stood outside, watching you with pride,
Washing the vegetables or chopping the onions.
“Honey, pass me the water,”
So it could go into the soup pot.

On your forehead, beads of sweat shone,
And some of your hair stuck to the straw.
As I looked at you, I couldn’t help but feel love.

Oh, what a wonderful meal you made,
Every time I visit, you cook with such skill.
And I have the talent to shower you with praise...

Author: Xuân Diệu