Is that a steak in a pan I see before me,
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee!
I know I had better not, and yet thou tempst me still.
Art thou not, tasty vision,sensible
To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but
A steak of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain. 
I see thee yet, in form as palpable
As this which now I touch, you're real?
Thou marshall'st me the way that I was going,
And such an olfaction I was to smell
Mine eyes are made the fools o' th' other senses?
Or else worth all the rest, I see thee still,
And in thy pan and on thy meat gouts of sauce
Which was not so before.  There is a such thing?
Is it this bloody hunger which informs
Thus to mine eyes?  Now o'er the one-half world
Steaks come alive, and culinary dreams abuse
Tormented sleep.  Master griller celebrates
Flavor's offerings; with garlic and pepper
Aided by his abetter, sous chef
Who watches the sauce, thus with his measured pace
And sentinel strides, tending his creation
Moves like a ghost.  Thou wooden, noisy deck
Hear not my steps which way they walk, for fear
That my toenails on the surface prate of my whereabouts
And take the temptation from the present time
That now suits it.  While I breathe, steak grills.
Thoughts will become deed and my stomach will fill.
I act, and it is done.  The grill bell invites me,
Hear it not master, for it is a knell
That summons me to tasty heaven, (though my punishment may be hell)










"Hey!  Where did the steak go!! ..........Buffy!!!!!!!!!!!