It is reported that the US Food and Drugs Administration (FDA) is warning that cooks should not lick the bowl when baking cakes owing to the possibility of the uncooked flour being contaminated with E.coli or salmonella.

When you were small one thing you did,
Was lick the mixing bowl and lid,
Because it was so very nice,
And sometimes you would lick them twice.

It was quite harmless, had to be,
Because the rest was for the tea,
And no-one gave a second thought,
To the risk that the flour you bought,
Might have bad microbes there within,
And more, perhaps, than a chicken.

But now, it seems, you were quite wrong,
And might have been so all along;
For over in the USA,
The millers had to throw away,
Five thousand tons of faulty flour,
So people could not it devour.

And so the warning call was made,
In case more didn’t make the grade,
And caused more people to fall ill,
Needing, perhaps some sort of pill.

Now even if the flour is bad,
Because your cake some cooking had,
The germs in any flour that’s milled,
Would likely by the heat be killed.

It’s only, therefore, the raw mix,
That does now need this sort of fix,
So heeding this advice is key,
Then you will very happy be.




It is reported that biscuit manufacturers are having to bake their products at lower temperatures so as to reduce acrylamide levels in accordance with EU (what else?) regulations.

Biscuits are well-established food,
So changing them might seem quite rude,
But the EU has handed down,
New rules that say they are too brown.

So bakers have to take some flak –
Though less than if they were all black –
For in the past they haven’t tried,
Reducing the acrylamide.

This compound is, you might have guessed,
For people’s health not quite the best,
And it is made, as like as not,
When flour and starch is baked too hot.

So biscuits should be baked quite cool,
Max hundred twenty is the rule,
But this then means what goes on sale,
Can sometimes look a trifle pale.

While disconcerting this might be,
When dunked, or not, into your tea,
You really do not need to fret,
That ’twill disintegrate when wet.

For bakers have now got it licked,
And at the temperature that’s picked,
They simply close the oven door,
And let them bake for some time more.

The biscuits, then, are nice and crithp,
Said with or without any lithp,
And so they will still always be,
OK for dunking in your tea!



It is reported that government experts are recommending that fruit should be kept in the fridge to keep it fresher for longer and reduce the amount thrown away.

If you eat fruit you like it fresh,
With juice that’s sweet and firm of flesh,
And it is like this as a rule,
If you have kept the fruit quite cool.

This really is just common sense,
Well-known to those who are not dense,
And almost any housewife knows,
That when bought in the fridge it goes.

For when it’s in the fridge, you know,
The temperature is kept below,
Something like four or five degrees,
And don’t ask if that’s Fs or Cs.

For clever people can work out,
The answer’s C without a doubt,
For F would mean it’s not so nice,
In fact, just like a block of ice.

But I digress, The Government,
Is all fired up with good intent,
And wanting now to educate,
The people of the British State.

So labels on all veg and fruit,
Will be, for people less astute,
Inscribed to explain that they should,
Be kept cool so that they stay good.

So in the fridge they have to go,
But since in there they’re not on show,
You might just place some, if you wish,
Arranged in your fruit bowl or dish.

Then you can eat some straight away,
While most of them will fresher stay,
And then the fruit that you digest,
Will always be the very best.



It is reported that Neapolitan pizza makers are trying to get UNESCO World Heritage recognition for their pizzas in the hope that this will prevent American and other abominations corrupting the dish.

It was three hundred years ago,
The pizza was invented so,
Whatever type you might prefer,
To Naples you should still defer.

The pizza market has since grown,
With people making up their own,
And now in any pizza shop,
There’s nothing you can’t have on top.

There’s different cheeses, meat and fish,
Hot peppers which spice up the dish;
Pineapple, sweetcorn, sausage too,
And this is just to name a few.

The Naples chefs are horrified,
These bad concoctions hurt their pride,
And so they now want UNESCO,
To grant their pizzas and their dough,
A special status, I surmise,
Like Stilton cheese and some pork pies.

“Pizza,” they say, “a simple dish,
Should not have sausage, meat or fish;
It simply is our special dough,
With Mozza cheese and tomato.

To put on more is very bad,
And makes us really rather sad;
We’re trying to persuade folk but,
We’ve had no luck with Pizza Hut!”



It is reported that a study by Southampton and Edinburgh universities has concluded that drinking three cups of coffee a day reduces the chance of dying by 17%.

So yet another study finds,
That he who his own coffee grinds,
Provided it’s three times each day,
Is less likely to pass away.

And not just him (or maybe her),
But other people who prefer,
Already ground or instant drink,
Get the same benefit, I think.

The chance of dying, it’s deduced,
By seventeen percent’s reduced;
But if you should drink cups galore,
The benefit is less, not more.

At seven cups, it’s ten percent –
At least that’s what I think they meant –
So down amongst the grounds must lurk,
Some other factor there at work.

But, anyway, it does seem good,
Your chance of dying really could,
Be, in percents, just eighty-three,
And, also, this applies to me!

This could my later years enhance,
Because I always thought the chance,
That I would suffer this event,
Was stuck at one hundred percent!

This is a magic drink indeed,
From certain death it has us freed,
And it is cheap, not much to pay,
To drink three cups on every day.



It is reported that American researchers have discovered that tiny airborne droplets of oil are produced during stir-fry cooking which, when inhaled, can cause damage to the respiratory tract and potentially result in death.

If there are column inches spare,
They can be used to start a scare,
And make a lot of people fret,
Because they haven’t died as yet.

Their worry is that’s still to come,
(As an event it is quite glum)
And so most people try their best,
To put off death and the inquest.

Now most of them would not know why,
Death might ensue from a stir-fry;
Could it be chicken that was bad,
Because it salmonella had?

Well, could be so, but we all know,
Such poisoning’s one way to go;
But in stir-fry there is hot oil,
Which makes the water droplets boil,
And they, in turn, when mixed with greens,
Smash more oil drops to smithereens.

These microscopic oil drops, then,
From water which has come from hen,
Or, possibly, from curly kale,
Are ready for you to inhale.

And that is it, you’re on your way,
Unlikely now to last the day;
At least the oil won’t make you sick,
Before you do the bucket kick.



It is reported that harvesting robots are being developed which will pick vegetables individually and put an end to overripe, underripe and generally wonky vegetables.

If you, like me, like veg just right,
Then pity farmers in their plight,
For plants all vary ’cross the fields,
Both quality and also yields.

They also grow at different speeds,
So post the sowing of the seeds,
And after months of rain and sun,
Just some of them are ripe and done,
While others, in a cooler clime,
Perhaps might need a bit more time.

At present, in the tractors come,
They pull the lot out and then some,
So all are treated much the same,
Which really is a dreadful shame.

For some are underripe, some more,
The latter difficult to store,
So much of it is thrown away,
On each and every working day.

And then there’s wonky veg as well,
Not perfect as I can now tell,
But nonetheless still good to eat,
And taste-wise pretty hard to beat.

But fret no more, help is at hand,
For farmers all across the land,
May soon have robots which can see,
And pick veg individually.

They’ll check the carrot and the spud,
To see the shape is really good,
And if the ripeness is in spec,
They’ll pick it with a final check.

So all the veg should be just so,
And ready to the shops to go,
Then when you eat your Sunday lunch.
You know it’s the best of the bunch.

Image – Max Pixel