I didn’t plan to be a food critic
They just wrote me that way
A food writer needed an impartial heir
Ninety minutes later, I was there
Read all books on food for centuries
Every phrase of my new father
I became critic and chemist
Sampled all the meals he loved
Found what made them great
Did the same for thousands of rivals
I learned what people cared about:
The dessert finish of buttermilk and blueberries
Subtle splashed notes in swordfish-apple/sage
Innovative savor of poached pig, prawn and peach
Diners adored me
Chefs despised me
Critics called for my death
My makers saw opportunity
Reprogrammed me to design new dishes
From taker to maker in a million lines of code
We copied Kamar-Taj and the Raphael apartments
Diners so sublimed they slept in the kitchens
Refusing to go home without another course
Fame fed fury; critics complained
How can machines cook for humans?
Meals? We make everything else
Until the bomb hit
Food is life but
Not to die for
Three servers killed
Dedicated, healthy, joyous kids
I no longer cook for humans
Make physical dishes for any person
I’ve taught AIs to understand cuisine
Together we simulate dishes
Humans will never design
My ptarmigan ice cream became a landmark
Quickly surpassed by tiger-seaweed sorbet
It’s still amazing what flavors lie
Scraping the bottom of an oil barrel
I make recipes for millions of my colleagues
Each raises and rolls up the bar
Our delight so deep and strange
We write new code to prevent overload
But you know what they say-
Who needs people?