Cooking Class

My group went to a cooking class.
It took place in Ravello,
A gorgeous mountain town
Which had more wine than Limoncello.


We tied our aprons 'round our waists;
The chef assigned us chores.
We peeled and chopped such vegetables
That you can't find in stores.


The peppers, red and yellow,
Were so dazzling in hue,
Van Gogh would take one look at them
And know what he should do.


The basil and the mint were picked
From garden rows, just brimming;
The fish and calamari
Probably thought they were still swimming.


Tomatoes, eggplant, garlic,oil,
Bread and pasta, natch;
We really did create a feast
And did it all from scratch.


As Chef Vincenzo taught us
We all stirred and sliced and plated;
Then we sat down to eat our meal,
So proud and quite elated.


It was such fun - we bonded well
In pairs and groups and dozens;
From twenty-something strangers
We became like long-lost cousins.


For here in Italy, there's magic
In the very air;
And that translated to the meal
We all helped to prepare.