Ballade 2

In Antwerp, Bruges, Ostend and Ghent
                  I used to order food with flair,
                  But in every inn to which I went
                  They always brought me, with my fare,
                  With every roast and mutton dish,
                  With boar, with rabbit, pigeon, bustard,
                  With fresh and with salt-water fish,
                  Always, never asking, mustard.
       
                  I ordered herring, said I'd like
                  Carp for supper at the bar,
                  And called for simple boiled pike,
                  And two large sole, when I ate at Spa.
                  I ordered green sauce when in Brussels;
                  The waiter stared and looked disgusted;
                  The bus boy brought in with my mussels
                  As always, never asking, mustard.
       
                  I couldn't eat or drink without it.
                  They add it to the water they
                  Boil the fish in and-don't doubt it-
                  The drippings from the roast each day
                  Are tossed into a mustard vat
                  In which they're mixed, and then entrusted
                  To those who bring-they're trained at that-
                  Always, never asking, mustard.


                  Prince, it's clear a spice like clove
                  can drop its guard. It won't be busted.
                  There's just one thing these people serve:
                  Always, never asking, mustard.