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.