| But for us, once the Hanukkah candles burned down, |
| There was nothing but boredom all over town . . . |
| The malls and the theaters were all closed up tight; |
| There weren't any concerts to go to that night . . . |
|
| And while all I could do was sit there and brood, |
| My girl saved the night and called out "CHINESE FOOD!" |
| So we ran to the closet, grabbed hats, mitts and boots -- |
| To cover out heads, our hands, and our foots . . . |
|
| We pulled on our jackets, all puffy with down . . . |
| And boarded "The T," bound for old Chinatown . . . |
| The train nearly empty, it rolled through the stops, |
| While visions of wontons danced through our kopfs |
|
| At last we reached Chinatown, rushed through the gate, |
| Past bakeries, markets, shops and cafes, |
| In search of a restaurant: "Which one? Lets decide!" |
| We chose "Hunan Chozer," and ventured inside . . . |
|
| Around us sat others, their platters piled high |
| With the finest of foods their money could buy: |
| There was roast duck and bean curd, (sweet, sour and spiced,) |
| Dried beef and mixed veggies, lo mein and fried rice, |
|
| Whole fish and moo shi and chow mee foon, |
| And General Gaus chicken and ma po tofu . . . . . . |
| When at last we decided, and the waiter did call, |
| We said: "Skip the menu!" and ordered it all . . . |
|
| And when in due time the food was all made, |
| It came to the table in a sort of parade . . . |
| Before us sat dim sum, spare ribs and egg rolls, |
| And four different soups, in four great, huge bowls . . . |
|
| The courses kept coming, from spicy to mild, |
| And higher and higher toward the ceiling were piled . . . |
| So much piled up, one dish after the other, |
| My girlfriend and I couldn't see one another! |
|
| We fressed and we feasted, we slurped and we munched . . . |
| We noshed and we supped, we breakfastd and lunched . . . |
| We ate till we couldn't and drank down our teas |
| And barely had room for our fortune cookies . . . |
|
| Our bellies were full and at last it was time |
| To travel back home and write some bad rhyme |
| Of our Chinatown trek (and to privately speak |
| About trying to refine our chopstick technique) . . . |
|
| The MSG spun round and round in our heads, |
| As we tripped and we laughed and gaily we said, |
| As we carried our leftovers home through the night; |
| "Good Yom Tov to all -- and to all a Good Night!" |
