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.