Casserole

I came to your table on a Friday morning
looking for three bites of a three course meal
But i left your table on that Friday, mourning
the food and the ambiance and the service's zeal

The words were stale and left a bad taste
like when you get biscotti but wanted biscoff
and the grease on my page was nothing but waste
a sensation that will take all day to rinse off

Though we know a poem to be a delicacy
like a caesar, a souffle, and between, a mackerel,
it's clear that, without energy or accuracy,
you threw one together and called it a casserole