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Starch Enemy

by At The Plates

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1.
Somewhere in the deep south Wood is being lit aflame Slow cookers are being activated This shoulder cut will never be the same The dry rub is applied The seasoning eternal The pork - submerged into the crock-pot A barbecue so infernal The smell of meat roasting excites the nostrils Life has departed from this flesh so long ago… Free to do with this carcass as they please As its internal temperature reaches the optimal degrees With their hands they rip and tear Smothered in sauce without care Blessed are they who pull the pork To be placed on bread or put to the fork Ripping through the corpse with insatiable hunger Life has departed from this flesh so long ago!
2.
Black rice, black rice Dark grain once forbidden to the masses A delicacy reserved for emperors To ensure their dynasty’s longevity Black rice, forbidden rice Dark grain once unwashed by the masses A delicacy reserved for emperors To ensure their dynasty’s longevity Anthocyanin supremacy With abundance in protein and iron An ingenuity in gene mutation The emperor’s sacred rice Was cultivated to enrich the richest No quarter given to the poor, the sick Long live the empire Now cross-bred with other rice species Only artifacts of the black grain exist today In the service of public consumption A black artifact of history Anthocyanin supremacy With abundance in protein and iron An ingenuity in gene mutation
3.
Another day at this heap of shit How did I let my life get to this? A line cook at a dead end establishment A marriage of false promises and abuse This customer is getting on my last nerve I’ve had it up to here with his entitlement First the steak was too cold, now its too warm Arbitrarily unsatisfied, he demands his meal to be comped I’m about to blow my fucking gasket In my wrath, I call upon my fellow cooks “We’ll fix it and throw in some ‘complimentary’ crepes” A silent nod, an understanding exchanged A line cook sees to the steak The rest of us gather Around the crepes Culinary malevolence Infecting the crepes methodically With piss and other heinous germs I don’t care if I go to prison Wiping that smug smile off of his Fat fucking face is my reward INFECTING THE CREPES I made it my mission to personally deliver The infected crepes to this piece of shit consumer “Here you go sir, your steak and crepes are on us” I could have sworn I saw him quiver
4.
Waking up in a cold sweat Three in the morning – body weak Blood sugar levels plummeting In my haze, I know I must feed I creep into my kitchen Damn, I should have gone grocery shopping Barely any food in my house And I can feel my life force dropping But deep within my pantry walls I find the last remaining loaf As my eyes focus I notice Sickly green fuzz has engulfed the bread Breaking two stale slices from the bag Peanut butter coats the myceteae I’m disgusted, but desperate In the end, it’s just a piece of bread My insides are on fire What have I done? I succumb to hypoglycemia I succumb
5.
Eyes open, dazed, confused How did I wake up here? Swiftly rendered unconscious By a blow to the back of the head “Greetings,” my assailant said, “Scream all you like, soon you’ll be dead. Tonight is an experimental endeavor, To churn your blood into butter.” In defiance of this maniac I screamed to the heavens For a god, any god to save me From this hell I’ve found myself in Now bound, gagged, hung upside down Anxiety at an all time high Blood is rushing to my crown As my end is extremely nigh The barrel is set, the churn-staff awaits To merge my lipids with sweet cream My well being in such dire straits… My jugular, my trachea, my carotid arteries Fall victim to surgical steel and precision Stifled were my cries, ignored were my pleas By a madman with a knack for incision Brief flashes – life depleted My candle shall no longer burn Exsanguination complete So churn, baby, churn
6.
A fractured mind on its knees To live my life is to live with disease Conclusive was the diagnosis And you won’t want to know the prognosis I’m afraid to step inside my kitchen A moldy croissant, borne of malediction Taunting me with it’s cruelty I’ll no longer suffer this indignity “Your life is meaningless, Not even worth a droplet of piss.” Twisted yeast crackling with laughter Unprepared for what comes after Prepare to meet your doom When this trash bag becomes your tomb Denial, the ultimate taunt That’s how I mock the croissant
7.
In my kingdom of cold cuts I want for nothing Capicola and prosciutto At the tips of my stained fingers In my kingdom of cold cuts These Nitrates are my birthright Subjects pay their tribute With copious amounts of fleisch In my kingdom of layered meats I am perched upon my throne Adorned in sodium A Vegan’s nightmare to behold In my kingdom of cold cuts These Nitrate are my birthright Subjects pay their tribute With copious amounts of fleisch In my kingdom of cold cuts Lies bounties of meat As far as the eye can see These cold cuts are mine
8.
9.
Starch Enemy 04:36
“They don’t taste very nice…they just taste bitter. They haven’t gone into the fryer, have they?” “No, no, no.” “You sure you haven’t put them in the fryer?” “Yep.” “Uh, look, mister, let me just have a quick word. Very, very important. This man is paying your salary. His business is about to close. Do you understand how critical the situation is?” “I do.” “So pay the man fucking respect and tell the truth. You have deep fried those potatoes.” “They’ve been from the oven, not deep fried.” “They are wrinkled, dehydrated, and they’ve been in the deep fat fryer!” “That-that’s not dehydrated.” “You’re talking to a chef, and for as long as I’ve got a hole in my butt big boy, those fucking potatoes have been in the deep fat fryer! Don’t fucking lie.” “I KNOW what I did.” “You know the oven’s not even HOT enough to roast a potato, we can’t even cook a FUCKING burger in there! They’ve been in the fryer. Tell the fucking truth!” “Look, they went in the oven, okay?” “Tell him the fucking truth.” (He’s so adamant, I’ve even started to doubt my own judgment, until I tracked down Al Samar.) “How many trays of potatoes did you fry this morning?” “I fried everything here.” “You fried all four? And who told you to fry them?” “My chef.” “Your chef, yeah…” “Why did you deep fry those potatoes?” “You said this earlier, it’s because the oven is nowhere near hot enough.” “Right…can we get back to basics now and cut the fucking crap?” -Excerpt taken from Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares, Series 2, Episode 2: “D-Place”

about

From the dankest, foulest kitchen rises AT THE PLATES. Starch Enemy consists of nine composed dishes full of seared brutality, textural grooves, appetizing solos, and melodic seasonings. Pair with your favorite wine or beer for a macabre yet balanced taste. Bon Appétit!

Featured on Bandcamp Daily!
daily.bandcamp.com/features/at-the-plates-starch-enemy-interview

credits

released August 28, 2020

Tony R – Drums, Bass, Guitars, Keys

Steven Miller – Vocals (Track 1)
Caleb Bergen – Vocals (Track 2)
Mario Alejandro – Vocals (Tracks 3-5)
Mike Connors – Vocals (Tracks 6 & 7)

Brian Daniel – Guitar (Solo on Tracks 3 & 4)
Tyler McCarthy – Guitar (Solo on Tracks 1, 5-7)

Written, Recorded and Mixed by Tony R
Mastered by Tony Petrocelly at Trepan Studios

Artwork and logo by Mark Riddick
riddickart.com

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At The Plates Maryland

Culinary death metal for the hungry metalhead. Established in 2018.

At the Plates is:
Tony Rouse - Guitar, Bass, Drums
Tyler McCarthy - Lead Guitar
Mario Alejandro - Vocals

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