Herculean Puns

I was a shy, salty man, full of self doubt and bitterness. As with all men, I had a trade; although private, it was working with people. Some I could barely stomach, and others I found delightful. Mostly, I was indiscriminate and my tastes were simply literal.

When I found others with a similar interest, I began to share my love of cooking. It was a fine ordeal, but with time, I found it increasingly difficult to procure the ingredients I needed to express my craftsmanship. I learned, with some struggles, I could utilize that which God gave me to substitute. It was surprising to learn how delightfully full bodied and tender I am. People flocked to be served me. I was overjoyed by the attention and accolades from my peers and carnivores in general.

As my body waned, the mere task of lifting a pot lid turned Herculean. Despite it and the less capable I became, the more powerful I felt. I was a god amongst short ordered cooks, a culinary Art piece, a door Matt marking a passage to Rich flavors; I was everyone's chum. When asked how someone in my condition could create cuisine of such decadent delicacy, I always answered the same. My self is steamed.