Abbie's poem is just two lines long, but it rests on one clear comparison: unreturned love is like a chef who prepares food and never gets to taste it. A chef puts skill, time and care into a dish, and the whole point is for someone else to enjoy it. The chef stands back and watches.
That image makes the speaker's feeling easy to read. They are giving a lot, probably attention, effort and affection, while the person they give it to takes it in and offers nothing back. The poem doesn't say whether the speaker is angry or simply tired, but the flat, matter-of-fact tone suggests a quiet resignation. There's no dramatic outburst here.
The rhyme of "cooks" and "looks" makes the lines feel like a neat saying, almost a proverb. That tidiness sits oddly against the sadness underneath, and it's what gives the poem its mood: wistful, a little bitter, and honest about how lonely it is to care more than the other person does.