…or some other song it can be sung to. Anyway, *ahem* here’s my latest chart-buster:
My TV is on the food channel
Looking for new things to eat.
But when that music starts
It goes straight to my heart
Which stirs, shakes, and then skips a beat.
The palms of my hands become moist
I reach for fresh pepper to grate
I set the oven on kill
And hold myself still
As my soul starts to salivate
I want to have Alton Brown’s baby
Just cuz I love how he cooks.
We’d make a child, in the end
That’s a fabulous blend
Of his talent, along with his looks.
My eyes remain glued to the TV
In rapture, I don’t even blink.
Each kitchen applience
With gastronomical science
(Everything but the kitchen sink)
Is grist for a splendid concoction.
If I can’t cook it, it isn’t his fault.
I’m in love with his eyes
His shoulders, his thighs
His voice and his kosher salt.