I’m sick to death of cooking shows
I’m sick to death of cooking
I’m sick to death of cooking shows
I’m sick to death of looking.
At chefs who prance around the stove
With saucepans all aflame
They speak to us so earnestly
It really is a shame
That when I see their dishes
Which are simply quite exotic
With all the fuss and carry-on
I’m growing more neurotic.
For I’ve been cooking constantly
For oh so many years
And chopping up an onion
Still reduces me to tears.
I’ve lost count of all the recipes
I’ve taken out and tried
I’ve roasted, baked, and casseroled
I’ve steamed, and grilled and fried.
But in the end I still come back
To favourites, tried and true
There’s nothing like a tender steak
Or a pot of Irish stew.
So away with all the fancy chefs
Who posture on TV-
But I’ve just had a grand idea -
Let them come and cook for me!