You’ve accidentally summoned the Devil while cooking dinner, and he’s intrigued by your culinary skills. He challenges you to a high-stakes cook-off, with your soul on the line. If you win, you get a lifetime of unparalleled culinary prowess and the ability to impress anyone with your dishes. But if you lose, your soul is his. As you accept the challenge, you realize you’ll need to prepare the most extraordinary meal of your life.
The Devil came to my kitchen
He was looking for a soul to steal
See he was in a bind and he was way behind
So he was willing to make a deal
When he came upon me canning
Homemade pasta sauce and makin’ it hot
Well the Devil leaned up against my stove and said
“Hey lemme tell you what
I bet you didn’t know it,
But I can my own sauces too
And if you’d care to take a dare
I’ll make a bet with you
Now that sauce sure smells fine, my friend
But give the Devil his due
I’ll bet a canner of gold against your soul
‘Cause I think I’m better than you”
Well I just shrugged my shoulders
And said “sure, but you’ll clear your plate
I’ll take your bet, you’re gonna regret
My sauce is that first rate.”
Get out the knives and cut the chives and let that garlic bloom
‘Cause this is now Hell’s Kitchen and the Devil’s in the room
And if I win I get this shiny canner made of gold
But if I lose, the Devil gets my soul
[SICK FIDDLE SOLO]
The Devil stepped up to my stove and said “I’ll make this fast”
And fire flew from his fingertips as he turned up the gas.
He poured some oil into a pan, it made an evil hiss
Then a demon sous chef came on in, and it went something like this.
[the sounds of a knife being sharpened badly can be heard over the crackle of infernally-hot oil and boiling water.]
When I tasted Satan’s pasta, I said
“Not bad, I’ll admit
But sit down in that chair right there
And just give me a bit.”
[the beat drops to the rhythm of a knife chopping and a stirring ladle, interspersed with the sizzle of frying vegetables.]
Onions in the frypan, stir clockwise!
Keep ‘em going steady til they caramelize
Drop some chili powder, cut tomatoes!
Turmeric and mushrooms and away we go!
[The previous beat drop picks up with the added sounds of pasta sauce simmering, followed by a slurp as the tempo shifts downward.]
Well, the Devil bowed his head
Because he knew that I was able
And he set that golden canner right down there upon my kitchen table.
I said, “Devil, just come on back
If you ever feel the need to eat
But remember this, you son of a bitch
My sauce just can’t be beat.”
[SICK BEAT DROP, now accompanied by the distinctive high pinging noises of lids sealing in a water bath. The coda rises and finally breaks on the sound of cutlery falling to a plate.]
[Applause!!!] BRAVO!!! [Fingers drumming on a high countertop, joyful fast, with the wild tap of rings, metal on stone, unable to refrain from the enthusiastic cacophony.]
