Chef Breaks In To Cook Me a Pizza

Stand back! Get out of the way! The Master Chef is here to play! I looked in amazement as the man ran in. He was wearing a beard by his chinny chin chin. Who is he? I asked my friend’s son. I don’t know he replied. Should I call 911? Let’s wait I said swiftly for I hate to cook. And this guy did not have a very tough look. Pepperoni! He yelled. I threw it straight in the air. He tossed it into quickly into my mixing bowl there. Tomatoes! He hollered. All I had were canned. He handed me a grocery list and motioned me away, his hands fanned. I got everything on the list – jalapenos, horseradish, tomatoes galore. He was stirring red sauce when I came back in the door. Where are the banana peppers? Is the store very far? I know I got them! I yelled. I ran back to the car. He mixed up the hottest most maniacal spaghetti I had ever seen. Just one taste of it turned most people’s gentle pallet’s green. But I am one of those women who love the hottest food more than most. So I crowned him the King of Spaghetti, and he comes every Wednesday to host.