Big Damn Chefs
per_solo tells us about Big Damn Chefs, a Firefly-inspired cookbook. (Looks as if our darling vixyish did the back cover.) All proceeds go to the nonprofit Freedom From Hunger.
Which made me do this:
The Chef They Call Jayne
Words: © 2006 by Tom Smith
Released under a Creative Commons Noncommercial ShareAlike license
Music: "The Ballad of Jayne" by Ben Edlund
Jayne. The chef they call Jayne...
His roulades were rich
As the gravy he'd pour.
Stood up to the Man
And gave him wheat flour.
Our love for his chow
Ain't hard to explain.
The hero of cookin',
The chef they call Jayne.
Our Jayne smelled that muddy McBreakfast,
The coffee like sludge or cement,
And he saw the Mickey D's fake this
For two dollars and sixty nine cents.
So he said "You can't do that to my people."
He said "You can't serve 'em crap on a bun."
So Jayne strapped on his apron,
And in ten minutes' caperin'
Made frittata, perfectly done.
He kneaded, he whipped,
And he beat and puréed,
He sliced and he minced,
And he stirred and sautéed,
Our love for his chow
Ain't hard to explain,
The hero of cookin',
The chef they call Jayne.
Now here is what separates eggwhites
From common yolk like you and I.
The man they call Jayne
Then created a Pain
au Chocolat that would make grown men cry.
He dropped that brioche on our tables,
He dropped it in restaurants and bars.
The man they called Jayne
Left that pan of his Pain
And breaded out for the stars!
His food all was rich
And it fed all the poor.
He never used mixes
You get in a store.
Our love for his chow
Ain't hard to explain.
The hero of cookin',
The chef they call Jayne.
Which made me do this:
The Chef They Call Jayne
Words: © 2006 by Tom Smith
Released under a Creative Commons Noncommercial ShareAlike license
Music: "The Ballad of Jayne" by Ben Edlund
Jayne. The chef they call Jayne...
His roulades were rich
As the gravy he'd pour.
Stood up to the Man
And gave him wheat flour.
Our love for his chow
Ain't hard to explain.
The hero of cookin',
The chef they call Jayne.
Our Jayne smelled that muddy McBreakfast,
The coffee like sludge or cement,
And he saw the Mickey D's fake this
For two dollars and sixty nine cents.
So he said "You can't do that to my people."
He said "You can't serve 'em crap on a bun."
So Jayne strapped on his apron,
And in ten minutes' caperin'
Made frittata, perfectly done.
He kneaded, he whipped,
And he beat and puréed,
He sliced and he minced,
And he stirred and sautéed,
Our love for his chow
Ain't hard to explain,
The hero of cookin',
The chef they call Jayne.
Now here is what separates eggwhites
From common yolk like you and I.
The man they call Jayne
Then created a Pain
au Chocolat that would make grown men cry.
He dropped that brioche on our tables,
He dropped it in restaurants and bars.
The man they called Jayne
Left that pan of his Pain
And breaded out for the stars!
His food all was rich
And it fed all the poor.
He never used mixes
You get in a store.
Our love for his chow
Ain't hard to explain.
The hero of cookin',
The chef they call Jayne.