Pot on the burner, the burner is cold
A culinary sin, or so I’ve been told
She dropped the penne in a lukewarm bath
Now the whole of the UK is feeling the wrath
No bubbles popping, no steam in the air
Just a ceramic nightmare and a vacant stare
Gordon Ramsay’s screaming in a padded cell
While the starch turns to glue in a watery hell.
Oh, it’s a pasta crime, doing hard time
Putting the wheat in before the water can climb
Cold water, dry pasta, a nation in shock
She didn’t even wait for the tick of the clock
Starchy and soggy, the texture is wrong
We’re singing the ballad of the Pasta Song.
Wait for the boil.
Honor the soil.
Don't let the gluten spoil.
The salt...
she forgot the salt.
Ma'am, step away from the stove.
You have the right to remain silent.
Anything you cook can and will be used against you in the court of public opinion.
