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Chef Angelo.....Horatio Sanz Scott.....Jason Bateman Penelope.....Rachel Dratch Waiter.....Seth Meyers Mr. Thompson.....Will Forte Prisoners #1, #2.....Rob Riggle, Kenan Thompson [ open on interior, fancy restaurant, Scott and Penelope sit at a well-dressed table ] Penelope: I'm so glad you took me to Angelo's, Scott. I've been dying to come here for a long time. Scott: Well, I don't know one restaurant from another, Penelope, but one of my colleagues at the newspaper told me the food here is really good. Penelope: Are you kidding? It's the premiere Italiano restaurant in all of Salt Lake. Scott: Doesn't make any difference to me. I haven't eaten so much as a fig all day. I'm starving, and I can't wait to try the Angel Hair Primavera I ordered. Penelope: I ordered the Eggplant Parmigiana with mozzarella and sun-dried tomatoes. I'm allergic to tomatoes, but I can't resist a quality dining experience. Scott: Do our meals come with breadsticks? It'll ruin my dining experience if there aren't any breadsticks. Penelope: Of course there's breadsticks. Don't you know that it's sacreligious for an Italian restaurant to not serve breadsticks with all meals? It's like being baptized with Seltzer water. [ the Waiter appears with their food on elegant serving platters ] Waiter: Sir and Mrs. Charles, your orders are ready. Chef Angelo personally slaved over your meals this evening, and I think you will agree that they are most buonissimo. [ lays the platters on the table ] Penelope: Oh, it's beautiful! Scott, doesn't our food look wonderful? Scott: Honey, it's food. As long as it meets our basic nutritional needs, I'm happy. Waiter: Sir does not approve of Chef Angelo's masterpiece of culinary delight? If you'll notice, he handpicked the garnishes personally with you in mind. Penelope: [ pointing ] See how the sprigs of parsley accentuate the flow of the pasta strands, Scott? Scott: [ looks at his plate ] Hmm.. yes. Chef Angelo's noodles, sauce and lawn clippings appear to be satisfactory. Waiter: You kid Chef Angelo about the sprigs of parsley. Scott: Well, I didn't ask for parsley, now did I? It's generally not among my preferred menu choices. Waiter: Sir, the parsley is not meant for eating, it is merely a form of decoration to bring out the tapestry of your meal. Scott: I see. Well, since Chef Angelo is feeling so artistic this evening, perhaps he could bring me a basket of paint chips to munch on with my meal. Waiter: I'll pass your compliments on to Chef Angelo. [ exits ] Penelope: Scott, you're embarrassing me. The renowned Chef Angelo is very proud of his food. It's as much about presentation as it is preparation. Scott: It's just food, Penelope. You eat it, digest it, then expell it from your body as excrement. Trust me, it all looks the same by that stage of the game, and no garnishes are going to make it look any prettier. Penelope: That's gross. Scott: It's simple biology. You should have learned this in high school and/or community college. Penelope: Why do you always have to bring up the fact that I went to community college? Did it ever occur to you that I wanted to study VCR Repair? Scott: I'm just suggesting that you never considered they might one day be replaced by the DVD player and become obsolute, that's all. [ Waiter returns ] Waiter: Sir and Mrs. Charles, I present to you.. Chef Angelo. [ leans on one knee, bows his head and extends his arm with a flourish ] [ Chef Angelo flamboyantly enters scene, obviously very pleased with himself ] Chef Angelo: Mr.-a and-a Mrs.-a Charles! How-a you like-a you meal! Penelope: [ cheery ] It's exquisite. Scott: [ puffs his cheeks ] It's alright. Chef Angelo: Alright? What-a you mean-a, "alright"? Scott: It's just Angel Hair Primavera. I've had it at plenty of other restaurants before. I don't know what you're so proud about, it's not like you invented the damn dish. Chef Angelo: But-a look-a at how-a Chef-a Angelo prepare-a you food! Huh? This food-a is-a be-yoo-tiful! It-a belongs-a in-a the Louvre! Scott: It sure does belong in the loo - and I'd love to be the guy who flushes it! Chef Angelo: No! Not-a the toilet! In-a the Louvre! Like-a in-a the museum! Scott: [ peeved ] Listen to me, you pretentious bastard. It's food! Not art; food! Art goes on walls. Food.. ends up in our bowels. Do you understand what I'm saying, pal? Chef Angelo: Chef-a Angelo's food.. is-a art! Scott: Hey, quit referring to yourself in the third person when you're standing here in the first person, alright? Chef Angelo: [ bewildered ] What-a we got-a here? An-a English teacher, hah? Scott: I'm the art critic at the newspaper. And, believe me, your food isn't art. Chef Angelo: Your-a restaurant-a critic at-a the newspaper-a give-a me high review! Scott: What, a couple springs of parsley, and you think you're an artist? [ incredulous ] You don't know art from a hole in your ass! Chef Angelo: My-a art is-a delicious! Scott: Would you eat the Mona Lisa? Chef Angelo: If-a we had a few-a drinks. Put a bigger-a smile on-a her face, hah! [ laughs ] Scott: [ picks up his platter ] This is food. Chef Angelo: It's-a art! Scott: [ flings the platter at the far wall, making a mess ] Now, it's garbage! Let's go, Penelope! [ Scott storms out of the restaurant, as Penelope timidly follows ] [ more bewildered than before, Chef Angelo strolls over to another tabe, where Mr. Thompson eats alone ] Chef Angelo: Mr.-a Thompson! Are-a you-a enjoying-a your meal? Mr. Thompson: It's very beautiful, Chef Angelo, but might I make one small suggestion? I think the basil leaf would be more practical if it was set away from the meatball. Don't you agree? Chef Angelo: [ with a scowl on his face ] I'm-a gonna count-a to-a five. [ a beat ] And-a then.. you-a die! [ Mr. Thompson methodically returns the basil leaf to its original position, but it's too late. Chef Angelo lunges for his throat, as the scene freezes ] [ dissolve to white ] [ SUPER: "Epilogue" ] [ DISSOLVE ADD SUPER: "Chef Angelo was sentenced to ten years with no probation for murder, and now serves meals in the prison kitchen." ] [ dissolve to Angelo serving cold slop to prisoners in the kitchen line ] Chef Angelo: Don't-a worry! It's-a not-a cold-a slop! It's-a a masterpiece! [ two burly prisoners sidle up on either side of Angelo, and wrap their arms around him ] Prisoner #1: Don't worry. It's not gang rape -- Prisoner #2: [ with a forced Italian accent ] It's-a group-a love! [ zoom in on Angelo's panic-stricken face ] Chef Angelo: Mamma mia! [ fade ] Rate or review this sketch | Prior comments |
