You cook the kind of food which under-

Stands the language of my stomach

Oh baby, cook the kind of food which under-

Stands the language of my stomach

Since we broke bread some moons ago

There has been no looking back

Your spice comes from the farthest islands

Your salt from the sweetest ocean

Say, your spice comes from the farthest islands

Your salt from the sweetest ocean

Some say you have the kitchen mojo

Others say it’s your magic potion

A slow fire burns beneath your pot

Steam rises to the laughing roof

Say, a slow fire burns beneath your pot

Steam rises from the laughing roof

You know the way to my panting heart

No need for a tastier proof

Smacking lips, tangled tongues

Memory’s magic is in the eating

Yes, smacking lips, tangled tongues

Memory’s magic is in the eating

Your aroma unsettles many noses

Far, very far, from the actual feasting

You cook me the food which under-

Stands my innermost hunger

Yes, you cook me the food which under-

Stands my innermost hunger

Get me swinging to and fro

Like a garment from your golden hanger