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You don't become a $23-a-day paint bucket drum street performer overnight. You have to pay your dues, man. 

You see, when I was a younger man, I had big dreams of becoming a chef. But it just wasn't meant to be. I did the impossible. I found hot spots where heavy gauge construction said hot spots weren't supposed to be. And where food was supposed to release easily from the long-lasting and durable reinforced nonstick interior, mine would stick.

So I hung up my chef's coat and gave up the dream. But I didn't go easily. I grabbed those soft silicone and quality stainless steel handles and launched those pots and pans clear across the room.

What happened next, I'm convinced, was destiny calling. To the untrained ear, the resulting noise was an excruciating clatter of porcelain enamel meeting wall and then floor. But to me, it was a magnificent symphony of possibility and restored hope.

I grabbed two wooden spoons and went to town on those saucepans, sautés and skillets. The 6-quart was bass. The 1-quart, hi-hat. You'd be amazed by the sound two glass lids can make when you bang them together just right. It's like angels singing.

So anyway, yeah. That's how I got my start. The rest is history. If you want, stay for a minute while I drop these mad beats. And if you like what you hear, go ahead and throw a quarter in the hat.

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