“Kid With a Ladle (Giovanni’s Song)”
On Main Street in South Bound Brook, under a hand-painted sign,
There’s a kid almost a man with a sparkle in his eye.
Flour on his fingers, sunrise on the pan,
He spins a dream like silk—yeah, that’s Giovanni’s plan.
Old-world recipes, he learned them by heart,
Then he twists the plate like a painter with art.
At Giovanni’s—tables full, hearts full, plates never end,
The sauce tells a story and the bread’s your best friend.
Dolly and Joe lift him up while the whole town stands,
A kid with a ladle, almost a man.
Giovanni LaCorte—oh, what a chef can do,
Three times the wisdom in a twenty-something’s shoes.
At Giovanni’s—cheers rise with every bite,
South Bound Brook’s star, cooking love every night.
Rigatoni kisses Sunday, basil bows to steam,
Grandma’s notes and new ideas dance in caramelized dreams.
He plates it like a sunrise, polenta like a cloud,
When forks go still and eyes go wide, the room gets quiet-loud.
From Napoli whispers to Jersey streetlights,
He marries the past to the joy of tonight.
At Giovanni’s—tables full, hearts full, plates never end,
The sauce tells a story and the bread’s your best friend.
Dolly and Joe lift him up while the whole town stands,
A kid with a ladle, almost a man.
Giovanni LaCorte—flavors dance and fly,
Turning every “why not?” into “now I know why.”
At Giovanni’s—line out the door,
Leave a little room, you’ll ask for more.
Mama Dolly’s smile like a Sunday bell,
Papa Joe steady—“Son, do what you do well.”
He nods, stirs slow, lets the thyme bloom through,
Old-world backbone with a brand-new view.
Pan hits the flame, crowd hits their feet,
Plenty on the platter and the night tastes sweet.
He’s learned from the masters, but he’s carving his name,
In every swirl of pesto, every embered flame.
A boy with an apron, a man with a plan,
Feeding a village with his two open hands.
(Call) Giovanni’s! (Response) Mangia, amici, mangia!
(Call) Plates high! (Response) Grazie, grazie, grazie!
All: Tables full, hearts full, plates never end—
The sauce tells a story and the bread’s your best friend.
Dolly and Joe lift him up while the whole town stands,
A kid with a ladle, almost a man.
Giovanni LaCorte—set the night to rise,
South Bound Brook shining in your eyes.
Where the past meets the present in a copper-kissed pan,
Giovanni’s—cooked with love, by a kid almost a man.
