Good grief, Jack, you're lucky you're pretty.

Cohen stares hard at Jack for several long and probably deeply uncomfortable moments, before smiling. "Good, good; now that's what I like to hear."

He sounds for all the world like he's lilting away to a favourite student in an ordinary art class. The anger is soothed. But only until he remembers the piano, probably.

His voice takes on a warning tone. "But don't let it boil over, now! This dish may not have been mine in the end, but I have put my heart into that simmering pot and I should hate to see it go to waste!"

This cooking metaphor is going way too far somebody derail it