THE
KITCHEN KABARET
1982-1994

   The Kitchen Kabaret, presented by Kraft, was a strange and happy little show in Epcot's Land Pavilion that delivered a musical primer in basic nutrition and the four food groups.  When Epcot opened in October 1982, the Kitchen Kabaret was the attraction (Journey Into Imagination's ride didn't debut until that December) that most closely resembled something from the Magic Kingdom.  Its bright colors, screwball humor, upbeat songs and Audio-Animatronic figures seemed altogether familiar to anyone who had ever seen the Country Bear Jamboree or even The Mickey Mouse Revue.  The greatest difference was that the Kitchen Kabaret was, in its own way, trying to teach a useful lesson.

   The entrance to the thirteen and one-half minute show was on the ground level of The Land, in a theater where a show called Food Rocks has been playing for the past few years.  The waiting area was dressed up like the back alleys of a city where singing foodstuffs were a fairly common thing.  Posters lining the walls promoted the various acts that would be performing in the show.  Jazz music saturated the bench-lined antechamber that adjoined the row of automatic doors leading into the theater.  It was customary for small children to get up and start dancing carelessly in the middle of the room prior to show time, as the atmosphere was totally infectious.  Eventually a swelling medley of the show's main musical cues began to play and signaled that it was time to jockey for position in front of the automatic doors.  A hostess or host would get everyone in order and deliver the usual protocol notices via microphone.  Then the doors swung open and guests filed into the theater just ahead to their left.

   The theater faced a stage framed by two little stages, like a scaled-down version of The Mickey Mouse Revue's arrangement.  A Kraft logo was sewn on the main curtain.  Directly above the curtain was an art deco kitchen cookware marquee with the show's name rendered in glowing neon.  Once everyone was seated and relatively quiet, an announcers voice cued the show, "Ladies and gentleman, Kraft proudly presents a show that has the whole town...cooking, the Kitchen Kabaret.  And now, here's your hostess, Bonnie Appetit."

   The curtain in the right hand side stage went up on Bonnie, a shapely lady with a cartoonish face dressed in her best Betty Crocker yellows and blues.  She sat atop a stack of huge cookbooks, and she looked thoroughly worn out and depressed.   Bonnie explained that it was "time to plan another meal," and she wasn't too excited about it.  But after singing a couple lines about the "mealtime blues," she started to let on about a way of circumventing some of the drudgery.  "The timing's right, the show's prepared, let me serve it on up to you..." she stretched out the last note as the curtains lifted on the main stage.

   The setting was Bonnie's kitchen, which was about three times human size and ten times more clean than most I've been in.  It was appointed in warm earth tones with white and silver appliances.  To the far left was a refrigerator, to the far right a stove.  Above the counter in the middle of the scene was a large window with the blinds drawn.  It was surrounded by cabinetry.  A basket of fruit sat off to the left side of the window.

   No sooner did the curtain go up than the house band, the Kitchen Krackpots, rose from the depths in front of the counter.  The ensemble was comprised of oversized - even for this big kitchen - condiments, all in Kraft-brand packaging.  A mayonnaise jar led the group on beet and tuna can percussion, accompanied by barbecue sauce on a whisk bass, parmesan cheese on a measuring cup (?) guitar, mustard on sax and another little thing that might have been horseradish on a matchstick piano.  They pounded out a quick little tune about the four food groups to which Bonnie, having quickly changed into a glittering Vegas-style outfit, provided the vocals.  She belted out her intentions of  "chasing the lowdown mealtime blues away" and then the Krackpots began to disappear below the stage again.

   Bonnie proceeded to introduce the first of the show's four main acts, "Mr. Dairy Goods and his Stars of the Milky Way."
   As a heavenly chorus sounded from above, the door of the refrigerator on stage right opened slowly and the performers slid out of its recesses in a cloud of dry ice fog.  In front was Goods, a flimsy milk carton with facial features and arms that held a microphone.  Behind him were three female incarnations of lactose-heavy perishables: Miss Cheese, Miss Yogurt and Miss Ice Cream.  In his '30s crooner voice, Goods introduced each of the ladies and they, in turn, warbled a couple lines in their own praise.  Miss Cheese sounded like Mae West, Miss Yogurt like a European sex kitten and Miss Ice Cream like a homogenized Eartha Kitt.  Soon their short revue concluded and they retracted back into the icebox.       

   Simultaneously, the music kicked in for the second act: The Cereal Sisters.  From atop a cabinet shelf to the right of the sink, this trio (Rennie Rice, Connie Corn and - ouch - Mairzy Oats) of packaged products sang in the style of the legendary and harmonically unacceptable Andrews Sisters.  While a swing rhythm filled the room, they told the story of "The Toast of the Town," a loaf of bread who played a mean trumpet.  In their own words, "he started with some dough and then he rose to be a star."  The Toast, meanwhile popped up in a couple different places and cracked off a few loud notes on his horn.  He even had big puffy cheeks like Dizzy Gillespie.

   When that song was finished, Bonnie started in with a potentially suggestive pun about her, the bread and a "jam session."  This sparked the ire of the next two performers, Hamm n' Eggz, who started yelling at her for cutting in on their territory - bad humor.  As they shouted, steam began to rise from the stove at stage left.  Hamm n' Eggz soon came up through the steam and began their vaudeville bantering to the repetitious notes of a tuba and banjo.  Hamm was a big full pork roast with a shirt, tie and vest who spoke from a mouth formed by a slice through his upper torso.  Mr. Eggz was (surprise) an egg with stilt legs and a bow tie who tipped his straw hat incessantly and wore a permanent smile.  Between wise cracks and contentious digs at each other, they sang a little bit about the wonders of meat was while a slide show illustrated their carnivorous fables  over the kitchen sink.  Soon their bickering got out of hand and they had to retire into the oven again for fear of a total meltdown.

   Mr. Eggz, incidentally, was the only electonic personage to appear in more than one Epcot attraction* - and simultaneously at that!  He was a part of Epcot Computer Central's Astuter Computer Revue in Communicore.  In this production he didn't speak but did provide a brief demonstration of how computers served to control audio-animatronic figures.

   The fourth and final act began very quietly and in the dark, as the night sky outside the window over the sink filled with fireflies and latin music rose slowly in volume.  Spotlights soon shone on three vegetables sitting in the sink, and the adjacent basket of fruit had spun around to reveal faces on its inhabitants.  Both groups, known as the Colander Combo and the Fiesta Fruit, sang what was to become the entire show's signature musical number, "Veggie Veggie Fruit Fruit."  The broccoli character in the center of the vegetable trio also became the attraction's de facto icon, his high-pitched "cha cha cha" providing the perfect counterpoint to the bass profundo moaning of Big Al, the centerpiece of the Magic Kingdom's aforementioned Country Bear Jamboree.  It was during this song that Bonnie dropped into the top half of the stage on a crescent moon, dressed up like Carmen Miranda and singing along with the produce below.  Fireworks exploded outside the window and the serenade ended with the broccoli yelping out one last "cha cha cha."

   Still on the moon, Bonnie sang the segue way to the finale.  Then she rose up into the ceiling and all the acts reappeared on-stage for one last potshot each at the audience.  Bonnie (back in her subdued housewife attire) reappeared on the left hand side stage to reiterate the show's main message about the four food groups and nutrition.  The separate groups joined in as one orchestra to accompany her in the delivery of her final dietary doctrine, which rose to a frenzied crescendo of light and sound that culminated in one extended high note.  

   And that was the show.  The curtains rolled in on each other and a host or hostess thanked the audience for visiting and enjoying Kraft's hearty cast of characters.            

   Of course, it was never explained how any of the information imparted in this extravaganza would help Bonnie plan a meal.  In fact, there was no mention of recipes whatsoever.  So she was basically left with a kitchen full of musical ingredients that certainly weren't going to cook themselves (not one of them ever actually said, "eat me"), and in the meantime she'd lost almost fourteen minutes.  Never mind what kind of moral dilemma she might be facing in the slaughter of intelligent food items with distinct personalities.  But I digress...

   Souvenir merchandise from this show was widely available during Epcot's early years.  The shop just outside the show's exit was originally known as Broccoli & Co. and offered a good selection of Kitchen Kabaret items.  From placemats and magnets to note pads and stuffed "animals," the majority of the items depicted the Colander Combo, most notably the shop's namesake, the broccoli.  Years before the show folded up, however, this merchandise line died off and was replaced by more generic kitchen wares.

   The Kitchen Kabaret was not a masterstroke of theme park entertainment, and in that sense it was on square footing with many other attractions at Epcot.  It was a fun show, however, thoughtfully planned, coherent and professionally executed.  In spite of the puns, the lyrics were witty and the character designs were nothing short of inspired.  A number of factors (ranging from new thinking in the science of nutrition and the departure of Kraft as The Land pavilion's sponsor) led to the need for this show's overhaul.  It's unfortunate that so many of its fine original elements didn't survive the transition to the production guests see today.

   * Both Walter Cronkite and Walt Disney had some type of role in both Spaceship Earth and The American Adventure.

   First, third and fourth images copyright The Walt Disney Company.

Return to Epcot page

Return to WYW main page