You’re in the kitchen. Maybe you’re making a stir-fry. You grab a head of green, tree-like vegetables. Suddenly, a voice in your head—nasal, British, and impossibly pretentious—starts wailing.
She’s choppin’ broccol-aaa...
If you know, you know.
Dana Carvey’s "Choppin’ Broccoli" is more than a sketch. It is a permanent neurological condition for anyone who owned a TV in the late 1980s. But while most people remember the "Saturday Night Live" bit where a stoner rock star fakes his way through a recording session, the story behind it is actually much weirder. Honestly, it’s a masterclass in how "dumb" comedy becomes legendary.
The Character Nobody Asked For
The sketch is officially titled "Derek Stevens," but let’s be real. Nobody calls it that. We call it the Dana Carvey chopping broccoli song.
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Derek Stevens was Carvey’s version of the quintessential 80s rock diva. Think the self-seriousness of Bono mixed with the vocal gymnastics of Bryan Adams, all wrapped in a "stoned-out British rocker" package. In the original 1986 sketch, Stevens meets with record executives (played by the late, great Phil Hartman and guest host Sigourney Weaver) to play his new "tracks."
The catch? He hasn't written a single thing.
What followed was pure improvisation—or at least, it looked that way. Stevens sits at the piano, flares his nostrils, and starts singing lyrics so inane they shouldn't be funny.
"There’s a lady I know / If I didn't know her / She’d be the lady I didn’t know."
It’s stupid. It’s objectively bad. Yet, Hartman’s character watches with a look of spiritual enlightenment, as if he’s witnessing the birth of the next "Stairway to Heaven." That’s the joke. The industry's desperation for "edgy" art makes them mistake a song about grocery shopping for a profound masterpiece.
It Started in a Childhood Kitchen
Most people think Carvey wrote this in the SNL writers' room while high on caffeine at 3:00 AM.
Nope.
Carvey actually recently admitted on his Fly on the Wall podcast that the "Choppin’ Broccoli" bit was one of the first laughs he ever got in his life. He was just a kid. He used to do the voice and the "chopping" motion to annoy his parents and sisters. He was just a "precocious little ham," as he puts it.
He eventually took the bit to the stand-up stage. Before he ever set foot in Studio 8H, he was using the song to parody the vapidness of popular music. He would explain to audiences how rock stars could sing the most boring, trite garbage—like a grocery list—and if they did it with enough "artistic" conviction, the crowd would eat it up.
When he auditioned for SNL, he didn't just bring the Church Lady. He brought the broccoli.
The Mystery of Why It Still Works
Kinda makes you wonder: why do we still care?
Comedy usually has a shelf life. References to 1986 hair metal should be dead by now. But "Chopping Broccoli" has this weird, "Smelly Cat" kind of endurance.
Part of it is the specific way Carvey uses his voice. He isn't just singing; he's performing a "vocal tic." He stretches the word "broccoli" into four or five syllables, turning a mundane vegetable into a tragic opera.
Chop-in brocco-laaaa.
It’s what David Spade calls "so dumb it’s funny." It’s the "More Cowbell" of the 80s.
But there’s also a deeper layer of satire there. We’ve all seen that artist—the one who thinks every thought they have is a gift to humanity. Carvey nails the pretension. The way he looks like he’s about to vomit while hitting a high note? That’s 100% real observation of 80s power ballads.
The Secret "Death" of Derek Stevens
Here is something most fans don't know: Dana Carvey tried to kill the character.
Literally.
There was a script written where the record company decided Derek Stevens was worth more dead than alive. It was a dark commentary on the music industry—how sales spike for Jim Morrison or Jimi Hendrix after they pass. The execs were going to "eliminate" him to juice the album charts.
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The sketch "laid there," according to Carvey. It wasn't funny. It was too conceptual.
Instead, they leaned into the "dumb." They brought the character back several times, including a 1988 sketch where Kirstie Alley played his girlfriend. In that version, the joke was that Derek couldn't stop turning her mundane life into soul-shattering ballads.
She'd say, "I'm going to the store," and he'd be at the piano in three seconds wailing about the "Journey to the Market of Souls."
How to Apply the "Broccoli" Logic to Your Life
What can we actually learn from a guy singing about fiber-rich vegetables in a fake British accent?
- Conviction is 90% of the battle. If you say something stupid with enough confidence, half the room will think you're a genius.
- Don't overthink the "hook." Sometimes the simplest, silliest idea you had as a kid is the one that will define your career.
- Embrace the absurd. In a world that takes itself way too seriously, being the person who "chops the broccoli" is a superpower.
If you want to relive the magic, don't just watch the original SNL clip. Look up the 2014 version where Carvey performs it with a full symphony orchestra. Hearing a 60-piece ensemble build to a crescendo while a man in his late 50s screams about "the lady he knows" is the peak of human achievement.
Next time you're in the produce aisle, don't fight it. Just lean in. Do the voice. Your family will hate it, but Dana Carvey would be proud.
Your next move: Go watch the 40th-anniversary special version of the sketch. It features Carvey alongside Fred Armisen and Kristen Wiig (as Garth and Kat) and Adam Sandler’s Opera Man. It’s a literal Mount Rushmore of "annoying musical characters" that proves why this brand of comedy never actually dies.