After Robin had rejected four more perfectly normal—and male, I might add—shoppers, her eyes suddenly lit up. “Oh, look, that’s the one!” She pointed eagerly at a man entering the store. I couldn’t see what made him so special. To me, he looked ordinary: short hair, average height, lean build, brown suede jacket, and delicate round glasses. But Robin, I reminded myself, was the expert; she must know who’d look good on camera and who wouldn’t, and she was probably better than I was at guessing the value of the suede jacket and the glasses, which, for all I knew, had cost thousands.
Robin marched confidently over to her selected shopper and pulled down her headset. The rest of us followed. By then, I was convinced that this headset was connected to nothing more than an empty box that she wore attached to her belt. I mean, whom could she possibly be communicating with? Nelson, who was right next to her? The headset, I decided, was a prop intended to make her look official.
“Good afternoon, sir,” said Robin, extending her hand to the mystery man, who cautiously took her hand and shook it. “My name is Robin, and I am the producer of a televison show called Chefly Yours. We’re here today to film an episode of the show, and we’d like to offer you the talents of our chef, Josh Driscoll.” Robin shoved Josh in front of her as proof of her statement. “If you’ll allow us, we’d like to film you and Josh as he helps prepare a meal for you. Perhaps you have a loved one at home who could use a special dinner tonight? We’ll come to your house and give our viewers a lesson in how to prepare high-quality meals in their very own homes.” Robin beamed.
“Oh! Uh, I guess that would be okay.” He adjusted his small glasses and looked at all of us as we stood expectantly before him.
“Wonderful!” Robin whipped her head around and inadvertently, I assumed, smacked Josh in the face with her long hair. “Nelson? Are you getting this?”
“Yes, ma’am.” The cameraman sounded annoyed. “I do know how to use this thing. I am a professional, you know.” Nelson turned the camera away from me. I’d been too focused on Josh’s potential shopper to realize that I was being filmed. Clearly irritated, Robin reached out and shoved the camera so that it was aimed at Josh. Nelson protested, “This is all part of the reality of the show, Robin. The process, you know? And Chloe’s part of this.”
I glanced sideways at Nelson, who increasingly felt like a weirdo. “Um, you really don’t need to film me, Nelson.” I couldn’t help feeling flattered that Nelson thought I was camera-ready, but I still found him a bit creepy. I do have to admit, though, that I checked my reflection in one of the store mirrors. Hmm, my red hair could use a hint of styling serum . . .
“And your name is?” Robin prompted the man.
“Um, I’m Leo.” Evidently unnerved by the presence of the camera, Leo tucked his head down to glance into his empty cart.
“Wonderful!” Robin practically shouted. “This is Nelson, our cameraman.”
“Field operator,” he corrected her. “And filmmaker. We’ve got great color temperature in here, so it’s going to be a good shoot today.”
Robin sighed at Nelson, introduced the rest of us, and then gave Leo a brief rundown on how the show worked. She explained that for the three chefs, the show was a competition. “Okay, then, Leo. We’ll have Josh walk you through the market, and the two of you will select ingredients for your dinner. Then we’ll all drive to your house and capture every tiny little detail of the culinary process. Isn’t this exciting? Who will we be cooking for this evening?”
“My wife, Francie. She’ll be home pretty soon.” Leo glanced nervously in Nelson’s direction.
Uh-oh. If Leo’s wife, Francie, was on her way home, she was presumably dressed and groomed in a presentable fashion. I had the impression that the station preferred to film an episode in which the shopper’s stunned spouse or partner looked entirely unprepared to be on television. Ideally, the wife, Francie, would’ve had a mud mask on her face and rollers in her hair when she discovered that she was appearing in a reality show. I looked at Robin to see whether she was going to nix this shopper, too.
“Well, whether your wife is home yet or not when we get there, won’t she be surprised!” For once, Robin was doing her best to be charming. I was relieved that she hadn’t tossed Leo into his cart and sent him careening down the aisle before resuming the tedious search for the perfect victim.
Josh stepped in to take over for Robin, who was, I thought, on the verge of frightening Leo into refusing to participate. “Just ignore the camera, okay?” Josh put a hand on Leo’s shoulder and guided him over to a display of fresh corn. “So tell me about you and Francie. What do you two like to eat?”
Leo seemed to relax a bit. “Well, you may have a challenge on your hands, Josh. My wife eats meat, but I’m a pesco-ovolacto-vegetarian. I eat fish and dairy but not meat. Are you sure you still want me to be on your show? I’m not sure if I’m going to help you win,” he said apologetically.
“This is actually going to be great, Leo. I’ll get to show the audience how to work around dietary needs,” Josh assured him as he examined a perfectly ripe mango.
“I’d like you to make some meat, though, for Francie. Since I don’t usually cook outside my diet, it’d be a treat to have someone cook with her in mind, huh?”
“Excellent. We’ll make something for both of you then.” I could see Josh’s eyes light up as he shifted into his chef mode.
TWO
“WE could do a beautiful pesto that we toss with fresh gnocchi. And serve that with seared scallops for you and some kind of roasted meat with vegetables for Francie. We’re almost getting into fall now, so maybe some root vegetables? And how about a gorgeous mixed tomato salad and cheese course? This is a great time of year for fresh tomatoes, so I’d love to use some of those. Check out these yellow pear tomatoes here.” Josh reached into a wooden wagon that served as a display for a variety of tomatoes. He proceeded to give Leo and the television audience a short discourse on the joys of tomato season.
“Lucky bastard,” Digger said under his breath.
Marlee clicked her tongue. “Yeah, seriously.”
“Why is Josh lucky?” I asked the two chefs.
“Josh gets to show off even more now. He’s going to make something awesome even with that pesco-veggie-whatever guy. This is going to make him look good. I’m going to have to find an even better one on my next turn. Maybe someone who only eats flatbread. I can do wonders with flatbread,” Digger teased with a smile.
“This blows.” Marlee sighed, blew her bangs out of her eyes, and examined her fingernails. For a chef, Marlee certainly had dirty fingernails. I didn’t like to think about her handling food in a restaurant kitchen!
“For dessert, what about a peach and raspberry cobbler?” Josh suggested. Leo nodded enthusiastically and helped Josh gather the fruits and vegetables for the meal.
We kept out of the way as we followed Josh, Leo, Robin, and Nelson. From what I could tell, Josh was doing a beautiful job. He chose a variety of ingredients, held foods up to the camera, kept his body from blocking shots, and dealt with Robin’s intrusive style better than I would have.
“What about some beet greens, Josh?” asked Robin, reaching for a large bunch. “These look gorgeous.”
“Um, maybe—”
“Or arugula? They’ve got a beautiful selection today.” Robin invaded the camera space and handed Josh a plastic bag.
“Actually, we could make a delicious arugula pesto for the gnocchi. Maybe with some Calamata olives in it? And we’ll find a good cut of meat for Francie and some seafood for you both. We’ll get some nice wine and cheese next door, too.”
Leo nodded in recognition. “Sure. I know the place. Um, the only thing is . . . I sort of hate arugula. But Francie will love it, so I think we should make it anyway. I can just have butter on my gnocchi, right?”
“Sure, of course. If that’s okay with you, that’s what we’ll do.”
As Leo and Josh worked their way through the produce depar
tment, they filled Leo’s basket with potatoes, Vidalia onions, heads of garlic, fresh oregano, basil, and parsley, and other items that met Josh’s high standards. Nelson followed the pair and managed to keep the camera on his subjects.
So far as I could tell, Robin did nothing except interject unhelpful commands. “Get some radishes!” she ordered. “Those will look great on camera. Remember to look up at the camera, both of you!”
Josh cleared his throat. Then, trying to look simultaneously at Leo and the camera, he said, “Let’s head over to the meat counter. When deciding on your pick and cut of meat—”
“Josh,” Robin said, “turn your body a bit to the left so Nelson can get the shot. There! Good!” Although Josh must’ve been ticked off at the interruption, his face showed nothing, but Leo looked like a deer caught in headlights. When Robin had positioned the pair to her satisfaction, she said, “Now, say that again, Josh. About the meat.”
Josh uttered three words before Nelson stopped him. “Wait. Sorry. My mike isn’t working right.” The microphone that protruded from Nelson’s camera was covered in a fuzzy sheath. After jiggling the mike with what struck me as unnecessary vigor, he said, “All set. One more time.”
Instead of launching into his third attempt to explain how to select meat, Josh said, “Okay, let’s talk to Willie, the meat guy here.” Josh faced the counter and waved to Owen’s brother. “Willie! How are you, my friend?”
Willie looked up from the counter, where he was cutting and breaking down an enormous piece of beef. “My man, Josh! How’s it going? And, hey, Leo. How are you? And how’s Francie?”
Leo turned to Josh. “My wife and I come here a lot. We’ve gotten to know Willie. Well, Francie more than I, since she’s the meat eater in the family. But Willie always takes care of her.”
“So what’s with the entourage today, fellas?” Willie winked at me, wiped his hands on a dish towel, and leaned against the counter.
Josh explained the show and asked Willie for suggestions.
“Well,” Willie said, “I know Francie’s been eyeing these lamb chops, but I think she didn’t know what to do with them. How to cook them exactly. And they’re pretty pricey. Worth it, though.”
I’d promised myself that I’d keep quiet, but keeping the promise took a lot of effort. How could anyone have absolutely no idea how to cook lamb chops? In terms of culinary challenge, they weren’t exactly shad roe or calf brains.
“Dude, those look nice,” Digger commented from behind Josh. “Really fresh.”
“You’re right,” Josh agreed. With what I felt sure was no intention of insulting Francie, he said to Leo, “It’s hard to ruin a good lamb chop. The worst thing you can do is overcook it, but I’ll show you how to avoid that. Okay, Willie, give us a couple of chops for Francie.”
Willie selected two from the depths of the refrigerated counter and placed them on plastic wrap on the scale. “So, I’m going to be famous from this show, I assume. If I’d known you were coming, I would’ve spent a few extra minutes at the mirror this morning.” Willie scratched his chin. “Might have even shaved for you.”
“You’re as pretty as always, dude,” Josh said with a laugh. “But we’re going to see Evan in a bit to pick up some cheese and a bottle or two of wine. We’ll see who’s prettier then.”
“Tell my brother I’ll always win that contest. Hey, Chloe,” Willie called over the counter to me. “How’s my soon-to-be sister-in-law doing? She ready to pop yet?”
Willie meant my best friend, Adrianna, who was going to marry his brother Owen in a couple of weeks. Adrianna was eight months pregnant and looked as if she were carrying triplets. As far as anyone knew, there was only one baby inside her, but I was beginning to worry that the one baby weighed forty pounds.
“Well, she’s okay. Aside from comparing herself daily to a variety of large mammals and insisting that Owen take over for her and incubate the kid himself. So, you know, she’s doing great,” I said sarcastically.
“Aw, poor thing. I’ll have to give her a call and check in.” Willie wrapped the lamb chops in white butcher’s paper and passed them to Josh. “Good luck. And tell Francie I send my love, okay?”
“Will do,” Josh said with a nod. “Now let’s get your fish.”
Josh got enough halibut to make a first course for Leo. Then we cruised down an aisle lined with shelves of fancy oils, vinegars, and prepared sauces in imaginatively shaped bottles and jars.
“I’ve used some of these sauces before.” Leo pointed to a series of bottles that bore the pretty green label of an imported brand. “That tends to be how I cook, I guess. With jarred sauces.”
As Josh nodded in understanding, Robin nudged Nelson. The signal was unnecessary. Nelson already had the camera on Josh’s face, which expressed his passion for helping people to make wonderful food in their own kitchens. “That’s true for a lot of people,” Josh said. “And it’s great that there are high-quality products for when people want to get a meal out quickly. But the downside is that the at-home cook can really miss out on simple, delicious sauces, salsas, chutneys, and marinades, all kinds of things that can be put together with minimal work. As good as some of these products can be, nothing beats the taste and aroma of freshly chopped herbs blended with a fantastic Spanish olive oil. Or a sauce that you’ve slowly simmered on your stove so you’ve brought out all the flavors of your ingredients.”
Josh and Leo continued making their way through the market, adding products to the shopping cart until Josh was sure he’d have everything he’d need. “I assume you’ll have some basic seasonings at your house, Leo?”
Leo nodded. “I think I’ve got everything you need.” He grinned shyly at Robin. Was Leo trying to flirt with Robin? If so, Robin completely ignored him and returned to checking her notes.
All of us finally ended up at a register, where Robin paid. A benefit of being selected for the show was that the station covered the cost of all the food in the cart, including whatever had been in there before Robin and the chef had even approached the shopper. Today, of course, Robin had picked out Leo as he’d been entering the store, so the policy didn’t matter, and in any case, most of Natural High’s clientele needed no help with food bills. Still, the generous practice spoke well for the station.
“The cheese shop is next,” Robin instructed us while simultaneously scribbling on her clipboard. I was beginning to suspect that she followed the David Letterman approach to note taking, which was to say that her notes were nothing more than random scribbles with no bearing on what was happening. “Since it’s basically next door, we can just walk over there. Digger and Marlee, you can put the bags in the van for us.”
While Robin’s back was turned, Digger saluted her and started pushing the shopping cart. Marlee stayed with him as Robin marched impatiently through the exit door, with Josh, Leo, Nelson, and me hurrying to keep up with her. Everything about her manner and her posture suggested that all of us had been hanging around and wasting time, whereas, in fact, Robin herself had been the sole cause of the delay. Looking back over her shoulder, she had the nerve to call out, “Let’s go, people! We’re on a timetable here!”
The cheese and wine shop where Evan worked was unimaginatively called the Cheese and Wine Shop. Its setting was no more intriguing than its name. It occupied one of the storefronts in a little strip mall across the parking lot from Natural High. Flanked by a knitting store on one side and a handmade crafts boutique on the other, the Cheese and Wine Shop distinguished itself by displaying a cheerful striped awning that welcomed visitors.
“Welcome! Welcome!” Evan’s greeting sounded more affected than genuinely affable. Posed next to a display table that showcased the wine of the month, he had one hand on the table and the other at his waist. I could practically smell calculation in the air. As if to confirm my hunch that Willie had called to give Evan a heads-up, Evan exclaimed,“What a surprise!” After pausing to bestow a toothy smile on everyone, he continued. “And what are you al
l doing here? Could this be a Chefly Yours episode?”
Still trying to keep my vow of silence, I waved to Evan, who, like everyone else in Owen’s family, was extraordinarily good-looking—reason to feel confident about the genes that Owen was passing on to his baby. Evan and Willie were a year apart but could almost have been mistaken for identical twins. Evan, however, was a bit bulkier than Willie, probably because Evan was fond of overindulging in the delicious triple-crème cheeses available here.
“And is my friend Leo here the target of all your shenanigans?” Evan’s theatrical effort to project made him speak so loudly that Josh and Leo stepped back.
“I am, I am,” Leo answered. “I had no idea when I walked into the store today that I would wind up with the services of a talented chef. It’s wild.” Leo turned to Josh. “I’m a bit of a regular here, as you might have figured out.”
Evan shook Josh’s and Leo’s hands, and then Josh introduced Robin and Nelson.
“Okay, start shooting, Nelson,” Robin ordered.
Nelson flicked on the camera’s light and moved his eye behind the camera while muttering, “I think I know what I’m doin’ here . . .”
Josh nodded and moved to Evan’s side. “So, Evan, we’re looking for some cheeses to serve after dinner and some nice wines to go with everything. What can you recommend?”
The bright light seemed to have panicked Evan, who began to sweat profusely. “Well, Josh,” said Evan, while beaming maniacally into the camera lens, “there are several wonderful choices that I happen to have here.” He moved to the counter by the register and pulled out a tray on which eight or nine cheeses, each with a label, were attractively and all-too-conveniently arranged. “Ahem, this is a lovely Tomme de Savoie. And here we have a Serena, which comes from the mountainous Extremadura region of Spain. Oh, and a rich Gorgonzola, which I think should be on every cheese tray—very smooth and creamy. Would you like a sample?” Evan seemed to be loosening up as he eased into his cheese comfort zone, but when he wiped his forehead with his sleeve, I saw Robin wince.
Fed Up Page 2
