Fed Up (2 page)

After tucking himself back behind the safety of the camera, he asked, “How are you today? Has school started back up yet?”

“No, I have a few more weeks.” My second and final year of graduate school was looming, but I was nowhere near ready to give up on summer. “Oh, I see Digger and Marlee are here. I’m going to say hello.”

Josh and his chef friend Digger had enjoyed a friendly rivalry during the past month of taping. The other two chefs were along not just to watch how their competition performed but to serve as sous-chefs if Josh needed them.

“Hey, Chloe!” Digger called out in his husky voice. “What’s up, kid?” His curly brown hair was pulled back in an elastic, and his dark skin was even more deeply tanned than the last time I’d seen him. Digger had strong, angular facial features that I found somewhat intoxicating; although he wasn’t traditionally handsome, he was masculine and striking. “Has Josh got anyone, yet? We’ve been here for twenty minutes, and Robin has already rejected four people Josh picked out.” Digger cupped his hands to his mouth and called across a bin of red peppers, “Seriously, come on Robin!”

Robin ignored Digger, but I saw that Josh was trying not to smile.

“You know Marlee, right?” Digger gestured to the woman next to him.

“Yes, we met at one of the planning meetings.” I held out my hand to the slightly plump woman. “Good to see you.”

Marlee let my hand sit in the air. “You, too,” she said distractedly. “I wonder who Josh’ll end up with this time.”

For reasons I didn’t understand, Marlee seemed oddly nervous. Today was Josh’s show and not hers. Since the last time I’d seen her, Marlee had cut her thin hair into an ear-length bob that did nothing to flatter her round face. Actually, Marlee had a distinct roundness to her entire being; without actually being overweight, she was blah and shapeless, not to mention pasty and bland. She wasn’t particularly feminine, but since she worked in a male-dominated industry, maybe she deliberately downplayed her feminine side? I stared at her and prayed that she’d put on makeup before the taping began. She seriously needed color in her cheeks, and I had to peer rather rudely at her to see whether she had any eyelashes at all. Oh, yes! There they were. Would she mind, or even notice, if I pulled out a mascara wand and started coating her lashes?

“Oh, look. He’s pointing at someone now.” She and Digger craned their heads to get a look, and then Marlee sighed. “Nope. Robin nixed that guy, too. They really better get moving.”

Even though it was only a little after four in the afternoon, Marlee was right. Shooting an entire episode would take until at least seven tonight. According to Josh, Robin was particular about nearly everything and liked to reshoot some scenes three or four times, maybe for good reason. After all, she had only one cameraman, and the lighting available in markets and home kitchens had to be less than ideal.

Marlee, I suspected, was hoping that Josh would get another dud shopper, thus improving her own chances of winning the show. Even though
Chefly Yours
was relatively small and underfunded, not to mention imitative, it was still television, and I knew that all three chefs were dying to win the chance to star in the solo series. Marlee was the chef at a small South End restaurant called Alloy, but aside from that, I knew little about her. Josh and Digger had both been reviewed a few times in newspapers, in local magazines, and online, but I’d never read anything about Marlee’s restaurant, and I had no reason to think she needed or wanted to win more than the male chefs did.

“Maybe we could help them find a candidate,” I suggested to Digger and Marlee.

We headed toward Robin, Josh, and Nelson just as Josh was approaching a well-groomed man in his early sixties. “Excuse me, sir. I’m chef Josh Driscoll, and I was wondering if you—”

Robin practically body-slammed the poor man out of the way. Out of his hearing, I hoped, she hissed, “God, not him, Josh! He’s totally wrong! Did you or did you not see his plaid shirt?” She rolled her eyes. “Plaid shirt equals hippie equals crappy TV, okay? And for God’s sake, Nelson, why are you filming this?”

“It’s reality TV, Robin.” He smiled. “This is good stuff here. This is how you capture moments that create a damn fine film.”

Robin’s only response was to write yet more notes on her clipboard. Was she grading Nelson as we went along?

“What about him?” I pointed unobtrusively at a college-age guy who was examining a bunch of beet greens. “He looks interested in his food.”

Robin shook her head at what she all too obviously regarded as a stupid suggestion.

“Oh, well,” I said, “you’re the dictator.” Oops. “Director! You’re the director!”

Robin eyed me suspiciously and crinkled her already crinkled nose.

Just then, a young mother with an infant strapped to her body approached us. “Hey, I recognize you! Are you all from that show—”

Instead of responding to the eager fan, Robin stepped away. Sulking, she said to us, “No, she won’t do at all! A man! We need a man. And she certainly doesn’t look like a man to me.”

The enthusiastic mother was atypical; most people scampered away from us and especially, I thought, from Nelson’s bulky camera. I was starting to think that we’d be lucky to find anyone even willing to talk to us; Robin was in no position to drive away interested shoppers. The mother would’ve been fine, I thought. She and her baby were both attractive, and she had a look of prosperity that suggested the possibility of a snazzy, photogenic kitchen. I gave the mother an apologetic look as she walked away. It was already four thirty, and I thought that by this point Robin would’ve found any shopper acceptable.

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.

“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—”