Menu for Romance

Alaine turned slowly around, her arms extended. “When I could have this?”

“I see your point.”

She looked at her watch and sighed. “While I’d love to stay and watch you work, I’ve got to get back to the station and finish writing some stories for today’s show. Have fun, and leave me some leftovers.” She winked and left.

Pricilla and Nelson brought in the equipment and went to work setting it all up while Major explored Alaine’s kitchen. At first, he felt odd going through all the drawers and cabinets, until he started seeing the quality of her cookware and small appliances. Not quite professional quality, but definitely top of the line.

Once familiar with where everything was, he pulled his spiral notebook out of his duffel and went to the fridge. Inventorying its contents, he started writing down ideas for dishes that were moderately simple and quick, that pretty much anyone could cook if given the right instruction. The freezer offered up even more ideas, especially once he saw the lamb shoulder steaks and artichoke hearts. He took them out, filled half the sink with cold water, and put the plastic-bagged meat in it to start thawing.

The makeup gal, Charla, arrived and had Major sit on one of the stools from the island, which had been moved into the middle of the living room. She tucked paper towels around his collar and went to work. Pricilla took the opportunity to wire him up with a lapel microphone—which she had to run up under his shirt from the battery pack clipped to the back of his belt. As he could throughout the process, he wrote recipe ideas, trying to figure out exactly how to explain the processes and eliminating several ideas as too complicated to explain.

“Have you ever thought about getting your teeth whitened?” Charla asked.

“No. Can’t say as I have.” What—were his teeth that bad?

“Hmm.” Charla shrugged and made a face as if to say, Your funeral.

Great, one more thing to be self-conscious about. Pudgy face, check. Bad hair, check. Hideously discolored teeth, check. He’d hit the trifecta.

He held his breath to keep from sneezing when Charla dusted powder over his whole face. “Now, whatever you do, don’t touch your face. Don’t scratch your nose or rub your eyes.”

Immediately, his entire face started itching. “I’ll do my best. What about sweating?”

“This makeup can withstand a lot of moisture, but try not to sweat too much. If you feel like you’re going to need it, turn the thermostat down or open some windows to cool off.” She closed up her makeup kit—which looked like a fishing tackle box—and shrugged into a coat with a huge furry collar. “I’ll be in and out all day for touch-ups.”

“Thanks.”

“Keep those paper towels in your collar except when you’re filming. I guess they didn’t tell you not to wear white up on your neck.”

“No. Sorry.”

“That’s okay. Just try to keep your head up at all times so your makeup doesn’t rub onto the white shirt.”

Great. Now everyone involved in this project was frustrated with him. “Will do.”

“Chef, we’re ready to get some test shots of you,” Pricilla called.

They’d set the tripod camera up across the island from the cooktop, and Nelson had another one on his shoulder.

“Here’s the deal.” Pricilla pulled one of the stools over beside the tripod and set her clipboard down on the seat. “This is the camera you’re going to talk into, and I’m going to be running it. Nelson is going to be getting shots from more of an over-your-shoulder perspective. We may have to run through some of the steps a couple of times so that he can get close-ups of what you’re doing.”

“Did I hear Alaine say you used to work at the Food Network?”

“I did two internships there as an undergrad and as a graduate student and then worked there a couple of years after college.” Pricilla smiled for the first time this morning. “Having a cooking segment on Alaine’s show was my suggestion.”

Now he knew whom to blame for this entire fiasco. He went around to the stove. Pricilla adjusted the fixed camera’s angle. “Move around as if you’re cooking—go to the sink and the fridge, move to the side of the stove where you’ll chop vegetables....”

Major moved around the kitchen as directed, doing his best not to be freaked out that a big guy with a large camera on his shoulder was following his every move. The lights they’d put up in every corner of the triangular kitchen were really heating up the place, and he hadn’t even turned on the stove or oven yet.

“You good, Nelson?” Pricilla asked.

“Yep.”

“Let’s go through your menu, Chef, and figure out the best order for doing this. We want it to be real time as much as possible—meaning that if someone was really making this for a meal, they’d have to be working on multiple projects all at once. We aren’t just going to do a dish at a time.”

Forty-five minutes later, he pulled the paper towels out of his collar and began explaining to the camera how to thaw frozen meat safely.

“Let me stop you for a second, Chef.” Pricilla came out from behind her camera.

His heart pounded, and he really needed a bottle of water from the case he’d seen in the pantry. “What’s wrong?”

“First, you need to remember to breathe. You’re talking way too fast.”

“Right. Breathe. What else?” He took a couple of gulps of air to prove he could do what she said.

“Don’t say all right at the beginning of each sentence and end each sentence with okay, okay?” She nodded her head.

“Right. No all rights or okays.”

“Ready to go again?”

He gave her a thumbs-up. “Ready.” He launched into his explanation of defrosting meat again, trying to slow down the words tumbling out of his mouth and stumbling each time he was about to say the no-no words.

“Let me stop you again, Chef.” Pricilla sounded a little more frustrated this time. Major knew just how she felt.

“Still too fast?”

“A little bit. But the problem is that you don’t sound like you’re talking to a person. You sound like you’re talking to a camera. Forget that it’s a piece of equipment. Pretend that there’s someone you know really well, who doesn’t know how to cook, sitting right here across from you. Talk to that person. In your head, carry on a conversation with them. Imagine their reactions to what you’re saying. Can you do that?”

“Imagine a person, right.” A person. A person who didn’t know how to cook. Slowly, a grin split his lips. Meredith. Of course. The one person he’d love to spend time with in the kitchen more than anyone else. Imagine Meredith sitting here, taking cooking lessons from him. Imagine this was his kitchen and Meredith was here with him, lending her moral support and gazing on him affectionately with those wonderfully expressive brown eyes.

“Let’s try it again.” Pricilla made another notation on her clipboard and moved back behind the camera.

For the next six hours, Major talked to Meredith—through the camera—and created dishes he knew she would be able to recreate if she put her mind to it. Finally, at four o’clock after Nelson got closeup shots of the plated dishes, Pricilla called it a wrap.

Having cleaned as he went—as he’d been taught to do by Aunt Maggie—Major didn’t have much cleanup to finish, so he immediately set to it, eager to run up to the office to find out how everything had gone today.

“Now, when you come in Thursday to do the voice-over—”

He whipped around at Pricilla’s words. “What? Where am I supposed to go Thursday?”

“Didn’t I tell you we’d need you to come in and do some voiceovers for where we’ve edited the segment down?” The corner of her mouth pulled down in a sheepish expression.

“No. I wasn’t told I’d have to do more than just filming on Tuesdays. How much time do you think it’ll take?” He couldn’t afford any more time away from work. And if he started the restaurant, he’d need every hour he could get.

“An hour, maybe ninety minutes. You’ll get to watch the edited segment through and write out what to say