There ain't no glamor in this tinseled land of lost and wasted lives,
And painful scars are all that's left of me. 156Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqynX3mhSOj
Guitars, Cadillac, Dwight Yocum
156Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7Nzp2hOHkg
Bachelor Keith Alexander loved doing bachelor things—immersing himself in video games, fantasizing about bonking hot Hollywood actresses, beer drinking—all for hours on end. He didn’t love cooking or cleaning as much, so his solo meals were slapped together fast and sloppy, their plating matching his one-bedroom apartment.
One spring afternoon, while grabbing another cold one and the mail between innings, Keith was shocked to have received an invite from a Hollywood production company called, One Potato, Two Potato, gushing about the video he had uploaded to the show some months before. The letter stated: “Your type of culinary expertise is what we are looking for, and have reserved an audition for you at our studio. Please read, sign, and return the attached waivers if you are interested in sharing your delightful cuisines with our viewers. We will then send you details on how you can become America's next MasterChef!
Keith, mystified, chugged his Bud, then roared in hysterics: “has that show sunk so low that they want my sorry ass on it?” Yes, he now recalled, he had sent in an audition tape just for shits and giggles after seeing a bit of the show while channel-surfing one night, but the “delightful cuisine” he recorded and sent them was a parody. Meant as a drunk joke. Certainly not Michelin-star deserving; hell, not even school cafeteria-star deserving—he had prepared his signature “dish” of fried hamburger smothered in a can of pork and beans and brown sugar, then heavily squirted with ketchup and mustard—a dish he just called ‘grub’.
Grabbing another beer as lunch, still chuckling about the come-on, he scrolled through all the videos he had made, then found the one sending him to TinselTown. Playing it back after several months, forgotten once he sobered up, Keith Alexander did a beer-spewing spit-take:
He was at the stove all right, but he was not making a dish called grub, but one he now called ‘ground beef sweet potato curry’, narrating as he cooked: “I dice my sweet potatoes, onion and tomatoes using the KitchenAid® Pro Line® Series 16-Cup Food Processor, then add several tablespoons of olive oil to a large saute pan and add the veggies, cooking them on high, stirring several times to prevent burning, for 10 minutes until they soften. Then I add ground beef and garlic to the center of the pan and cook it until browned, about 5 minutes. Next, I add coconut milk and spices and cook on medium heat for another 5 minutes. Served with rice and naan or roti, it’s delicious!”
Keith enjoyed a six-pack, a bag of beer nuts and a banana—a bachelor’s eight-course dinner—now excited that, somehow, the seductive Spirit of Hollywood was calling his name. “Don’t quite remember preparing that fancy of a cuisine, but what a twist of fate—I could win this thing and parlay it into fame and fortune in LA!
He immediately signed the papers, feeling honored that the benevolent Spirit of Hollywood had chosen him as the next big showbiz overnight success story. After being anointed the winner, he’ll become a legendary chef, open up his own Michelin 5-star restaurant on Wilshire and have celebrity A-listers waiting in line for a table, and actually get a chance to bonk the hot (hungry) Hollywood actresses that he always fantasized about bonking. He’ll get booked preparing dishes with Hoda Kotb on the Today Show; Jimmy Fallon on the Tonight one; sell cookbooks and kitchen utensils. Franchises! WOW! He never really planned on leaving Beaumont, let alone for superstardom!
His audition for the production staff went weirdly well. He was given a kitchen station and 30 minutes to bake a dessert: he tore open a box of commercial cake mix, added an egg, a tablespoon of butter, and a cup of water, mixed the batter, poured into a pre-greased pan, placed it in the oven at 350° for 25 minutes, as instructed on the box, and voila! out of the oven came a perfect lemon soufflé.
The producers were impressed enough to sign him on. The generous Spirit of Hollywood had done it again—was offering him a rare shot of fame and fortune. Hell, he might sell the Michelin 5-star restaurant on Wilshire one day, faze into an acting career and become the latest celluloid sex-symbol. Too hot to even bonk hot Hollywood actresses. Win awards. Be immortalized with a star on the Walk of Fame. Keith Alexander - Legend.
More affidavits and contracts were signed, the premiere episode of MasterChef was shot featuring sixteen lucky contestants who busied themselves for the next sixty minutes, blanching, this, mincing that; braising and boiling and zesting. It was hands-in-the-air time, the moment when they revealed their best home recipe.
“Mandy, let’s start with your entree. What have you prepared for us?” Chef Gordon Ramsey, asked, congenitally.
“I made classic French pork rillettes, an appetizer designed for spreading on baguette slices. I ladled the searing meat in its own fat, flavored with thyme and rosemary and seasonings.”
“Oh my!” the host gasped in delight after sampling a forkful. “This is the perfect cure for a decadent palate. Well done! Now let’s see what Marshall has prepared.”
“Chef, I made mussels in a white wine sauce, using briny, toothsome mussels steamed in heavenly aromatics and white wine sauce boosted with butter and chopped fresh herbs, with a side of puréed purple Asian cauliflower and a feta goux.”
“Goodness, this is a treat for all the senses. One thing—maybe next time add some croutons for soaking up all that wonderful, golden sauce. Other than that, magnificent.” The next home cook up is Jen. Please carefully bring your plate up here.”
“I’ve made a steak au poivre, a meal that comes together in a single skillet using pan-seared, peppercorn-crusted steaks, coated in a rich and creamy blanket of cognac sauce, served with truffle fries.”
“An excellent main dish for a romantic meal. Well done, my darling. Next, let’s bring up Nathan.”
“Chef, I’ve made a pan-seared duck, basted with posh red wine and blackberry sauce, served with grilled carrots, caramelized asparagus shoots, and mashed yellow Yukon potatoes.”
“The duck is seared beautifully! A little gamey. Next time try using a farmed duck versus a wild bird.”
“Will do, Chef.”
“Zoe, in the back there, what have you made for us?”
“A classic coq au vin. I hope you love it.”
Chef Ramsey did love it and declared, “this hearty meal is full of aromatics, wine, and vegetables creating a kitchen aroma that transports you instantly to the countryside of France. Excellent job! Keith, come on up and show us what your culinary expertise has produced.”
He proudly brought his cloche to the forefront, wondering what delicacy the magical Spirit of Hollywood would cook up for him this time. Whatever was on his plate underneath was surely gonna make the other competitors sweat in their own pico de gallo sauce. Might as well just hand him the lucite obelisk now and forget about shooting the rest of the season’s shows.
Keith removed the aluminum dome and crowed arrogantly: “I gently buttered the outsides of two slices of store-bought white bread, making sure the crusts lined up. Next, I unwrapped two squares of processed cheddar from their little cellphone blankets, placed them between the slices, and then put la food de comforte on medium heat, flipping it a few times for a nice toasty crunch. Lastly, I fished a couple banana peppers out of a jar for pop, and voila!, a crepe fromage that goes good with chips and a couple beers.”
The fickle Spirit of Hollywood seemed to have deserted the home cook at the most inopportune time.
“[bleep], are you [bleep] kidding me? [bleep] mocking me? Crepe fromage my bloody [bleep] arse. You made a [bleep] grilled cheese [bleep] sandwich! Not only that, but your faux [bleep] fromage is over-melted! This [bleep] dish looks like the bottom of granddad’s bike shorts after he pedaled through the Tour de France all day! This is a [bleep] outrage! Get this [bleep] half-baked imposter out of here! [bleep] now we have to reshoot this whole [bleep] episode again! [bleep]!”
Keith Alexander took a bus back to Beaumont, and thus, the sadistic Spirit of Hollywood had suckered another naive fool who came to Babylon and found out la crepes don’t taste so sweet.
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