“Look, I know how you feel,” he says, growing exasperated himself. “But with the way my approval ratings are dropping right now in my pack, if word got out that I was working as ‘just a sous chef’ for my ex-wife, people would go feral. It would be a nightmare. For both of us.” “You’re overthinking
Abby Five minutes feels like an eternity. I pace Karl’s kitchen as he quickly gets ready in the other room, not even taking a moment to take in the fact that this is Karl’s apartment, and I’m here for the first time ever. The whole place is awash with his scent in an almost intoxicating way, the
Abby We exit hair and makeup, and I can’t help but feel like an impostor beneath this mask of perfectly-caked makeup. Just like yesterday, it feels like an uncomfortable facade, a porcelain mask covering the real Abby. I can’t help but wonder to myself: why is this amount of makeup necessary for
Karl chuckles. The production assistant is waving her clipboard frantically, checking her watch like we’re about to count down to an explosion. Karl takes my hand and we run down the hall, bursting through the doors to the stage. The assistant gestures to where our station is, all the way on the oth
Abby The stage lights are blinding, but I try to focus on the announcer standing across from me. His voice reverberates through the microphone as he begins his script. “Ladies and Gentlemen… Welcome to the annual Alpha party cooking competition! I’m your host, Heinrich Williams, and today I’
A little girl with a costume chef’s hat on. It’s a little too big for her head, causing it to fall into her eyes. She pushes it up out of her face, shooting me a toothless grin as she holds up a handmade sign that reads, in haphazard crayon… “ABBY, U R MY HERO!” Tears come to my eyes, but I b
Abby Duck. Pork. A flaky pastry dough. It should be easy. I’ve practiced it a hundred times, tasted it a thousand. It’s one of my favorite French dishes to make, and yet, as the stage descends into organized chaos… I’m frozen. My eyes are wide like a deer in headlights. The deafening
“On it,” he responds, jogging toward the pantry. He returns a few moments later, and we swap places. “Make sure to turn the duck and sear it evenly,” I call out as I begin to mix the ingredients together to make the dough. “Use the red wine for moisture. Yeah, just like that, perfect…” …