We are calling the programme Great Grub because that is exactly what it is all about. Viewers are sick of people telling them how to make a good bacon butty. We want to show them that we have the best chefs in the county and that they can cook the most sublime food away from the comfort of their own kitchens. We know you can cook, but are you up to the challenge of doing it with the eyes of the county on you?
We would of course pay you to take part, and the winner will walk away with a cheque for £20,000 and an increased profile, which can only be good for your business.
'Oh, no, I might as well jack it all in and become a burger chef.'
'Stop kvetching,' said his grandmother irritably. 'Your grandfather had to take a job as a street cleaner after the war, and him with a university education. If he hadn't, we wouldn't have survived. Of course, if you're too proud to pay the bills this way . . .'
'I haven't got much to be proud of at the moment.'
'Well, I wouldn't say that. For instance, you seem to have made a very nice new friend in that girl . . .'
'Oh God! I'd forgotten you were dead and in heaven and see everything,' groaned Jake.
'Please come out of there and stop talking to yourself – it's scaring us,' said Tess, appearing in the doorway.
He took the letter out and read it to them.
'Under normal circumstances, I wouldn't dream of doing anything like this. But I need to make some cash and, apparently, I can't afford to be picky.'
To his great annoyance, they all thought it was a brilliant idea.
'You'd go down a storm,' said Godfrey.
'You'd knock the spots off any competition,' said Tess.
'Move aside, Jamie Oliver. Anyway, you're far better looking,' grinned Kirsty. 'Even when you're scowling, you have a certain charisma.'
'I certainly do not,' said Jake firmly. Harry had charisma, of a nasty, hypnotic sort, he considered, quite unaware that he had his own brand of charm.
'So, you think I should look into it, then?'
'Yes!' they all shouted.
Kate had been studying the letter. 'You might have left it a bit late. The competition starts next week.'
Tess handed him the phone and they all stood looking at him.
'You want me to do this now and you all want to listen in, right. Oh, OK.'
It was impossible to work out what was going on. The conversation was terse, at least from Jake's side, his contribution being, 'Uh-huh. . . . Oh, I see. . . . Well, never mind. . . . Oh, really? . . . Yes, I think so. . . . OK, thanks very much, I think.'
He put the phone down. 'Well, first of all, you were right, Kate.'
There was a chorus of groans at this.
'Everyone they asked, apart from me, accepted. There were also quite a few people who begged to take part, apparently, whom they put on a reserve list. But they've just found out that one of the chefs has done a bunk with his head waitress. His wife has said that if he still takes part she plans to be part of the audience, armed with a meat cleaver. Anyway, then I rang up and . . .' he paused, milking the moment, 'for some reason they put me at the top of the list anyway and – I'm in!'
When the cheering had died down, he said: 'You know, I can't help thinking this is all going to be a very big mistake.'
'Well, you won't know that until you've done it,' said Kirsty.
'The other thing is that I need to bring two assistants with me.'
'Tess for one,' said Godfrey, and everyone nodded. Then he looked at Kate.
She knew he had seen her come out of Jake's flat that morning and had jumped to a bunch of entirely correct conclusions. They were a couple – of course she could go. But she couldn't. She knew at least half the people who worked at Lakes Television and there was no way she could get round them all and warn them to keep quiet. They wouldn't, anyway.
'There is no doubt that Kirsty is a much better waitress than I'll ever be. For one thing, she has learned not to swear in front of the public, which I, alas, have not.'
'That's true. But you did apologise very nicely after you dropped table four's wine and said, "Oh, fuck it",' grinned Jake, who was still in that 'my loved one can do no wrong' mood.
'Well, that's really nice of you, Kate,' said Kirsty. 'Are you sure? I'd love to do it – ooh, I'm excited already!'
Everyone agreed that it was really nice of Kate, so she had to slip out, pretending she wanted a fag. She actually felt slightly sick with shame. She wasn't being nice at all. She was being duplicitous. Oh God! Why hadn't she just told Jake yesterday? Every day she let pass without saying something made it more difficult. Now it was practically impossible. For a minute she entertained a wild notion of handing in her notice at the paper and becoming a bona fide waitress. Then she really could write a novel in her spare time. It couldn't be that difficult. Loads of people did it. But what she loved about journalism was having to pare things down to an absolute minimum so that every word counted. And anyway, if she wrote a real novel, it would have to be about Jake, and there, she was back at square one again.
'Are you all right?' Jake had followed her out.
'I'm fine, but are you?' He was looking slightly green.
'I just think this is such an unprofessional thing to do. And I am a hypocrite – the things I've said about TV chefs in the past! I daren't let my old boss hear of this. It's only local television, though, isn't it? Probably only a handful of people and their dogs will be watching.' He started pacing up and down. He even looked as though he were about to wring his hands.
'You're absolutely terrified, aren't you? Kate said slowly. 'Not about cooking, of course. You're scared of having to stand up in front of a bunch of strangers.'
'You're right – you're absolutely right. I'd rather cook a meal for Michael Winner than have to perform to some smirking guy behind a camera. I just know I'm going to be totally crap and I'm going to look a complete fool! If I don't manage it myself, Harry will certainly ensure that I do, in some underhand way. Yes, he's taking part, of course. He was the first to reply. Prat!'
'Which of you does that epithet refer to?'
'Both of us – him for being such a show-off and me for being pathetic.'
'Look, television hasn't done Gordon Ramsay or Jamie Oliver any real harm, has it?'
'I don't have their television-friendly qualities. Anyway, I have to say that for someone who used to be in PR, you're being a bit idealistic. The telly is such a distorting medium. They'll decide how they want me to come across and that's how it will be, whatever I say or do. The media are manipulative and dishonest, driven solely by ratings and completely lacking in any moral sense.'
Kate winced. And then Jake made it worse by kissing her, which she couldn't enjoy at all because she felt like Judas for kissing him back.
They were ten minutes late setting off for the studios because Jake decided just as they were leaving that he needed his lucky apron. Louis had lent it to him one night and never asked for it back. Jake had never thought of it as a talisman before, but now, with the irrationality borne out of sheer terror, he decided that he had cooked all his best meals while wearing it.
When he got back in the car, he put his hand on the gearstick and his mind went completely blank. He looked at it and for a split second, which actually felt like an hour – nothing. He didn't know what it was, or what you did with it, and he had been driving for years. Pulling away very, very slowly, in case he had also forgotten where the brake was, he thought: that's it, we're doomed. If this happens, and it probably will when Tess hands me a saucepan, the last thing I will see before I die of shame is Harry smirking at me.
Luckily, he had Kirsty sitting next to him and she had so much to say there was no space for anyone to think their own thoughts. Kirsty was positively fizzing with excitement and anticipation. Basically, she couldn't wait for her chance to show off.
'Of course, all waitresses are performers really. Maybe I'm in the wrong job; maybe I should move to Hollywood.'
'Are you trying
to tell me that I give you a good wage to tell tales to my customers?'
'Well, they did hear you swearing once so I told them you were this mad creative genius like Van Gogh and they were absolutely thrilled – they were Americans, of course – and then I had to stop them coming down to the kitchen and taking a picture of you.'
The conversation moved on to Kirsty's current boyfriend, whom she was planning to ditch. 'He's really nice, but there's no spark, you know.'
'Oh, there have got to be sparks,' agreed Jake, thinking of Kate. He glanced in the mirror but Tess was listening to music on her headphones and obviously wasn't interested in talking.
Lakes Television was in Windermere and as they parked, all of Jake's butterflies came back. A young girl with a clipboard and a harassed expression met them in the foyer. Jake was the tenth chef she had met that morning. In her opinion they were all temperamental, egotistical bastards. Jake was feeling so sick by now he could only smile at her and she instantly revised her opinion. This one seemed really sweet.
Jake couldn't believe how many people were apparently needed to make one poxy programme. There were dozens of them, all milling around in what he hoped was organised chaos. Lakes Television didn't have the best reputation for slick, professional programming and were only hanging on to their franchise by a whisker. It was quite probable that he would go on set to find that they were expecting him to cook a three-course meal on one hob.
He was shaking so much by the time they arrived in make-up that the girl had to hold his face steady while she applied powder, to which he submitted meekly, being incapable of doing anything else by now.
They were allowed on to the set to have a look around and familiarise themselves, and Jake had a small argument with one of the organisers who didn't want him to use his own knives.
'They look much sharper than ours. We are worried about people cutting themselves.'
'Of course they are sharp – they are meant to be! And yes, it's highly likely someone will cut themselves – it's a kitchen hazard. You want to see some real cooking, you're going to get it – sweat, stress and blood, if necessary.'
And plenty of bad language too, thought the organiser, pleased, as Jake turned round and swore when he realised he was already being filmed.
The competition called for each chef to cook a meal, the nature of which was written on a piece of paper that they picked at random out of a velvet bag. This meant that no one could practise in advance or opt to cook their favourite meal. The audience was seated at mock restaurant tables and could watch the chef's as they cooked. The audience and the viewers had to vote on which meal they would want to eat in a real restaurant.
The show was hosted by Lakes TV's hottest star, Melina Marvin, who was hoping that Great Grub would launch her on to national television. She was wearing, most inappropriately, Jake considered, a sequinned gown cut very low on top and with a long slit up the side. 'You would be no use in a kitchen,' he muttered. He was very pleased he hadn't brought Godfrey, who would have gone into a trance at the sight of all this flesh and been no use to him at all.
They were setting out all his favourite knives when he suddenly realised that Tess might well be no use to him either. She was absolutely rigid with fear and was clenching the worktop like a climber stuck on a rock face.
Jake was horrified. His throat constricted. She was doing this for him, without a word of complaint, even though she quite obviously felt like dying from stage fright. He felt a sudden surge of love and admiration for her courage, and pulled himself together instantly. There simply wasn't time to give in to his own idiotic sense of inadequacy. It was up to him to get her out of this and, by God, he would.
In his imagination, the studio dimmed and faded away, as did all the scary people with cameras. He was just in a kitchen, showing a nervous young commis how to make the best of her talents, how to bring a gift out of her that she didn't know she had. He remembered what Louis had once told him – a great chef is in the middle of his team, not strutting ahead out of sight. Briefly, he touched his apron in acknowledgement to a great master and teacher and picked up his knife. His hands were steady.
Their menu started off with Gorgonzola risotto with peas, broad beans and asparagus; to follow, a fillet of halibut on a bed of spinach with Muscat grapes and a Noilly Prat sauce; and for pudding a mint crème brûlée with strawberries.
'This is going to be fantastic, though what will happen if we put too much liquid in the risotto?' Melina Marvin asked Tess.
Tess gaped at her blankly as if language was something she hadn't quite got to grips with, so Jake equably provided the answer himself. 'I have a small temper tantrum and that cameraman over there gets to wear the risotto. Putting too much liquid in is a common mistake when cooking rice, though we don't want to undercook it and make the customers choke.'
With this and other nonsense he was gently coaxing Tess out of her catatonic state and, though he was unaware of this, making good entertainment, because television hates silence.
The familiar routine of chopping, slicing and stirring was comforting, and Tess found that if she concentrated on that she could forget about the awful place they were in.
Jake forgot as well. He was in a kitchen, cooking, and all that mattered was the fact that the starter was ready to go and his bloody waitress wasn't there to serve it. 'I'm so sorry to interrupt your private life but this food is getting cold!' he bawled, to which Kirsty responded with her usual equanimity. The audience loved it. They were enthralled by the sight of him and Tess moving round like they were in some carefully choreographed dance. They loved the banter because they sensed correctly that none of it was forced and their eyes kept moving to Jake as if he was a magnet.
Jake talked like he always did in a kitchen. Whether there were two of you or twenty you couldn't put together a meal without communicating.
'Kirsty, stop flirting with the cameraman and get us all more water. You know how hot it gets in a kitchen and now we've got lights to contend with as well. I hope you haven't forgotten what I always say?'
'If the kitchen is hot, your kidneys are overheating – but as a catchphrase it really sucks,' muttered Tess without thinking.
'Well, I am agog with anticipation as to what you lot would come up with as an alternative.'
'Give over, Chef – we have a life,' said Tess, and blinked in surprise when people laughed. She had momentarily forgotten they were there.
Harry, however, was finding it difficult to be himself because he was quite rightly worried that the audience would hate him for it, so he was trying to play nice. But the staff he had brought with him were confused by the fact that they had arrived with Genghis Khan but now seemed to be working with the Easter Bunny. It threw them completely off track and they kept dropping things and forgetting to stir their sauces. Also, they were quite aware that Genghis would make a comeback as soon as the cameras were turned off, which wasn't something to look forward to.
The crew kept wanting to stop filming so the make-up girl could wipe the sweat off people's faces. Jake drew an imaginary line on the floor with his finger. 'Anyone crossing that line while I am working will go in the mincer. Do I make myself clear?'
'Yes, Chef,' said the make-up girl, giggling and retreating.
'Bloody interruptions,' muttered Jake.
'Absolutely, Chef,' said Tess, handing him a clean towel so he could mop his face.
The audience were loving it. It was like being a window on a whole new world, a slightly hellish one, to be sure, but that made it even more fun to watch.
When they had finished, the cooks had a short break while the tasters tested the meals and the votes were counted. Jake heaved a huge sigh of relief. He had done the best he could, which was all that mattered, whether he won or not. Tess was no longer looking like she was teetering on the edge of some enormous chasm. In fact, she was busy being chatted up by someone who went under the mysterious title of 'Chief Grip' and was called Griff. Jake reckoned he would ne
ed a very firm grip if he was going to make any headway with Tess, who regarded men in the same way some people regarded woodlice. Eavesdropping shamelessly, he could hear her saying that she worked all the hours God sent and when she wasn't, being a single mum meant that her daughter took priority.
'I work stupid hours too and I spend a lot of time babysitting my brother's three kids. I don't mind – I like kids.'
'You wouldn't like mine – she's a proper little madam.'
'So is my niece. She had a tantrum in Tesco's the other day and nearly threw herself out of the shopping trolley. When I grabbed hold of her she screamed even louder and everyone looked at me like they wanted to ring Childline.'
'Tantrums are tough but you've just got to be firm,' said Tess and then Jake had to go and do the short interview that would be shown at the beginning of the programme.
'You've proved quite a hit with the audience. Several of the women said they were quite weak at the knees watching you cook. I think a few of them are planning to ring you up and ask for a job.'
'Well, they'll be no use to me if they can't stand upright,' snapped Jake.
'But do you think you could teach anyone to cook?'
'Yes, if they have passion, stamina and patience. What they are seeing here is the result of years of intensive learning. What is the point of trying to make carpaccio of beef if you can't even recognise a really good fillet? You can't begin to make a sauce to go with it if you haven't learned to make stock. It's like expecting one of these guys with the cameras to be able to point the thing in the right direction while wearing a blindfold!'
'Do you think chefs deserve their reputation for being bad-tempered bullies?'
'We only shout when people aren't listening. I haven't got time to go and check if people have heard me correctly and I need to know what people are doing all the time, otherwise the pudding would go out before the main course and some people wouldn't get fed at all, because the guy in the corner hadn't heard there was an order for two soups, for instance. He needs to shout back "Yes, Chef" so I know he's heard. Of course, he might still go on to screw things up, but that's another story. Oh, sorry, I shouldn't swear on telly.'
Recipe for Disaster Page 26