Murder with Honey Ham Biscuits. A.L. Herbert
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single restaurant owners like myself cannot obtain. Stories abound of employees leaving in tears after one of his tirades, sexual harassment charges that have been quietly settled out of court, and lawsuits from suppliers claiming he owes them money. He’s just generally known for being a ruthless, though highly successful, restaurant mogul.
“No,” she replies. “It will be a tapas restaurant... small plates with a focus on fish and other seafood.”
Wavonne groans. “Me and the girls went to one of those tapas places last weekend... barely enough food to feed a bird... and prices out the wazoo. There were five of us, but each dish only came with four things.... Melva’s still got fork prong scars on her hand from tryin’ to take the last chicken fritter.”
“Isn’t there something you should be doing, Wavonne?” I ask, and don’t wait for her to respond before turning my gaze back toward Trudy. “So Elite Chef is a television show, and Russell Mellinger is opening a new tapas restaurant and a hotel. I’m still not sure what my connection to any of this is.”
“It’s been on the QT, but we’ve been filming the upcoming season here in the DC area. We’re actually almost done . . . only two episodes left. We’ve been taping shows in and around the city—the Kennedy Center, the Botanic Gardens, the National Press Club, Hillwood, the National Portrait Gallery.... So many places... it’s actually been quite the whirlwind. The theme of each competition has been tied to the host location.... President Kennedy’s favorite foods at the Kennedy Center... plant-based cuisine at the Botanic Gardens... at Hillwood, we had contestants prepare items Marjorie Merriweather Post served at her grand affairs.”
“Very interesting,” I reply, wishing she would just get on with it. I have a million and one things to do before we open in two hours.
“So, for the next installment, we’ll be filming at the African American museum.”
“And you want me to do some catering for the production staff?”
“No, nothing like that,” Trudy says. “We’d like you to be a guest judge on the show.”
“A judge? On TV?”
“Oh girl, Halia’s gonna be on television!” Wavonne exclaims.
“We have two guest judges for each challenge and, of course, Russell serves as a judge in every episode.”
“What do the judges do exactly?” I ask.
“Well, ultimately, they evaluate the dishes made by the contestants, but there are usually some other responsibilities as well.”
“Like?”
“For the taping you’ll be involved in,” Trudy says, as if I’ve already agreed to participate, “we’ll have you tour the museum with the contestants and the other judges... get to know them a little bit. Once they’re assigned a challenge, you’ll be tasked with mentoring one of them... with giving them some direction and advice. You’ll get a break while they shop for any necessary ingredients. Then we’ll all gather again in the evening for the challenge. You’ll judge the final creations with Russell and the other guest judge, and the contestant whose dish fails to impress will be eliminated. That’s it... easy peasy.”
“And when is the taping?”
“Um... well, that’s the thing. It’s tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?!”
“Yes. We had an unexpected vacancy on the judging panel.”
“So, who you really wanted dropped out,” Wavonne proclaims.
“I wouldn’t look at it that way, but yes, we did have a judge lined up who can no longer make it.”
“Who?” I ask.
“Walter Carnegie.”
“The head chef at the museum restaurant? Why did he drop out? Seems like a perfect match for an episode filmed in the museum.”
“I’m not sure of the details... something about the museum board of directors thinking it was inappropriate. They’re letting us film at the facility, but didn’t like the idea of the head chef at such a prestigious institution taking part in... I believe the term I heard used was ‘frivolous.’ They didn’t want him involved in what they considered a frivolous show.”
“I’m flattered to be asked,” I say, although I’m not sure that’s true given that I appear to be a “sloppy seconds” choice. “But touring the museum... mentoring... judging—that sounds like a full schedule, and there is just no way I can make arrangements to take an entire day off with such short notice. And, honestly, I’m probably not a good fit anyway. I’m just not a ‘be on TV’ kind of girl.”
“Have you gone mad, Halia?!” Wavonne asks. “You have an opportunity to be on national television . . . to meet that smoke show, Leon Winfield... and you’re saying no?”
“It pays one thousand dollars for the day. Not to mention the priceless publicity for your restaurant. We generally average into the hundreds of thousands of viewers.”
I’m quiet for a moment as Trudy and Wavonne look at me, both with expressions like a lion about to pounce on a gazelle that fell behind from the herd. I think about what they both just said. The idea of being on TV in front of millions of people makes me very anxious... but I guess the publicity would be good for Sweet Tea.... Then again, I already have a very loyal and large customer base, and the restaurant is busy all the time.... I don’t really need it.
Trudy pipes up in the midst of my prolonged hesitation. “I’ve been authorized to up your fee to three thousand dollars.”
“Three thousand dollars!” comes from Wavonne. “Take it, Halia.”
“It’s really not about the money,” I say. “I’m just not comfortable with the idea of being on television.”
I’m pretty secure about my looks. I’m on the far side of forty so maybe I don’t look as good as I did twenty years ago, but I’d like to think I’m reasonably attractive. And although it would be nice to tone up a bit and drop a few pounds, most of the time I’m fine with being a curvy size fourteen. But that’s in real life—this is television we’re talking about. I’m not sure I want to put my Rubenesque figure on TV in front of thousands of people. I’ve seen the comments Internet trolls write underneath online videos—some are downright vicious.
“No need to be anxious. The focus of the show is really the contestants. You won’t have a lot of camera time.”
Trudy can see I’m still very much on the fence and about to choose the side less preferable to her. “We’re in a bit of a bind here,” she says. “If I’m honest, at this point, it’s either you or we’re going to be pulling grill masters from behind the line at the local Red Lobster. I’ve been—”
“Red Lobster. Yum,” Wavonne interrupts.
Unlike myself, Trudy is not used to Wavonne’s propensity for unsolicited and in-no-way-pertinent-to-the-conversation remarks, so I throw her a “just ignore her” look to let her know she can continue.
“I’ve been... well... because it’s really short notice, and we’d really like to have you on the team, not only can I up your fee, but I’ve also been authorized to make another offer: If you come aboard, Russell will donate ten thousand dollars to the charity of your choice.”
“That’s very generous.” I consider her offer for a moment and let out a sigh. “I guess I really can’t turn that down.” And I guess I really can’t turn that down. There are several charities I have a soft spot for that I’d like to see have that money, and if making that happen only costs me a single workday and the possibility of making a fool of myself on national television, I suppose I can live with that. “I’ll need to make some arrangements to be sure there’s coverage here tomorrow.”
“You’d better make some arrangements for me, too, because there is no way I’m