@MrZtoA1:I accidentally melted my butter instead of softening it OOPS
@friendsofflavor:BUTTER luck next time! ;)
Quippy comments always get more engagement and are the most fulfilling for me personally. My food pun repertoire is vast and always growing. Those almost balance out all of the comments I have to delete and users I have to block forinappropriateness. Why anyone would come to a page for acooking channelto post racial slurs is beyond me, but then so is posting that garbage anywhere. I think of it as my daily taking out the trash, and it’s sort of cathartic. Block, delete, block, delete, block, block, block.
Twitter and Facebook are more of the same, though the latter is increasingly bogged down with accidental comments by older folks who were clearly trying to type in the search bar, bless their hearts. Where we get the most engagement, and therefore where I spend the bulk of my time, is in the comments on our actual video content.
It’s impossible to keep up with all of the comments on the Friends of Flavor channel on our host streaming service, UltiMedia. The UltiMedia website is busy as it hosts a wide variety of original scripted and unscripted content on its different channels. There are channels for every interest—sitcoms, dramas, romantic movies. But Friends of Flavor’s culinary reality series make it one of the most popular channels of all. Everyone likes food, right? And honestly, most people seem to like our videos.
UltiMedia has a comments section under each video, and each channel has an account that can monitor and reply to comments—a lot of my job is managing Friends of Flavor’s. But there are so many episodes within each of the different series getting a minimum of thousands of new views daily, it’s all I can do to give the occasional “Thanks for watching!” to every 217th commenter. Anything to show we care, I guess. It’s one ofFriends of Flavor’s biggest priorities to remain as approachable to the over four million viewers of each new video as they were to the first fourteen, and as a loyal longtime fan myself, I appreciate it.
I’ve been at it for a couple of hours when I hear Margie abruptly scoot her chair back behind me. I peek over my shoulder, though I know she’s likely only taking a bathroom break. But to my surprise, she’s gazing at her cell phone as she gets to her feet and gestures for me to get up, too.
“Aiden texted. Impromptu meeting in PK 1. Why don’t you join me, see what’s up?”
I nod, knowing it’s more of an order than a suggestion, and close my laptop. I fight the urge to tuck in the flyaway strands of Margie’s long, gray-brown braid as I trail her down the hall. While Margie has her shit together more than most people I know, the state of her braid always suggests otherwise. And somehow, I seem to be the only one who notices. It’s like these people didn’t grow up with a mama who would lick her fingers and pat into submission any individual hair that dared to step out of line.
When we reach Prep Kitchen 1, I’m pulled out of my hair reverie by the tall, stressed-out head of operations of Friends of Flavor—and cohost ofGood Chef/Bad Chef—looking even paler than usual. Aiden, whose blond-haired, surfer-bro looks I might find attractive if not for every word that comes out of his mouth, paces back and forth. He has one hand on his hip and the otherscratches aggressively at his neck, his intense gaze snapping toward us—well, toward Margie—when we enter.
“We have a problem,” he announces.
“So I gathered,” Margie replies coolly. She has at least a couple of decades of age and experience on Aiden and the rest of the Friends, and it mostly stands out when anything has gone wrong.
“The six of us have to fly to Chicago this afternoon. Jules Veronique had an opening in his schedule come up for tonight, and his assistant just called me, and they’ve finally agreed to let us film the crossover episode at his new restaurant. Everyone’s schedule is cleared, the suits okayed it, and flights are booked, so we’re going. Because we have to go, right? So we’re going. We need to leave any minute.”
He pauses, giving Margie an opening. “So…what’s the issue?”
Aiden sighs, pulling a hand through short, platinum locks. “We were going to film a regular episode ofPiece of Cakethis afternoon, but Nia will be with the rest of us in Chicago. We have advertisers already scheduled and expecting an episode tomorrow, but now we won’t have our pastry chef here tofilm that episode.Since you’re marketing and have experience in the saving-face stuff, I thought you might…I don’t know, have an idea.”
Margie nods slowly, sucking her cheeks in. I feel a bit touchy on her behalf at the clipped way Aiden talks to her. Maybe it’smy respect-your-elders upbringing. Maybe I’m still thinking of Mr. Cat Suit and I’m projecting onto Aiden. Or maybe it’s just that I’m over men’s condescension toward women who are their equals—not that I’d ever express such opinions to these two.
After a moment of staring blankly into mid-distance, Margie opens her mouth to speak.
“Yo, A, was this the sourdough starter you were looking for? It kinda looks like a baby vommed in this bowl. Kinda smells like it, too, but—”
The speaker who isn’t Margie stops short and sets the bowl he’s holding on the counter, looking at our small crowd in confusion. I haven’t seen him before. He’s definitely an intern; if the fact that he looks about my age hadn’t given him away, the general air of doesn’t-know-what’s-going-on-in-this-office-or-the-world would.
“He could do it.”
It’s Margie who speaks this time, and it feels like all eyes in the room turn to her in surprise.
“Ourintern?” sputters Aiden.
Sourdough Guy crosses his thick arms over his apron-clad chest, looking a little defensive even though he doesn’t know why yet. He’s significantly shorter than Aiden, barely my height, but a lot bulkier. It’d be hard not to notice that he clearly works out when he’s not in the kitchen. I try not to judge appearances, but muscles combined with the backward baseball cap on his head are making it difficult. Another dude-bro.
Margie shrugs. “Sure. It’ll be different. ‘Piece of CakeMakes Macarons, Featuring the Intern.’ Better than nothing.”
Aiden steps closer and lowers his voice nowhere near enough to keep Sourdough Guy from hearing him. “I don’t think so. He really—he’s not ready to do a video. Not on his own, anyway.”
“Reese can do it with him.”
I don’t even register at first that Margie is talking about me. The stressed-out chef doesn’t either, but that’s because he hasn’t bothered to learn my name.
“Who?” he asks.
“Reese. Marketing intern.” Margie puts a hand on my shoulder and nudges me forward as if presenting me for inspection. I open my mouth to protest, but I can’t seem to produce any sound.
Aiden barely glances at me before wiping a hand over his face. “Margie. Please. Intern plus intern does not equal chef.”
