Benny:They didn’t say anything but they had *looks* on their faces ya know
Benny:But it was prob just because of my very obvious walk of (no) shame
Benny:Highly doubt they were FoF fans or have any idea who we are
Benny:You know, they prob thought I was your male escort, come to think of it
Benny:I give off lots of Sexy Escort Vibes right?
Benny:Anyway EVERYTHING IS FINE
Benny:I shouldn’t have yelled that. Everything is fine
Benny:You went back to sleep didn’t you
Benny:I’m heading to the fitness center to get a workout in but text me when you wake up again:)
This is fine. This is fine! I’m not going to freak out, even though whenever someone leads in with “don’t freak out,” it means that whatever comes next is definitely freak-out-worthy.
Those messages sure woke me right up. I get out of bed and start to gather my things for the day, shooting Benny a text to say that it’s all okay. I shower, dress, and dry my hair, all the whilefeeling anxiety building in my chest, simmering, waiting for the other shoe to drop somehow.
In the end, I don’t have to wait long. I meet Benny and the Friends in the breakfast area beside the hotel lobby. As we all walk to the convention center for today’s full-cast cooking demo, Benny leans in to whisper, “Still doing okay?”
His face tells me he has an idea of the answer, but a growing part of me feels like I’m being ridiculous, so I smile. “Just fine, Bendy Straw.”
He laughs, pretending to push me off the sidewalk.
When we reach the convention, the staff leads us to the greenroom to prep for the demo. The concept is “Gourmet Game Day,” and we’re assigned different foods to work on in pairs. The stage, which apparently is gigantic, will have multiple ovens and stovetops and all of the ingredients we need to make the food with our own twists. While the rest of us are cooking, Aiden will play moderator and alternate between letting us narrate what we’re doing, like we would in a video, and taking audience questions. The whole thing will be live on the UltiMedia home page, like a lot of the events happening this weekend, which makes me inclined to fake food poisoning, but everyone else seems so game that I know I can’t bow out. We’re given headset microphones to wear, along with special UltiCon aprons. Then, we get our assignments. Benny and I have nachos; Seb and Katherine are on chicken wings; Rajesh and Lily get potato skins. Nia will tackle pigs in a blanket on her own.
There’s a brief break to hit the bathrooms, grab water bottles,check our reflections one last time, and see that, yep, the headset makes my hair look weird, then it’s showtime.
We take the stage with as enthusiastic a reception as we had at the meet and greet, and it feels like being on a morning talk show as we smile and wave at the massive crowd. There are three sections of chairs set up auditorium-style and divided by a couple of aisles. When I turn to face the stage behind me, my mouth gapes so wide I’m surprised I don’t accidentally swallow the headset mic. It’s set up in two tiers, one sitting higher behind the other, which gives the audience a better view of the whole group while we’re at work. Each tier has enough appliances and counter space for us all to be working on our separate dishes at the same time. And before the applause has died down, we settle in to do said work.
It’s funny and chaotic at first, all seven of us trying to move around each other and gather all the supplies and ingredients we need, but we find a rhythm, with Raj, Lily, Benny, and me on the upper stage and Katherine, Seb, and Nia on the lower. Aiden fills the settling-in time by talking about Friends of Flavor in general, each of the different series represented by the chefs here today, and what each team is making.
Benny and I have claimed a corner of the counter next to a stovetop for our nachos. There’s plenty to do: I’m chopping tomatoes, onions, cilantro, and jalapeños for pico de gallo while he works on the homemade tortilla chips. Yes, homemade tortilla chips. FoF acts like having any processed foods in a recipe would be akin to committing murder.
But to be fair, the tortilla chips look awfully good.
All of our mics have buttons so we can turn them on and off at will, and we were advised to try and keep them off unless we’re talking, to cut down on excess noise. Across from us, Seb explains the differences between the three sauces he and Katherine are preparing for their wings—buffalo, garlic-lemon-herb, and teriyaki—along with a dry rub. Aiden must have decided we’re ready enough to handle questions, and he makes his way down to the audience and selects someone from a show of hands.
“Sticking with the game day theme, what teams do you all root for?” asks a young woman near the front.
I peek over my shoulder to see Raj stepping away from his workstation and pushing the button on his mic. “Seahawks, obviously,” he says to a few cheers from the crowd and the agreement of the rest of the Friends onstage.
“Any other Warriors fans here?” Benny cuts in, earning way more cheers because California, I guess. Aiden moves on to find more questions from the crowd.
I don’t know if it’s the pressure of doing this live in front of an audience or what, but I’m having trouble keeping my shit together. I’m dropping things and misunderstanding what Benny’s asking me to do and creating messes left and right. The other Friends are ribbing me for it and people seem to find it funny, though, so it isn’t a total wash.
“Oh lordy, I got cayenne on the microphone,” I mutter, then hear it echoing around the room because I must’ve hit my mic’son button somehow. As the audience laughs, I hit the off switch so I can wipe the mouthpiece with a wet cloth without blasting everyone’s eardrums out.
“There’s a joke in there somewhere about your voice and hotness, but I need to think on it more,” Benny muses under his breath as he adds some spices to his cheese sauce, poking his tongue out between his teeth. Unfortunately he seems to have tripped his mic’s on switch, too.
There are more laughs and murmurs in the audience, and Benny turns his back to them with a grimace as he realizes his mistake. I roll my eyes in a big-enough way that everyone can see it, attempting to make it seem like this is all part of our act. It’s not much more overt than his usual charm game, but having to react to everything he says with a live audience has me a little on edge.
When I turn my mic back on, I say in my most sarcastic, mamaw-like drawl, “Keep it up, Elizabeth Bennet.”
The crowd eats it up like candy. The oven beeps and I lean down to take out the chips. I try to sneak a little taste while they’re still warm, but of course the crunch echoes through the whole room in stereo.Dammit.I feel a new appreciation for the boom mics back at the prep kitchens that don’t pick up every little breath we take.
