Cooking for the Movies
I feel ridiculous complaining. After all, I’m not the one standing under the hot lights, or worse, holding the hot lights. But all the same, I’ve felt dumpy and stinky all day, my feet ache, and more than ever, I understand how Greta Garbo felt.
Making movies isn’t as glamorous as I thought.
This week, I am a food stylist on the set of Colin Hearts Kay, a modern day Annie Hall set in Brooklyn. In the past 24 hours, I have made a mock cassoulet, a tarte tatin, and a buche de noel. I’m glad two out of three were familiar faces, but even so, I think I’ve folded under the pressure a little. Never before have I struggled so much with pastry or to whip egg whites. Suddenly, I saw whisks and oven temperatures through the eyes of someone who doesn’t just la-di-da her way through cooking; it all seemed hard, confounding.
Surely I will stand at the stove and make a grilled cheese sandwich soon and it will all seem simple again. But for now, I don’t even want to go back into the kitchen. When the mere idea of cooking makes your stomach turn, what do you do? Stick to salads and Chinese take-out? Force yourself in front of the stove?