Am I a joke to you, Bobby? Then why do you treat me like it? You’re an iron chef, I know you can handle me with more care than you show on every single episode of Beat Bobby Flay. Mic-dropping me to the floor as the competition timer expires is demeaning, juvenile, and, frankly, passé. You’re a modern chef Bobby – act like it.
This is a long time coming and I hope you take my grievances seriously. I’m not just some token flourish, I’m essential to any meal. I am a garnish unlike any other. I come to work every day just like you, and nowhere in my job description does it say I am to be tossed with reckless abandon to the ground when time expires. I understand you’re a showman, but surely you could accomplish the same result with a background player like some unmemorable whisk.
I am the backbone of all flavor. Ever heard of the spice trade? I was once the currency of empires. You and your precious chilis would be nowhere without me in the kitchen, so is it so much to ask that I be treated with a shred of dignity? There are aspiring chefs out there watching, and you’re setting a disturbing example of how to conduct yourself. Would this behavior fly at one of your restaurants? Is this standard operating procedure at Gato?
If we are to continue working together, things are going to have to change. Obviously any contact between me and the floor is completely off-limits. Exceptions will be made if a predetermined mutual party deems it to be accidental contact, but if you dare look down the barrel of the camera and drop me, it’ll have been for the last time. I swear it.
I also need a bigger role in the show. My agent and I watch the rough cut of every episode and while I’m frequently used throughout the 45-minute challenge, it seems all of my work short of the final shot gets left on the cutting room floor. This is simply unacceptable. I’m going to require a minimum of three scenes moving forward, and it wouldn’t kill you to thank me on air once in a while.
And perhaps most importantly, I’m afraid I can no longer work with salt. I’m a reasonable spice, and while I would be well within my right to demand that bland hack be removed from the show, I won’t. But moving forward, I refuse to share scenes with them. I’m officially requesting the Lena Headey and Jerome Flynn treatment. No one watching at home will even notice; at best it might pop up on Reddit after a few years. But seeing as how I’m the star of this show, I trust you’ll make it work.
Do not take my demands lightly. I don’t need this job, but I know you need me. There are no shortages of opportunities waiting for me at a moment’s notice. The touring company of Waitress has been bombarding me ever since I left the original Broadway production. I can be on stage in Cleveland tomorrow night (this pepper mill doesn’t do matinees), but I choose to be here.
Don’t let me go, Bobby. Literally and figuratively.