Now You're Cooking with Al
"Greetings mes amis, it is me, the string-pulling champine and the master chef of all things delectable, Albert Hans," Al introduced himself. The teenage boy with the pierced ears and sunglasses stood behind the kitchen counter wearing a white apron with the body of a woman wearing a blue bikini printed on it. "Today, I am going to show you how to make a classic American snack, a pound cake, with the help of my lovely assistant."
Al looked down to see a small figure peaking out from behind the counter. Al smiled for the camera and introduced his assistant again.
"Come on, Carrie. The world wants to see you."
"I really don't want to do this, Al."
"Carrie, you won't make a good assistant if the audience can only see the top of your head. They need to ogle you."
Al didn't take his eyes off the camera as he went behind Carrie, placed his hands under her arms, and pulled her up, in full view of the camera. The shy girl blushed and crossed her arms over her bare midriff. She was wearing her striped bikini, had her hair down, and wasn't wearing her glasses, all on Al's request.
Al stepped aside and stared at her for a moment before saying "I approve," with a thumbs-up.
"Crossing your arms like that makes your boobs look way bigger," Al spoke like an expert. "That's what people want to see."
"On a cooking show?" David said cynically from behind the camera.
"Yes, on a cooking show; where else? This is our selling point for the show. Every cooking show needs a gimmick. Some shows have skits; others have Southern accents. And I didn't call this show 'Sexy Bikini Cooking' for nothing." As Al explained, Carrie pulled an apron out and placed it over her exposed body. "No, no, no, this isn't going to work," Al said when he saw what she was doing.
"Oh, please Al," Carrie said.
Al walked behind Carrie and with his super-fast fingers, undid the knot and yanked off her bikini top again. Carrie shrieked and instinctively brought her arms over her breasts even though they were still covered by the apron. She pleaded with him to give it back, but Al held it out of reach above her head, laughing as she reached for it. In their playing, both of them stepped out of the frame, but their noises still reached the camera's microphone.
"Hey Al; knock it off," David ordered. He shut off the camera.
When the camera turned back on, Carrie was standing in the far back corner of the frame, bowing her head with shame, again wearing nothing but the bikini. Al, on the other hand, was in the front of the shot, a smile on his face as he eagerly went on with the show.
"So like I said; we're going to be making pound cake today." Al said. "And first thing's first. Lovely Assistant, preset the oven for three-hundred-and-fifty degrees Fahrenheit."
Carrie shuffled to the oven, which was under the counter that Al was leaning on. She self consciously stared at the camera as she slowly lowered herself down, making sure nothing slipped out.
"Um, Al," Carrie said, hidden from the camera. "How do you turn the oven on?"
"What, don't you know?"
"I've never used it before."
"But you're a woman."
"It's different from the one I have at home. Hey that's not…"
"Never mind," Al stopped her by raising his hand, "just text Frankie and ask how he does it." Al turned his attention back to the camera, as Carrie crawled off the set to find her cell phone in the living room. "Actually the oven is not the first thing to worry about. It is, in fact…" he reached under the counter to pull out a dish. He yelled "Bam!" as he slammed it down on the counter, but when the glass dish shattered all over the kitchen, Al added "Oh shi-" The camera turned off again.
"Heh, my mistake folks; it turns out, pound cake is supposed to be made in one of these," Al said after the camera started rolling again. He very gently pulled out a tin pan and set it carefully on the counter, muttering a meek "bam." Behind Al, Carrie swept up the shards of glass on the floor into a neat pile.
Al took a cube of butter and used it to rub down the insides of the pan. He then placed some flour into the pan and wrapped it in plastic wrap.
"Here shake this," Al instructed as he handed the pan to Carrie behind him.
"Why can't you?"
"Come on, Carrie, you're the assistant." She hesitantly shook the tin pan gently. "Can you lower it a little so that the audience can see?" Carrie lowered the pan so that it was in front of her abdomen. "Now really shake it, Carrie. Harder!" The petite girl violently shook the box with a determined look on her face. "Now jump up and down with it."
"Huh?" But Al just motioned for her to do it. And Carrie jumped up and down with the pan in her hands in order to spread the flour.
"Oh, yeah, that's the stuff." Al watched intensely at the bouncing girl, never taking his eyes off her jiggling breasts.
"Um, Al, there's only so much film," David reminded the chef.
"Right, right," Al went back up to the counter. "No, no, no, keep going," he instructed Carrie when she tried stopping. And Al continued his presentation while she hopped in the background. "So, the great thing about the pound cake is that it is made from a pound of every ingredient."
"Are you sure?" David asked.
"Why else would they call it a pound cake?"
"Because it's really dense?"
"I don't care; this is what we're doing. Keep jumping." Al pulled out four plastic containers holding a pound of butter, one pound of eggs, one pound of flour, and one pound of sugar.
"Did you weigh the eggs before or after you cracked them?" David asked.
"Does it matter?"
"I don't know."
"Right, you don't know because I'm the chef and you're the cameraman. So be quiet." Al's orders made David grumble, but he stayed silent for a while. "So first you just throw your butter and sugar into the mixing bowl, and turn on the…thing…I guess it's called a mixer." Al looked to David for help, but David turned the metaphorical key over his lips and tossed it away. "Yeah, mixer, why not?" He then turned on the mixer, and the spinning paddle sent sugar flying out of the bowl. "Well that's no good," Al said as he turned it off.
At that moment, Carrie, who had grown tired of jumping, accidentally stepped on the pile of glass she had left on the floor. With a shriek of pain, Carrie jumped away from the glass, bumped into Al and fell to the floor, pulling down the mixer with her. She yelled again when the heavy machine landed on her back and spilled butter and sugar onto her hair.
"Okay, don't cry, Carrie; we can work with this," Al coached as he nervously looked between her and the camera. He quickly pulled her up. The short girl's face was red and her eyes were filling with tears. "Oh, come on Carrie; don't cry. C'mon. Damn it, Carrie; you're being a very bad assistant!"
"Al, I think it's time for a break," David said.
"Hey, did I ask for your opinion, Cameraman?"
"Carrie's clearly had enough," David said angrily.
"David, David, David, you are so critical. Girls are like delicate flowers. Just because they're crying and covered in butter is no reason to condemn them to failure. You have to be supportive at these moments." Carrie, wiping tears off her face, tried to walk off set while Al was talking, but he quickly latched onto her arm and growled, "Where do you think you're going, young lady? Papa's not done with you yet!" The image went dark.
"Sorry about that, folks; just a little tension in the kitchen," Al apologized, smiling again as he stood in the front of the shot.
"Yeah, you started screaming like a rapist at the end there," David added.
"Anyway," Al continued, "our lovely assistant just spent the last hour mixing the butter and sugar by hand so we're ready to move to the next step." Carrie stood in the back corner of the frame, rubbing her sore arm after all that stirring. "Now we have to mix in the eggs, too. Carrie, would you like to do the honors?" Carrie violently shook her head. "Ah, my assistant, isn't she just adorable, guys?" Carrie blushed at the comment.
Al stirred the contents of the bowl until he had a clean, white dough a few minutes later, also adding in the flour. He called for the tin pan from earlier. Keeping her head down, Carrie shuffled up to the counter, placed the pan in front of Al, and shuffled backwards into place. Al then scooped the contents of the mixing bowl into the pan and set it on the counter so that the camera could see.
"Now," Al said as he leaned over the counter, "normally we would pop this bad boy into the oven and bake it for like two days, but during our last break, we got in contact with our production advisor…"
"You mean Frankie?"
"Yeah, and our production advisor advised us that, since we already broke the mixer, we are forbidden from using the oven and should vacate the kitchen immediately. And if we leave any mess in here, we won't eat for a week." Al spoke slowly in a low voice, but when he straightened back up he returned to his usual tone. "And anyway, I think this is a good end product. Respected Assistant, come on up and have a finger-full of this delicatessen."
Carrie went up to the counter and hesitantly stuck her finger in the dough. She brought it up to her lips and gently placed it in her mouth. She quickly clamped her hand over her mouth at a sharp pain.
"Does this have glass and hair in it?" Carrie asked in a muffled voice.
"Well, yeah, he just scraped the spilt butter off the floor," David added.
"Aw, Al, why did you make m-"
"Fine! That's it! I am done working with amateurs! Arrivederci, mes amis!" And with a flurry of hand motions, Al walked off the set. Looking at the camera awkwardly, with a mouthful of something she wasn't about to swallow, Carrie was left on the set alone, not sure of what to do. So she silently lowered herself behind the counter until she was out of sight. At that point the camera turned off.
Since I don't know any better, it's sequel time!
Keep an eye out for "Rosaline: Burning Daylight," coming this Christmas!