Nine weeks, twenty photo shoots, sixteen interviews and enough food to feed a small village. The first stage of
The Weekend Chef's debut cookbook - For The Love Of Food - is done. All that’s left is to slap the gorgeous pictures and stories onto the appropriate pages, publish it and wait for the stampede. In other words, the real work is only just beginning. But it’s been a wild and wonderful ride so far.
True to form,
The Weekend Chef once again laid out a platform where people, whose paths would ordinarily never have crossed, reached across plates of food to form unexpected kinships with each other. As the food warmed our hearts and tummies, it also melted away our reservations. By the third shoot, we were sashaying into the chefs’ houses like we owned them. In between setting up the lights and lifting lids off pans, we brought each other up to date on our lives as hot cups of coffee and tea were handed around. At the first click of the shutter, the room instantly became charged with creativity, intensity, drollery and of course, the obligatory squabbles. And four hours later, everyone plopped around the dining table plowing their way through a very deserving feast. But not every shoot revolved around the same storyline. Some - three to be exact – had a touch of drama that we (and the chef concerned) will always remember.
The first took place at Zakri’s apartment. We were gushing over the view from his balcony, when the sky suddenly clouded over and a strange wind blew. Our arms became speckled with tiny pearly drops.
“Going to rain,” we said to each other wisely, and retreated into the apartment. Within minutes, the light drizzle turned into a howling freak storm. The stunning view slowly disappeared behind a white curtain of raindrops and the cacophony of doors slamming began. Zakri’s front door flew open and it took three of us to push it shut. His bamboo blinds were ripped off the balcony and his huge flowerpots crashed to the ground. Fearing for the life of the dancing cushions on the loveseat, Zakri slid open the balcony door and dashed outside to retrieve them. The fury of the wind that forced its way through the gap, had us all yelling and jumping to hold down our camera equipment. But sliding the door shut posed another threat. The wind pummeled the glass so angrily, that most of us were ducking behind furniture to avoid any flying shards of glass. Then just as sudden as it began, it stopped and a calm descended upon the neighbourhood. We surveyed the destruction and proceeded to soothe our nerves by digging into the food.
The second freak incident took place in Candice’s house, albeit on a smaller scale. Less than five minutes after we arrived, the downpour began and one magnificent flash of lightening plunged the house into darkness. Flipping the main switch back on again, we discovered that one of our lights had gone into shock. All forms of resuscitation proved useless. Yan Sean stared helplessly at the remaining light, then bravely decided to soldier on. The shoot turned out pretty well considering this little handicap and we joked that if there was ever a third water-related incident, we were officially jinxed. We spoke too soon.
A week later, we were making our way to Tricia’s service apartment with the sun blazing above us. According to Enid Blyton, it won’t rain if there’s enough blue in the sky to make a sailor’s trousers. Well, on that afternoon there was enough blue to make trousers for a whole platoon. When we arrived, all the food was ready except the bread and the toppings. Perfect, we cried, indulging in happy visions of returning home early that day. Then Fate gatecrashed the party. We were in the midst of shooting Tricia wearing the TWC apron when a loud rushing sound of water came from her bathroom. A pipe above her bathroom had burst and water was pouring from the ceiling. Tricia shut the door and serenely said, “I’ll call maintenance.”
While waiting for her to return, we laughed about our jinxed shoots. Suddenly, one of us noticed water creeping into the living room. A peep into her bedroom revealed that the bathroom had drowned and the rest of the apartment was about to follow suit. Shrieking in panic, we snatched our equipment off the floor, piled them up on the dining table and watched the snaking water in horrified fascination. To cut a long story short, maintenance took control of the situation and we were offered another service apartment for our shoot.
Thankfully, that was the last of our watery escapades. From then on, the shoots progressed without a hitch. Perhaps it’s true what they say about ‘bad luck’ coming in threes. But we solemnly swear that should you decide to contribute to our future books, we will
mandi bunga before setting food in your home.
Pictures documenting the disasters can be viewed on the website. Slide your cursor across the door picture for some action.
