Bake Off
a short play
by William M. Razavi
A kitchen in a small chateau in the Loire Valley. Lights glisten off the bright and shiny dangling pots and pans (if available) and cast a strange glow in the room.
Music–Something from David Byrne’s Rei Momo.
Enter Alice, Ted, Gaston, Garth and Françoise. They are doing some sort of ritual rhumba with mixing bowls and wooden spoons. Each of them has a bandolier strung with various kitchen implements.
Enter Master P. Master P. is a mixture of Julia Child and Werner von Braun, obsessive yet not without cheer. The students form a drill line marking time.
MASTER P.: Company halt!
They stand at attention.
MASTER P.: Spoons forward! Spoons left. Spoons right. Present spoons.
They present their spoons. Master P adjusts their grips.
MASTER P.: Spoons away. Present measuring spoons. Tablespoon. Teaspoon.
One half. One quarter. Sifters forward. Very good. Very good. Spatulas.
They draw their spatulas from their belts with a flourish and put them forward.
Master P stares at Garth.
MASTER P.: We are in this chateau for a reason. What is that reason? Ted?
TED: To learn cooking?
MASTER P.: Is that a question or an answer?
TED: An answer?
MASTER P.: Then please don’t answer with a question.
TED: Okay?
Master P.: Do you think your answer was correct?
TED: Maybe.
Silence.
TED: I guess not.
MASTER P.: Why are we in this chateau? Garth?
GARTH: Because it’s pretty?
MASTER P.: It is pretty, isn’t it?
GARTH: Yeah.
MASTER P.: Yes. Unfortunately you are not only incorrect but also wrong–oh, so wrong in oh so many ways. Alice?
ALICE: We’re here in this chateau to learn the art and craft of cooking.
Gaston snorts.
MASTER P.: Gaston? You have something to share?
GASTON: Cooking isn’t an art or a craft that you can learn. It is a spiritual experience that you must achieve. You must suffer for it, live it, love it, become it.
Françoise nods.
MASTER P.: That is a fascinating sentiment; fascinating, but also wrong. Cooking is a craft that you must drill into your mind; serious cooking is an art that can only be absorbed when you have learned the basics.
FRANÇOISE: But isn’t that a spiritual experience?
MASTER P.: Only if your life is so empty that you have to find God in your poached eggs. I prefer to find poached eggs in my poached eggs. They taste better that way.
FRANÇOISE: That’s so unspiritual.
Master P.: I know. Spatulas. Good. Good. Other sides.
Master P inspects Garth’s spatula. It is patently unclean, but only on one side.
MASTER P.: What is this?
GARTH: A spatula?
MASTER P.: This is not a spatula. This is a disgrace. Your cooking depends on your instruments. You depend on your instruments. If food is the music of life then what kind of music can you make with this…this thing?
GARTH: Blues?
MASTER P.: If your instruments are in no shape for cooking then you are in no shape for cooking. What is this on your spatula?
GARTH: I’m not sure.
MASTER P.: Taste it.
GARTH: Uhh….
MASTER P.: Go on. You were about to prepare food with it. Taste it.
Garth tastes it. He winces.
MASTER P.: What does it taste like?
GARTH: Soap and eggs.
MASTER P.: Do you like soap and eggs?
GARTH: No.
MASTER P.: Then why would you possibly want to spread that taste to everything you touch. My only wonder is how you managed to get one side of this thing clean.
GARTH: I don’t know.
MASTER P.: Of course you don’t know. Until you do know you won’t even be an assistant sandwich artist.
Master P starts ceremoniously stripping Garth of his symbols of rank. Garth whimpers.
TED: Isn’t this a bit harsh?
MASTER P.: Perhaps you’d like to join him?
TED: Ummm…no.
MASTER P.: I didn’t think so. You at least have some talent.
Master P pulls out a potato from a hidden pocket.
MASTER P.: Do you know what this is?
TED: Careful, it might be a trick.
GASTON: It’s a potato. There’s no trick to that.
ALICE: I think this is unfair.
FRANÇOISE: What’s unfair about a potato? It’s very simple…like your friend.
Pause.
GARTH: I’m going to say it’s a potato.
MASTER P.: Correct. This is a potato.
TED: It could have been a trick.
MASTER P.: You will peel this potato.
TED: At least that’ll be easy.
MASTER P.: With your feet.
ALICE: That’s disgusting.
MASTER P.: You will then use the potato and no more than four other ingredients to prepare something worthy of a student of this kitchen. I suggest you wash your feet better than you washed your spatula. If you make something that tastes good to all of us you will be reinstated. Otherwise you can pack up your knapsack and hike to Bulgaria. Everybody else–get to work on your custards. I expect to see real progress today.
Master P exits.
GARTH: This sucks.
TED: Sorry, Garth.
GARTH: I don’t want to go back to Bulgaria. It was bad.
ALICE: It’ll be alright.
GARTH: Yeah. I guess I’d better get started.
ALICE: Aren’t you going to wash your feet?
GARTH: Oh, yeah. I almost forgot.
Garth exits.
GASTON: You did forget.
ALICE: This custard is too hard.
GASTON: Why must you Americans always complain? This is too hard. This is too hot. This is too cold. This trout smells like fish. You people…you people come here…you don’t know the language, you don’t know the culture, you refuse to assimilate. You take our jobs, you steal our women and you smell bad.
TED: Hey! I shower regularly.
GASTON: Exactly.
ALICE: All I was saying is that my custard seems to have hardened.
TED: Jerk.
GASTON: Foreigner.
Garth enters.
GARTH: Well, I’d better get to work.
They each work for a second. Ted sidles up to Françoise.
TED: Are you using cumin?
FRANÇOISE: No.
TED: I think I’m going to put some cumin in mine.
Silence.
TED: Listen, do you eat dinner.
FRANÇOISE: Yes.
TED: That’s good.
Silence.
TED: Would you like to eat dinner?
FRANÇOISE: Now?
TED: No, I mean later. Would you like to eat dinner later? Tonight?
FRANÇOISE: I will enjoy a meal in the evening, certainly.
TED: Great. I mean, that’s also good.
Silence.
TED: Would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Wait–maybe not tonight–how about tomorrow night?
FRANÇOISE: No.
TED: How about tonight?
FRANÇOISE: No.
TED: But you’re–
FRANÇOISE: French? Yes, I know I should probably flirt with you for a while and lead you on and so on but you aren’t that interesting.
GARTH: This is really hard.
Gaston glares at Garth.
ALICE: Oh, lighten up Gaston. He’s not going to take your job away.
TED: But…why?
FRANÇOISE: You’re not attractive.
TED: But–
FRANÇOISE: You’re missing something.
TED: I have everything I need.
FRANÇOISE: But you have nothing I want. And you have no technique.
TED: I’m sorry.
FRANÇOISE: Yes, you are.
GARTH: Wow, that’s mean.
FRANÇOISE: Would you rather have paid for several dinners until I let you down by saying I wasn’t ready for a commitment?
TED: Yes.
FRANÇOISE: I’m not ready for a commitment.
TED: Neither am I.
FRANÇOISE: I don’t want a meaningless fling.
TED: Neither do I.
FRANÇOISE: I don’t date Americans.
TED: Neither do I.
FRANÇOISE: I don’t like you.
TED: Neither do I.
Silence.
TED: Why?
FRANÇOISE: Would it make you feel better if I tell you I’m engaged?
TED: Are you?
FRANÇOISE: No.
GASTON: Loser.
TED: Jerk.
GASTON: Foreigner.
TED: Jerkwad.
GASTON: Foreignerwad.
Master P enters and tastes the custards one by one.
MASTER P.: Let’s see these custards. Awful. Terrible. Terrible. Hmm, is this cumin? Interesting choice…interesting, but wrong. Throw these out. You’ll try a tart instead. Get to work.
Master P checks on Garth.
MASTER P.: I see you’ve made some progress with the potato.
GARTH: I’m trying.
MASTER P.: Good.
Master P exits.
GASTON: All our lives are like these custards–beaten, whipped and then thrown away. Poor custard...poor humanity.
FRANÇOISE: That is beautiful.
GASTON: It is horrible.
FRANÇOISE: It is passionate.
GASTON: It is meaningless.
FRANÇOISE: The lack of meaning gives it meaning.
GASTON: I can see that. Yet seeing that only makes me week for the meaning that is no meaning.
FRANÇOISE: You’re weeping?
GASTON: I am weeping without tears. My ducts have dried in the desolation of modernity.
FRANÇOISE: That is beautiful.
GASTON: It is horrible.
FRANÇOISE: It is passionate.
GASTON: It is meaningless.
FRANÇOISE: I know.
GASTON: You don’t know.
FRANÇOISE: But I want to know.
GASTON: I know.
FRANÇOISE: Beautiful.
GASTON: Horrible.
FRANÇOISE: Passionate.
GASTON: Meaningless.
FRANÇOISE: I know.
GASTON: I know you know and so do I.
FRANÇOISE: I either want to fuck you or die.
GASTON: We can do both.
They embrace avec a lot of passion.
TED: What about the tart?
ALICE: I think the tart’s doing alright.
FRANÇOISE: I’ve never made love in a kitchen.
GASTON: Your emptiness makes me weep.
FRANÇOISE: Save your tears.
GASTON: I have no tears.
FRANÇOISE: I know.
They disappear behind some sort of island counter in the kitchen where they begin to rattle some pots.
TED: My custard had cumin in it, I wonder what kind of cosmic meaning that has.
ALICE: It means you were making a fucked up custard.
GASTON: We need some butter.
Gaston gets some butter and disappears again to the love nest.
TED: Wow. That’s a fucked up custard.
ALICE: We should get back to the tarts.
TED: I don’t think I’ll ever get back to the tarts.
Alice slaps him.
ALICE: Snap out of it.
TED: Right. What kind of tart should I make?
ALICE: Why don’t you make a cumin tart?
TED: Ha, ha. One guess where you can put my tart when it’s done.
ALICE: And what does that mean?
TED: Nothing. It meant nothing.
ALICE: Oh, I think it meant something.
TED: You think too much.
ALICE: And you don’t think at all.
TED: Oh, yeah?
ALICE: Yeah. You get by an instinct and charm?
TED: Instinct and charm, huh? You take that back.
ALICE: Never.
Ted hits her in the face with a sprinkling of flour.
ALICE: Alright, you’re going down for that.
TED: You’ll never catch me alive.
ALICE: We’ll see about that.
A chase ensues. Flour flies. Garth gets up. He is holding a perfectly peeled potato.
GARTH: What do I do with this?
ALICE: Eat it, Teddy!
TED: Oh, I’ll eat it. Just tell me what it is.
ALICE: I’ll tell you what it is.
More flour flies. An artillery battle ensues. Gaston pops up.
GASTON: Do you like maple syrup?
Françoise pops up.
FRANÇOISE: I hate it.
GASTON: That’s perfect.
FRANÇOISE: It disgusts me.
GASTON: You disgust me.
FRANÇOISE: Life disgusts me.
GASTON: I hate and I love.
FRANÇOISE: Give me the maple syrup.
GASTON: I could weep.
FRANÇOISE: But you have no tears.
GASTON: Let the maple tree weep for both of us.
They disappear.
TED: Are they making pancakes?
GARTH: That doesn’t sound like pancakes to me.
ALICE: Gotcha!
Master P enters and tastes some random things.
MASTER P.: Awful…awful…terrible…uncooked. Keep trying.
Master P exits.
GASTON: Yes!
FRANÇOISE: Oh, yes!
ALICE: You think you’re cute, don’t you?
TED: What? No!
FRANÇOISE: Yes!
GASTON: Yes!
TED: I’m not cute. You’re cute.
ALICE: What?
FRANÇOISE: Faster!
TED: You know…with that flour in your hair and all that.
ALICE: You think I’m cute?
GASTON: Yes!
TED: Of course.
ALICE: Really?
FRANÇOISE: Now! Show me your nothingness!
TED: Yeah, not that it mattered.
ALICE: Why?
TED: I thought you liked Frenchie over there.
GASTON: Yes!
ALICE: Well, I don’t like him now.
FRANÇOISE: Faster!
TED: Yeah.
ALICE: What about Françoise?
GASTON & FRANÇOISE: YES!
TED: Do you think we can put those two behind us?
GASTON & FRANÇOISE: YES!
ALICE & TED: Dinner?
GASTON & FRANÇOISE: YES!
ALICE & TED: I’d love too.
GASTON & FRANÇOISE: YES!
ALICE & TED: This is great.
GASTON & FRANÇOISE: YES!
ALICE & TED: Wow.
ALICE & TED: Okay, this is weird.
They both put their hands up. Their hands meet. They are holding hands in the air. They each slowly move a finger in front of the other’s lips.
ALICE & TED: Shh!
TED: Dinner at eight?
ALICE: Perfect.
Master P enters.
MASTER P.: This is awful. What a mess! There’s nothing here to judge.
Master P sees Gaston and Françoise.
MASTER P.: That’s just sick.
GASTON: Terrible.
FRANÇOISE: Wonderful.
GASTON: Cigarette?
FRANÇOISE: Perfect.
GASTON: The cigarette is like life. It burns…then it disappears in ash.
TED: And all you have left is a butt.
Garth gets up. He is holding up a dish or elaborately cut and prepared potatoes.
MASTER P.: You did this all with your feet?
GARTH: I got bored what with all the sex and running.
MASTER P.: Impressive. You’ll make something of yourself yet.
GARTH: Do I get my hat back?
MASTER P.: Yes. In fact, take this one.
Master P’s hat is placed on Garth’s proud head.
TED: Is that syrup on your nose?
FRANÇOISE: Yes.
GASTON: That’s cute.
FRANÇOISE: You think that’s cute?
GASTON: Ah….yes. Cute…and meaningless…utterly meaningless.
FRANÇOISE: Oh.
Silence.
GASTON: I was wondering.
FRANÇOISE: Yes.
GASTON: My grandparents…they had a small café in Lyons.
FRANÇOISE: Yes?
GASTON: I was just thinking…
Music starts.
GASTON: Maybe we could have something like that. If that would be–
FRANÇOISE: Wonderful.
Music plays. Lights fade as the cast dances away.