How Quarantine Bingeing Food Network Made Me a Better Project Manager

To be fair, I watched some Food Network before Covid had us all scouring our channel guides for distractions, but the last few years provided time to take a deep dive into early seasons, spin-offs, and related programming. Here’s what I’ve learned:

Guy’s Grocery Games (GGG)/Guy’s Ranch Kitchen

You probably know Guy Fieri from the Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives (DDD) profiles of local eateries or because of his trademark spiky bleached hair, but the real gem is GGG, not DDD. I was skeptical of the concept – contestant chefs scramble (see what I did there?) around a grocery store to find ingredients and cook dishes for a panel of judges while playing ridiculous games, but this competition puts fun and comradery ahead of Top Chef-like competition. The host, the contestants, and the judges are all having a great time and they seem to genuinely enjoy each other’s company. So much so, that Guy often has some of them over to cook at Guy’s Ranch Kitchen which appears to just be a weekend continuation of the wrap party after an episode taping. This is an invitation I’d love to get – great food among friends in a gorgeous outdoor setting where everyone is having a great time. Guy has fostered the relationships made from DDD and GGG into a full-blown professional franchise based on hanging out with people he really likes who will cook him amazing food. That has to be the pinnacle of professional achievement and definitely makes me think about my own network and the possibilities that might exist should I wrangle them together to work on our own passion projects.

The Pioneer Woman

Ree Drummond built her own empire out of a blog and her recipes and tips for living out in the middle of nowhere. Her food is delicious, unfussy, and approachable for normal people (non-chefs). She has adapted and thrived while raising kids by seizing the opportunities right in front of her. In addition to the expected cookbooks, she has a cookware and houseware line (at Wal-Mart, keeping it affordable and accessible) and a “Mercantile” along with other businesses in nearby Pawhuska, Oklahoma described by Osage County’s website as “the home of Pioneer Woman, Ree Drummond.”  So look for what you can do in your own backyard. Build on what you know. And make some chicken pot pie or cinnamon rolls because they are delicious.

Beat Bobby Flay

Bobby Flay has been around forever and I’ll admit that I was not really a fan of his early shows, especially Throwdown with Bobby Flay because I felt bad for the people he surprised on that show. Imagine thinking your professional efforts were being featured on TV only to have a famous person show up at your event to do what you do, only better in front of everyone you know. Ugh. Beat Bobby Flay is infinitely more watchable because Bobby’s friends invite other chefs to his studio to beat him at whatever dishes the guest chef chooses. Bobby still wins a lot, but in place of the ambush, we get good-natured comradery from friends and colleagues amassed over decades who tease him about his tendencies to lean on chilies or pomegranate molasses, even his personal life. Bobby has become a relatable host, often tasked with creating dishes he knows very little about while facing deliberate distractions from his buddies who want the invited chefs to win even if it means a little friendly sabotage. Bobby laughs it off and relies upon solid skills earned over years of professional experience in restaurants and on Iron Chef and Iron Chef America and the ability to work under pressure. If you know good flavors and how to balance dishes (salt, fat, heat, acid as the kids say) then you can confidently tackle almost any recipe that comes your way. Just not wedding cakes. Know when to call in the pros. So, get the basics down, down be afraid to take on tasks a little outside of your comfort zone, and don’t beat yourself up over the areas that are just not in your wheelhouse.

Chopped

Perhaps more than any other Food Network show, Chopped gave us all ways to look at the random things in our pantries in a new way. Early in the pandemic, we were not going to the grocery store (too peopley!) and Instacart had not yet become our new normal, so working with what we had became a game if we approached it like a Chopped basket. With our teams adapting to working remotely, the “Chopped Challenge” became a virtual team-building event – a way to boost employee engagement and to bring a little fun competition to our work lives -  that we could participate in from our own kitchens on our own time combining whatever we had already with a set of four random ingredients determined by the organizers. Team members created dishes and took photos along the way and winners were determined by company voting. Without the restriction of a timed competition, the players thrived at the challenge, even exploring completely new skills such as pasta-making and vegan cooking. Just because you might not have what one would traditionally need to get the job done, it doesn’t mean that you can’t come up with something great with what you do have, even if it’s not immediately clear how it will come together. And Alex Guarnaschelli is my spirit animal.

Worst Cooks in America

On the face of it, this sounds like a mean show. Contestants are nominated by family or friends as the absolute kitchen disasters they are. (I mean, it’s bad. Really, really bad.) But this class takes these students from the basics to making not just edible food, but delicious, composed dishes one week at a time, making it fun by including games and other silly ways to build knowledge on ingredients, techniques, cuisines, and more. By starting with a group of completely inept wannabe cooks, this show carries along the home viewers who are also inadvertently learning about mise en place, lobster preparation, how to fillet fish, and all sorts of other skills usually beyond the reach of the average home cook. Chef Anne Burrell coaches with a bit of tough love though she and her co-hosting chef-of-the-season really do inspire greatness out of their recruits, demonstrating that with a little preparation and some effort to keep one’s workspace clean, we can all achieve more than we thought possible. 

BBQ Brawl

This show combines the coaching aspect of Worst Cooks, the comradery of GGG, and the competition aspect of Top Chef or Chopped. Pit masters, competitive grillers, and meat-smoking phenoms are organized into teams under mentors. Initially these were self-proclaimed besties Bobby Flay and Michael Symon, former Iron Chefs and formidable professionals not afraid to be goofy buddies making great food outside. Judges, and later season co-hosts, are industry leaders and build that sense that the food community is not an anonymous group of white-coated chefs, but real, human people who struggle and triumph and learn and fail just as we all do. Anytime we can learn to see our colleagues as people possessing the full range of human experience rather than just a job title or project role, we are closer to participating in the high-functioning super team we all wish we had.

Tournament of Champions

If GGG and Beat Bobby Flay have set the stage for chefs to be seen as a community of highly-skilled, but very human professionals, Tournament of Champions or TOC has managed to bring the entire concept of cooking competition shows to the next level. Guy is the perfect host, once again showcasing the talents of his colleagues and friends with all the fun of GGG, the challenges of Chopped (the “Randomizer” shows absolutely no mercy), and the star power of Iron Chef with the added legitimacy of a blind tasting like Beat Bobby Flay. These chefs are in it to win it, no mistake, but they respect and may even really like one another. Judges are A-list chefs who have no idea who is even competing, much less which dish belongs to which chef, so there’s no bias as there might have been on Iron Chef. So even in an arena where one’s work is evaluated by industry experts, there’s room for fun and creativity, even when excellence is demanded that draws upon all of one’s previous experience and abilities in front of an audience. There are no divas competing here. The Randomizer levels the playing field and even while the chefs are working hard to outshine the other, they (and we) know that in reality, they are in it together, subjected to wacky requirements for equipment or ingredients under an absurdly tight schedule. 

As a project manager, I’m familiar with unfriendly deadlines. I’m also aware that I’ve been blessed to work with some great colleagues who are in possession of amazing skills and experience. I’ve had mentors that broadened my views and approaches to problem-solving, modeled leadership and teamwork, and pushed me beyond my comfort level to be better than I imagined I could be. As an instructor for new project managers, I try to build that sense of community and encourage the sharing of knowledge, best practices, and experience that makes us all stronger professionals, more resilient, adaptable, and competent regardless of the environment or challenge we face. So keep your knives sharp, your station tidy, and your mind open for whatever might come your way. It’s almost dinner time.

A Taste for Adventure

Twenty years ago, my grandfather (or Pop Pop as we called him) sailed down the east coast with my mother and my stepfather on their sailboat, the Second Wind. They took their time, departing from the Chesapeake Bay and making their way to Florida, stopping along the way to explore picturesque coastal towns and really enjoy the journey. Mom and Terry were rescuing Pop Pop, whisking him away from his small apartment in the assisted living facility he’d moved to with my ailing grandmother. Mom Mom had battled Parkinson’s disease for some time, requiring my grandparents to relocate from the North Carolina log cabin on Lake Gaston that had been the entire families summer getaway spot for decades to a Maryland complex with on-site healthcare resources. Parkinson’s is a terrible disease, robbing the body and the mind of all independence and draining physical and emotional energy from the caretakers. When my grandmother passed, Pop Pop was trying to adjust to his new normal, back in Maryland where four of his five children lived, but far from the idyllic lake house he’d occupied for so long. I imagine that his little apartment was unbearably quiet, though his sons and their families visited when they could, and the complex provided many opportunities for residents to gather and socialize. 

My mother was the only one who was far away, living in coastal Florida and preparing to start retirement free of the confines of a home on land for a nautical nomadic life straight out of a Jimmy Buffet song. She and Terry came up the Intracoastal Waterway to Maryland and collected him. 

Now there are many stories that I could tell of this voyage down the coast, but I’ll share this one: My grandfather, in his eighties at the time, had never tried Chinese food before this trip. 

That’s right. No fried rice, no egg rolls, no lo mein, no crispy shredded beef. 

One could argue that his cabin on the lake was not in the delivery zone of any restaurant and that the closest town of consequence* – Roanoke Rapids – was unlikely to be on the cutting edge of culinary delights boasting a Bojangles, a Cracker Barrel, and the best spot for NC pork barbecue – Ralph’s. But my grandparents hadn’t always been at the lake. They had resided in the Maryland suburbs of DC where my mother, and even I, had been born while Pop Pop worked at the Navy Yard and Mom Mom had helped out at the elementary school where I attended kindergarten. There would have been a plethora of international options beyond the square pizza I remember getting when I was little. 

So mom introduced Pop Pop to house special fried rice and egg rolls. He loved it! Of course he did – it’s delicious. So why had he never tried it before? Fear is the short answer.  He didn’t know what to order and he didn’t want to look stupid, or worse – order something he didn’t like and abandon it. It was easier to stick to the familiar, which I think we can all relate to in some context. I can remember my Great Aunt Carolyn visiting me in Central Florida during my theme park years and showing absolutely no interest in visiting Epcot during the Food and Wine Festival because she didn’t like “foreign food.” Despite my protestations that eating one’s way around World Showcase was the best thing ever, she was more comfortable with what she knew. 

My grandfather passed within a year of returning from the sailing adventure with my mom, officially from complications after knee replacement surgery, but I’m convinced it was really of a broken heart facing a future without Mom Mom. He often spoke excitedly about that trip, though, and I’m so grateful that he had such joy during that time. 

I had illusions that I was more worldly, traveling with a sightseeing list alongside an eating list, but honestly, I wasn’t much better. Sure, I’d had Chinese food, French delicacies sampled on a trip to Paris for my fortieth birthday which included escargot, as well as crepes, souffles, tarte tatin, and all manner of pastry, and I never tire of Mexican and Italian food. But it turns out, I was just as comfortable in my narrow culinary zone. 

When I started my mystery novel Murder in the Mix, I centered the plot in the NYC restaurant world, making my first victim a celebrity chef who dies in her own kitchen, leaving the ghostwriter of her next cookbook/memoir to find the murderer. I watched endless hours of Food Network and talked to chefs whenever I could without freaking them out (mystery writers know what I mean – mention that you write about interesting ways of dispatching people, even fictional ones, and it’s awkward pretty quickly). It’s true that the more we learn, the more we realize that we really know nothing.  

I never had Greek food until I moved back to Maryland in 2005, where all pizza places seem to also offer Greek specialties. Like Pop Pop, I had no idea what to order at first, but it turns out that people love sharing their favorite food with others – well, not actually sharing their plate, but they will be happy to make recommendations. So, I discovered chicken souvlaki, warm pita with fresh hummus, and tzatziki. AMAZING! Other foods I tried and loved in my late thirties/early forties: 

Fresh salmon fillets (not canned) 

Fresh asparagus 

Brussel sprouts, roasted or fried crispy 

Apple cider donuts 

Spaghetti squash 

Zucchini lasagna 

Eggplant Parm 

Nashville Hot Chicken 

But I still have blind spots. I had my first bowl of Pho just a week ago, much to boyfriend Dave’s delight. He happily slurped his pho declaring that he almost wished he’d had a cold because “this would kick its ass.” I liked it okay, but I think I prefer ramen which I’d learned to make courtesy of Home Fresh meal prep lunches we had delivered during the scariest parts of the pandemic. I skip the soft boiled egg, but the broth and noodles with vegetables and sliced chicken are delicious and nothing like the instant noodles I’d had in my twenties.   

I’d seen Indian food before, but I found it intimidating, much as I imagine my Pop Pop would have. Nothing was recognizable to my insulated American eyes except naan, which resembled pita bread and was safely delicious. I asked for recommendations. My friend gave me a butter chicken recipe for the Instant Pot and that was delicious, so thus emboldened, I went with Dave to one of his favorite Indian restaurants and had Chicken Tikka Masala** and Chicken Korma. I’m now annoyed with myself for not enjoying tikka masala before.  

I’ve discovered “grilling cheese” (which is incredible), Moroccan beef bowls, and Mediterranean spiced dishes with feta and tomatoes through another meal prep service geared toward healthy eating. I don’t love everything. I could do without lemongrass, olives, kimchi, and anything with a runny egg, but finding new foods to love is just as good as finding new authors to read. Ask around your circle of family and friends and see what cultural exploration you can take on, even if it’s just through DoorDash or GrubHub this weekend. 

 

*This is not a slight to Littleton, NC, which was closer, but there was not much to that one-stoplight town beyond a hardware store and the Piggly Wiggly. 

** Indian food can be spicy, so maybe start with the mild and venture from there as you are comfortable. I do not recommend starting with a vindaloo as a first dish. Maybe work up to that. 

I’m in it for the Enchiladas

 

“What do you want, Covid-face?”

Dave is groggy and rumpled, sharing space in the narrow bed with Dolby, a circular pool of gray fur.

“A stack of pancakes and some crispy bacon at a beachside resort, but I’ll settle for some coffee.” I stroke the kitty, who stretches a sleepy paw which comes to rest on Dave’s bare arm, briefly imprinting his skin with a crescent of claws. Pet me, servant. 

Dave is sleeping in his office rather than our bedroom because after stopping by my satellite office for a required computer software upgrade a few days ago, I was flooded with emails that I had been exposed to someone who had tested positive for COVID 19. I hadn’t set foot in that building in more than a year, working quite comfortably from my basement office at home, but my role is changing and I wanted to clear my desk while the IT team did whatever tech voodoo necessary to keep us all on the rails. There were only a handful of us there on a random Wednesday morning, and none for very long, so the exposure emails and the following announcement that ALL the offices were closing for the remainder of the week and the full following week came as a shock.

I was angry. I would now have to isolate at home for five days before testing to see if I’d contracted the illness myself. If I’m honest, I’m pretty comfortable at home, but I’d hoped to venture out for Kenneth Branagh’s Death on the Nile over the long holiday weekend and now that wouldn’t be possible. 

The first of the troublesome emails came the same Wednesday I’d had my morning office visit. Had someone had time to fall ill and then test and then notify HR who the tracked us down? That seems like some Dustin Hoffman Outbreak-level speed.  Had someone carelessly exposed us or is this truly just an unfortunate circumstance of this contagious age? 

On Thursday, my anger still held, but it was competing with creeping fear. I took the Friday off, no doubt sparking some gossip as to the state of my health, but it was my mind that needed the break. My Friday schedule was light anyway, and when combined with Monday’s holiday, I’d have four whole days free of struggling to constrain my annoyance.

I spent the first free day in my comfiest pajamas with my space heater and my Hallmark Channel movies. Dave let me wallow, bringing me a Starbucks iced coffee and carryout snacks between work obligations of his own, his home office being two sound-muffling flights upstairs from mine.

By Saturday morning, I’d retrieved a home test from the stash I’d bought months before and used it, even though it was two days earlier than the five days the CDC recommends. Dave was not yet up and I was enjoying my quiet morning coffee, but knowing that I would enjoy it more if I knew that the occasional throat-clearing and paranoia-cough was just the dry winter air and my anxiety fucking with me. I felt fine and God knows, there was no loss of taste. I was essentially trapped in a house with a well-stocked refrigerator and two years of practice ordering groceries and take out food with phone apps.

The Saturday morning test was negative. I let Dave sleep in before going upstairs for his unconventional greeting shared above. He was telling me not to worry, but in a way that I would have to laugh in spite of myself. That’s just how he is. He followed up by procuring delicious breakfast (my favorite meal) from our local coffee roastery. 

On Sunday, I tried to reciprocate by ordering delicious items from a nearby favorite brunch spot, but due to brisk business or short staffing or bad luck, my order was delayed. Dave and I passed the time watching The Tinder Swindler on Netflix until hunger overtook him and he ordered a completely different meal from a Mexican restaurant. More like four meals actually – we’d been hungry before and now it was going on two hours since I’d ordered our missing breakfast and we were starving.

My phone chimes and I see that Dave has texted me from the other chair in our living room: 

There was no breakfast. There was never any breakfast. This is all about your free enchilada.

He’s giving me the side eye and I can’t help but laugh again. He will continue to sleep in the other room until I take my Day 5 test, but I know it’s to make me feel better, to remove another stressor, and to allow me space to rest and think. After all, if Omicron is as transmissible as it appears to be, there’s little chance that we could keep it from each other in the same confined household. He knows that I worry, and his support is camouflaged by outrageous zingers to make me laugh while he cooks meatballs and pasta or pops in another mystery movie, since I can’t yet go to the theater for Poirot. I feel healthy, but whatever happens, I’m grateful for this man and I know that we are in this together. For the long haul. And, of course, for the enchiladas.

PS. Negative test! We ventured out to walk in the wilderness today, or at least the park by the Loch Raven reservoir. After a half hour or so of traversing muddy trails, hopping small streams, and admiring the view, Dave announces "We Blair Witched this motherfucker!" before taking me to lunch. He's a keeper.