Becoming the Showrunner of a Netflix Food Series
When I was 13 years old, part of my allowance came from preparing dinner for the family once a week. This corresponded to my mother returning to work that same year, so it helped her to have a night off. I loved it, in part because it meant that I didn’t have to do the dishes, a loathsome duty for the rest of the week. That summer I also had a steady babysitting gig. The oppressiveness of Tidewater heat and humidity made it impossible to stay outside for very long, so the kid and I were often cooped up indoors with the AC on and the shades drawn. But the mother had a stack of Southern Living magazines filled with beautiful photos of recipes both traditional and fancy. From those each week I’d develop the menu and add ingredients to my father’s grocery list, which he bought without question. My mother remembers the first dinner – meatloaf roulade with a swirl of broccoli and cheese. Armed with Jacques Pepin’s step-by-step illustrated cookbook, La Technique, I tried my hand at choux pastry, and voilà, my first cream puff swans were born.