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everything all over again,” Robin complained.
    This time, Marlee and Digger took a turn at fussing over the food in what was now a futile effort to make it look freshly plated. Josh stood silent and watched as other chefs tended to his plated dishes.
    Meanwhile, Robin chastised Nelson for his incompetence. “Could we possibly get through the rest of the meal without further interruption from you? Hit the On button! Hit it once! Hit it now! And don’t touch it again. Is that something you are capable of doing?”
    Nelson practically snarled at Robin. “Well, of course—”
    “Rhetorical question, Nelson! I was asking a rhetorical question!” Tendrils were beginning to come loose from Robin’s once-tight ponytail, as if her fury at her inept cameraman had somehow electrified her brain and escaped through her hair. “And now, for the last time”—she waved at the dinner plates—“let’s roll!”
    Nelson’s light went on.
    Francie leaned back in her chair. “I really think I’ve had enough of this dish.”
    Leo took a bite of the roasted vegetables and spoke with his mouth full. “Francie, there cannot possibly be anything wrong with your food. Have you even tasted anything? I don’t think you have, because if you had, you’d know that it’s spectacular.” He smiled at Josh and gave him a thumbs-up. Miraculously, Nelson caught the gesture on tape.
    Francie, however, was adamant about not tasting another bite of her food. Having watched her more closely than her husband had done, I knew that she had, in fact, eaten some of what she’d been served, but I had no idea whether she was whining about nothing or whether there was actually something wrong with her lamb.
    “Absolutely not,” she told Leo. “For your information, I have tasted it, and not for anything on earth am I choking it down again.”
    Josh had had enough. He stepped between the bickering couple and removed Francie’s plate. Fumbling for words, he finally said, “I can’t apologize enough. I’d be happy to make you something else, something . . . uh . . . if you can you tell me what’s wrong with this?”
    I seriously thought that Josh might cry. This experience was positively humiliating for him. If he’d been cooking for a private party, he’d have been mortified to serve food that made one of the hosts nearly gag. But this occasion was anything but private! And how many viewers would vote for Josh after watching and listening to Francie? None, I thought. Not one viewer. His chance of winning the competition had just dropped to zero.
    “Yes,” said Francie, “I can tell you exactly what’s wrong. It’s bitter beyond bitter.” As if she’d failed to make her point, she added, “Horribly bitter! Really very foul tasting.”
    “The arugula,” Josh said hopefully. “The arugula has a sharp bitterness to it.”
    “No.” Francie shook her head and again sent her wavy hair flying. “I’m very sorry, Josh, but that’s not it. It’s not right. I can’t eat this.”
    Following Robin’s orders, Nelson had the camera going. Digger and Marlee both stood rigidly still with their eyes nearly popping out of their heads. The two chefs obviously knew that Josh had completely blown this meal. Neither one looked terribly happy, but they didn’t look torn up over Josh’s failure, either. I thought I would be sick; Josh looked absolutely crushed.
    “There’s no time to have Josh make something else. I don’t know what to do.” Robin bit her lip and seemed momentarily lost. “Well, we’ll have to move on. It’ll just have to be part of the episode. What happens, happens, I’m afraid.” I saw a slight but unmistakable glint in Robin’s eye as she savored the prospect of airing this episode of Chefly Yours. From Robin’s viewpoint, Francie’s dramatic condemnation of Josh’s food was far better than pleasant murmuring about how delicious everything was. Josh’s pain was Robin’s idea of great TV.
    “Why don’t we move on