BBW Annie's Kitchen

Discussion in 'Recent Additions' started by Benny Mon, May 9, 2019.

  1. May 9, 2019 #1

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    Annie's Kitchen
    by Benny Mon



    I’m chatting with the camera operator, rehearsing the framing of the opening shot one more time, when I feel Rod’s hand on my shoulder. “You ready, Fuentes?” he asks.

    I look back up at him and smile. “When you’re the director, I’m ready for anything. Season 8, Episode 1, let’s shoot this thing!”

    He laughs. “I’d be nothing without you as my cinematographer!” I wave him off, suppressing a smile.

    We’re not normally this friendly, this nice to each other on set. There are too many things going on, too many things to worry about. We’re each in our own world if we aren’t losing our shit at someone else over some small thing they fucked up. But I think we need these little moments at the beginning of a season, a time when we can step back and remind ourselves how much we love this thing that we make every year. I’ve spent the whole day working with my camera crew, with the lighting director and the gaffer and the grips, getting the set just right, making sure we capture the perfect look for Annie’s Kitchen. We’re veterans by now, been doing this for the better part of a decade, but I’m a perfectionist, I’ll admit it. I won’t let the quality of my product slide, ever. No, it’s more than that: every year needs to be bigger and better than the last. And, shit, it has been. Standing here in the dark, unseen space beyond the set, taking in the perfect, colorful, tiled TV kitchen that’s waiting for its chef to arrive, I have a chance to think back to when I met Annie for the first time almost ten years ago.

    I was young then, fresh out of school and working for the A/V department at ASU doing menial shit for meager pay. In college I’d majored in film, but that degree was just rotting on the shelf until Annie reached out to me. She didn’t seem all that special at the time: a freshly minted sports doctor caring for the university’s female athletes. I thought she was a shinier version of the same old girl who majored in kinesiology because she didn’t know what else to do. Annie’d been a star athlete in high school and college, a sprinter on the track team, but she was smart, too, so she went for sports medicine as a way to stick with sports. She hated med school, though, and when I met her she wasn’t even a year into working for the university, bored out of her goddamn mind.

    But Annie loved to cook, and she was cute. So her friend, a local news reporter, managed to get her a one-off cooking show to fill an empty slot in the local network’s schedule. The assholes wouldn’t let her use their facilities to shoot, which is why they found me: they needed someone to film the segment on campus. I knew how to work a camera, and I was dying to get behind one again, even for something mundane like this. They didn’t even pay me at this point. I was so thirsty for creative expression that shooting an amateur cooking show was more than enough for me.

    It was just the three of us that first day, Annie and her friend and me. I remember it so clearly, though maybe that’s because I’ve watched the recording so many times since then. Annie was standing there, a cute, fit, tan brunette in athleisure clothes with her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail, throwing together some Greek-inspired pasta and pastries.

    “I’m so excited to be cooking with you today,” she told the camera. “Med school takes up all your time, and more; I didn’t have any time for myself, any time to live my life. The fact that I can finally cook again, and that I can share it with other people? It feels amazing.”

    She was a natural in front of the camera, and, even better, she wasn’t afraid to use cheese and butter and sugar when she needed it. I took a bite of that pasta after we shot, and I almost passed out it was so good. That’s when I knew this girl was going somewhere: she was extremely watchable, and her food was fucking delicious.

    Which is probably why her show took off so fast. She had the bizarre, infuriating appeal of the girl who feigns gluttony, tossing back fatty foods and sugary treats, but never seems to gain any weight. Don’t get me wrong, Annie wasn’t emaciated, but she was trim and fit, not too tall and not too short. She represented the freedom of alimentary transgression with none of the consequences, and people ate that shit up. (Pun fully intended.) The local news slot became a regular program, and soon Youtube clips of the show were going viral. People loved her. By the the time Season 2 of Annie’s Kitchen ended, Food Network had signed her. Season 3 would broadcast to a national audience.

    We still use the same set we used for Season 3, not on campus anymore but still right here in Tempe. Season 3 was when Rod came on as director, when I graduated from camera operator to cinematographer, honestly when we got most of our core staff. When it comes to the people who make this show, not much has changed at all since then.

    Well, except for one thing…

    A clatter of bowls and plates interrupts my daydream. Some scrawny production assistant is fussing with ingredients on the set and has knocked over a few of them.

    “What the hell are you doing?” I ask. “We’re shooting any time now.”

    “Sorry, I’m sorry,” he mumbles as he rushes to put everything back in its place.

    “You’re sure everything is on the counter? She won’t have to bend or reach for anything?”

    “Yes,” he whines, “I’m sure. Flor, this is like the tenth time you’ve asked me! I’ve worked on cooking shows before.”

    “Don’t fucking sass me. You haven’t worked on this show before. It is of the utmost importance that everything is within Annie’s reach. Got it?”

    The PA sighs and backs away slowly, quadruple-checking that nothing is missing. Meanwhile, Rod’s yelling at everyone to get in their positions, lights are flashing, alarms are ringing, and I hover back to the camera to watch the shot unfold. Some kid holds a boom over the set, the lights dim everywhere else in the room, and everyone shuts up.

    And Annie walks out.
     
    Last edited by a moderator: May 9, 2019
  2. May 9, 2019 #2

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    This show has changed Annie. I don’t mean changed her as a person - she’s still sweet and charming and charismatic, passionate about what she does, excited to connect with people through cooking. But I’ll put it this way: by the time Season 3 debuted on national TV, Annie’s audience wasn’t looking at a tiny, trim, fit sports doctor anymore. She was curvy by then, maybe even chubby, rounding out her yoga pants and t-shirts and showing off curvy arms and round, rosy cheeks. I wouldn’t even have said she was fat, but it was clear to anyone who’d been watching from the beginning that Annie’d been dipping into her own stash, and it was starting to show.

    Even that Annie has been gone for a long time. As Annie quit her medical job and devoted herself full time to the show, she devoted herself full time to food, too, and that has given us the Annie I see walking out in front of me right now. Instead of a wholesomely round angel of domesticity, she’s become an avatar of gluttony, a cascading, shuddering monument to her own gourmandise. You’re overwhelmed at first by her vast belly, a double-decker that reaches two or three feet in front of her and hangs toward her knees. She has huge arms all the way down, from her hamhock shoulders down to her pudgy little hands, and with her hair pulled into her trademark loose bun, you get a full view of the piles of fat, and I mean piles, that bury her face and her neck. She’s wide all the way to her knees, with a big ass and tree-trunk thighs, and then her calves and ankles suddenly thin down (relatively speaking, of course). God, she’s got to be way over 500 pounds if she’s an ounce. And she does not hide it. The athleisure is gone (though she needs the spandex more than ever), ditched seasons ago for a look that screams “woman of leisure.” Today she’s in jeggings and a thin, sleeveless blue sweater that clings to her like a second skin, with tiny diamond earrings and a thin necklace that has miraculously escaped being consumed by her many neck rolls. And, fuck, she pulls it off. On anyone else, this body screams disorder, a total lack of restraint and self control, but not on her. Nobody has ever seen a quarter-ton woman who projects this kind of grace and finesse.

    You’d think that a TV chef this size would have lost her audience a long time ago, and it’s true, she’s only gotten more controversial as she’s grown. Your hear the usual shrieking about “glorifying obesity” more and more all the time, and I’m sure we’ve lost some of Annie’s earlier viewers to disgust at how obese she’s gotten. But a lot of them have stayed with her, loyal through thick and thin--or should I say “thin and thick”?--and some, I’m sure, have started watching because they see the whole thing as a freak show. Mostly, though, it’s just that Annie makes fucking delicious food, and everyone knows it. I sure do--five years ago I was 30 pounds lighter myself.

    I, for one, am not disgusted by Annie. Not that I’m here to glorify obesity, either, but Annie is a star, a light to the world, and I’m not here to hide that under a basket. I want the camera to capture her in all her glory, to show off every roll and ripple of fat as she works. I want the audience to see how her belly jiggles at the slightest turn, how her fat cheeks round out when she smiles that beautiful smile and says, as she does now, “I’m Annie Maddox. Welcome to my kitchen.”

    Annie’s shooting an episode on comfort food today, though that could be every episode of this show, honestly. The main dish: lasagna. She surveys the ingredients for everyone, her grainsack arms wobbling as she gestures, reminding her viewers how important it is to taste your ingredients before pinching a clump of cheese out of a bowl and dumping it into her mouth.

    “Mmm,” she moans. “Beautiful. Even a few years ago we couldn’t get mozzarella like that in Arizona, but this is world-class. I can’t help it--I’ll have just a little more.” She plops an even bigger piece onto her tongue, and then a third, even before she can swallow the second. A PA waits just outside the shot, waiting for the camera can zoom so he can swap out the half-eaten bowl of cheese for a full one. Left to her own devices, Annie would suck up all her ingredients before she had a chance to cook. We’ve always got backup ingredients, and backups for the backups. We never know how hungry she’s going to be.

    Things continue this way. Annie makes the sauce, pouring expensive red wine in with the meat and tomatoes before pouring half the bottle into a huge glass for herself. As she downs the wine, she makes the pasta fresh, setting her bellies to bouncing and herself to grunting as she kneads the dough and rolls it out and cooks it in minutes. She layers it in the pan, helping herself to generous tastes of sauce, her chins jiggling freely with each firm, crisp chew. The woman isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, but her face remains immaculate: every single drop of sauce, every nibble of cheese, makes its ways between her lips and between her lips alone. My camera operators catch it all: before we’re done, we’ll have slow-mo close-ups of that beefy sauce sliding onto her tongue, her shapely lips closing around it, her cheeks wobbling majestically as she eats.
     
  3. May 9, 2019 #3

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    “Now,” says Annie, a little red and short of breath from the wine and all the standing, “let’s make some tiramisu to go with this. It’s a lot easier than you think.” She turns but doesn’t know the extent of her own body: her belly knocks against a bowl of ladyfingers, sending it reeling in spirals along the counter until it clatters to the floor, bringing a bowl of cocoa with it in a shower of brown powder. “Dang it,” she says (so gentle!), and she does the thing we remind her day in and day out not to do: she bends down to pick it up. Annie, when you don’t have to bend or reach, you’re a picture of elegance, but as soon as you break that posture the awkwardness and inconvenience of your body leap back in. Her cheeks and chin bunch and redden even more, she wheezes rapidly, and her sweater rides up, revealing the deep love handles of her lower back and the fleshy top of her ass. I hiss at the cameraman next to me, who quickly pulls into a close shot of her face, keeping the rest of her flesh from view. It’s not perfect, zooming in on such a fat and effortful face, but it keeps everything else out of sight. Meanwhile a small army of PAs is leaping into action, putting the backup bowls on the counter and guiding Annie’s body back to an upright position. You at home just don’t know all the work that goes into giving you this show.

    “Ok,” she pants, “these things happen,” and she pops a ladyfinger into her mouth. The rest comes off without a hitch, and soon enough we’re staring at two beautiful platters, one of lasagna and one of tiramisu. Annie is reaching her limits now: fully red and nearly sweaty, with her sweater all but riding up on her belly. Somehow it all holds together as she shovels a huge piece of pasta onto her plate. “Now,” she beams, her eyes almost bugging out, “for my favorite part.” And she eats it, a bite and another and another, seconds passing in silence while she closes her eyes and inhales her delectable creation. She smacks her lips and breathes in finally, blinking and staring. “It has everything you want,” she says, “softness and crunch, the richness of the meat, the saltiness of the cheese, oomph”--another bite, smothering the end of that sentence. In less than a minute, the lasagna is gone, and she moves on to an unstably large piece of tiramisu, which she inhales even faster and with even less commentary. Her actions speak for themselves. Or I, at least, let them do the talking.

    Annie puts the plate down, shaking her corpulent head in pleasurable disbelief. “Amazing. I’m so happy to kick off our new season like this, and I can’t wait to share more recipes with you. See you next time.”

    We cut, the lights come on, everyone claps. “Amazing indeed, Annie!” yells Rod. “Take a load off, sit down. You’ve been working hard.”

    “Unmph….” With pasta already back in her mouth, that’s all she can get out, a grunt and a grimace, a rejection of Rod’s offer. She’s just standing there, leaning heavily on the counter with one arm while the other piles more lasagna between her lips. She’s overtired, I can even see her legs trembling, but she cannot pull herself away from this food, not till it’s all gone and she has no choice. Annie gasps breaths between bites; she can’t keep sweat from dripping off her forehead into the pasta. We all pretend we don’t see this display of unrestrained gluttony, of hedonism run wild, but in reality, even with the cameras off, I’m still framing the shot in my mind: the way her pudgy, trembling hand splays out on the counter, which cuts into her sprawling belly; the hasty, sloppy motions bringing pasta to her mouth, spilling half the bites en route only to scoop them up again a half second later, spilling some on her face as her free fingers push the mess back into her cheeks. Soon enough, unbelievably soon, it’s all gone, a cleared dish, but all this is a little too much even for our dear old Annie: she clutches her belly now, red and frowny, belching and wheezing as the beef and the pasta and the wine all fight for space in her stomach.

    Rod’s on the set by now, a hand on Annie’s fleshy shoulder. “Take a break, Annie. You deserve it.”

    Annie pushes herself up, wipes some sweat from her forehead. Her cute, loose bun is a mess now, and her belly is slowly creeping out from between her jeggings and her stretchy sweater. She takes an unsteady step or two back, her belly roll shaking, sending the sweater even higher. She clutches her necklace instinctively and feels her neck rolls with a finger as another belch escapes. Annie is dazed, struggling to focus on the world before her.

    “Yeah,” she mumbles. “Just have that...ulp...tiramisu sent to my room right away, ok?”

    Rod pats her arm, making waves. “You got it, Ann.”

    Her viewers don’t know it, not the full extent of it, but Annie’s a fucking mess. I’m a hell of an artist, but even I can only hide this for so long. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to keep up this show, how long people will keep watching or the network will keep paying for it. Annie’ll be 10 pounds heavier by the end of shooting alone. A some point, she’ll just get too fat for everyone. But she’s having the time of her life, and I fucking love my job, so I’m going to ride this thing until the end.

    the end
     
    syabloveschub and DaveTheBrave like this.
  4. May 10, 2019 #4

    DaveTheBrave

    DaveTheBrave

    DaveTheBrave

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    This was a fun vignette! I enjoyed the structure, as well as the plausibility embedded in it.

    Raisa Costa inspired?
     
  5. May 10, 2019 #5

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    Thanks, I’m glad you enjoyed it! I can’t say Raiza wasn’t bouncing around in my head while I wrote this, though it’s certainly not a one-to-one kind of thing. But, man, I couldn’t write anything that be half as erotic as Raiza’s videos are. She’s a real talent.
     
  6. May 22, 2019 #6

    syabloveschub

    syabloveschub

    syabloveschub

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    Loved it so much! Great work dude
     
  7. May 22, 2019 #7

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

    Benny Mon

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    Thanks a lot!
     

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