I’m standing in the middle of the Food Network kitchen as steam rises from pasta pots. The whir of a blender making pesto releases the scent of basil on a warm summer’s day. The clanking of dishes and pots being washed sound almost syncopated adding to the rhythm that seems to flow in one big choreographed culinary dance.

It was my first day on the job as executive producer of Emeril Live. Quite frankly, all my experience had been in television, not food, so I had to get up to speed quickly to understand how the food got produced. It’s the kitchen staff’s job to prep the food for this show and every show, and there’s a system that is streamlined, efficient, and practical.

Let’s say you’re making a turkey. Well, in the real world, it takes about four hours, right? Well, in TV land, you can’t wait around with your crew while a bird roasts, so you’ve got to do things in stages. And that means, you need three to four turkeys to get the job done so you can shoot it quickly. They are called ‘swap outs.’ The first one is raw, so that the chef can show you how to prep and season it. The second one might be cooked halfway so you can show how to baste or turn the bird, if you want. The third is a completed bird the chef pulls from the oven, ready to slice to show the moisture content of the bird or even the technique of how to carve the bird. And the fourth and final bird is placed on a dressed platter, pristine and ready for its close-up or what we like to call its “beauty shot.”

The entire process is documented in a recipe breakdown before it even gets near the set. The chefs provide a standard recipe and send it to the culinary producers who break it down on paper, step-by-step for television, so that the kitchen team knows what to shop for, how far to cook things, and in how many stages. There are shoppers that buy all of the ingredients, allowing for enough time if things need to be prepped a day or two before. On shoot days, the team preps a cart with all of the pre-chopped ingredients broken out per commercial break. If you notice, there are often a series of ramekins or small bowls filled with vegetables or spices placed in a line on the counter. They are placed in the order in which the chef will need them. Before the director calls “action,” the kitchen team reviews the recipe with the chef and then the cameras are ready to roll.

I have to admit, I was a little overwhelmed by the whole kitchen process and it took a while to get up to speed. Working at Food Network made me feel as if I just enrolled in a crash course at the Culinary Institute. After a few weeks, I started to get a handle on how to manage the beast. The kitchen staff was more than eager to help me because it made their job that much easier if I knew what I was doing.

—Excerpted from GETTING SAUCED—How I Learned Everything I Know About Food from TV

My husband is the baker in the family and whether we’re making dinner or going to someone else’s house, everyone always wants to know what he’s making. He is the Yoda of chocolate and has quite a few rich and delectable treats in his repertoire. One of his biggest hits is his chocolate ganache torte. Everyone always oohs and aahs over his web-like design, thinking he’s taken some type of decorating class. But in truth, this design is one of the easiest to do.​

Having a few simple design tricks up your sleeve will always help elevate a dish and you can use this simple one on any dessert topped with ganache. Just make sure to pour it out evenly on top of your cake, allowing it to pour down the sides. Melt some white chocolate. Using a ziplock bag as a pastry bag, fill the bag with the white chocolate, clipping a corner to allow a thin stream to pipe out. Starting from the middle of your torte, pipe thin circles, getting larger and larger as you get towards the edge, separating each by 3/4 inch. Using a toothpick, start from the center and drag out towards the edge 4 lines, each at 90 degrees, basically dividing the cake in quarters. Using the same technique, go in the same direction in the middle of each quarter so that you now have 8 sections. Now, we’re going to finish by moving the toothpick in the opposite direction, from the outside to the center. Starting in the middle of each of the 8 sections, drag the toothpick towards the center. That’s the whole trick. Really.

Usually when I make a recipe for the first time, I never quite get it right. It rarely looks like the pictures in the book, yet that doesn’t stop me from trying. But every now and then I come across a cookbook that makes me look good. I’ve been on a Mediterranean kick lately, and my cousin introduced me to Yasmin Khan’s Ripe Figs*. I’ve dog-eared almost every page. Of course, rather than starting with something simple like Tzatziki, (a cucumber, mint and yogurt appetizer), I go for the big Turkish wedding dish, Perde Pilavi, a spiced chicken and rice dish hidden inside a “veil” of pastry. It looks like one of those huge Great British Bake Off pies, but without that heavy water crust. This crust is actually so thin, I’m not sure how it will hold all the mixture in without an implosion.

It’s a bit of an ungepatchka, as my grandmother would say—something overly busy and fussy—but in this context, I just mean there are a lot of steps. None are difficult, but this is no 30-minute meal. The only step that gives me a bit of trouble is the crust itself. It seems to have come together nicely, but for the life of me, I just can’t roll it out thin enough. I’m afraid if I try to roll it out any thinner, the dough may rip. I know I have enough to cover the bottom of the pan and come up the sides, but if my math is right, it won’t completely cover the whole bottom, leaving some of the mixture exposed. But since this dish flips over to serve, you’ll never see that flaw—I hope. Rather than taking the chance of ripping the dough, I decide to leave the bottom as is and hope for the best.

This is one of those dishes that you have no idea if it works until you are ready to plate it. That’s an awful lot of work and finger crossing. But I am a risk taker in the kitchen and the moment of truth is coming as soon as my timer goes off.

I make sure I’ve left enough time for the dish to cool before attempting the flip. I clear the counter, leaving myself enough room for this epic feat. I gingerly place the serving plate on top of the baking pan, steady my feet, place my right hand on top, my left hand on bottom, and pray. In one deft move, I flip the dish over and place it down on the counter. I hear an unambiguous thump, giving me hope that at least the bulk has come loose. I hold my breath, slowly lifting the pie pan. The moment of truth has arrived. I can’t believe it.

​“Yes!” I shout, raising my arms in the air as if I’m crossing the line after a marathon. First time out and it looks just like the picture! I slice into it and miraculously everything has held together. And even more importantly, it’s absolutely delicious.

*You can find this recipe in YASMIN KHAN’s book Ripe Figs.

That beautiful bubbling source of nourishment is my beloved sourdough starter, affectionately known as Hermione. Her name comes from her father Herman who sadly died years ago when I neglected feeding him for over a month. I plan to take no chances with Hermione. She is well fed, well rested and ready to get to work. I’ve spent hours watching and re-watching Apollonia Poilâne’s bread making Masterclass, and I think I’m ready to make her sourdough wheat loaf.

I would like to say that I created Hermione totally from scratch, but I have to admit, I did use King Arthur’s sourdough starter to get things going. I meticulously followed the instructions and fed Hermione twice a day for five days. I even bought her a nice home—a 1.5 liter Weck Jar from Amazon. It has a nice wide opening so that it’s easy to stick a spatula inside and mix the flour and water around without half of it ending up on my shirt.

​It is day six, so Hermione should be more than ready for Apollonia’s recipe. Everything seems to be going along fine. As I mix the ingredients together, I notice the dough seems a bit tough, but what do I know? Eventually I put it aside to rise after ten minutes of arm aching kneading.

On the video, after the first rise, Apollonia lovingly lifts the dough out of the bowl as it gently stretches out towards the table so that she can fold it upon itself. When I lift mine, it doesn’t move, locked in its own glutinous mass. What did I do wrong? Was Hermione too young to use? Did I not knead it enough? Did I knead it too much? Did the weather affect my flour to water ratio? Did I leave out a cup of water inadvertently? At this point, according to Apollonia, I should trash the whole thing. But, not wanting to be wasteful, I persevere.

​The second rise seems to have done the dough some good. It’s gone from a hard mass to a slightly lighter hard mass. It’s time to get it ready to bake, but not before my favorite part—scoring the loaf. I’m addicted to YouTube videos of people slicing all sorts of beautiful designs into bread. I have a traditional lame and I make a nice deep cut going down the center. According to Apollonia, if my bread hasn’t risen quite enough, a deep cut will help. I then make some light cuts on either side with hopes a nice leaf-like design will emerge.

​After fifty-five minutes, I realize I probably should have kept a better eye on it. The top has burnt a bit, but it doesn’t look too bad. I’m sure Apollonia would drop kick it out of the window, but after schmearing a few slices with some French butter, no one in my house seems to be complaining.

What’s in a Name?