Throwing Caution to the Wind.

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The day Daniel, my friend, pretended to be a professional chef on live television was the day I discovered how far hunger could push a man.

It started with a simple favor. My friend, Ovie, called me early one morning, whispering as if he were hiding from assassins. I received the call while Daniel and I were both at the back of the restaurant where I work—Attraction Restaurant on Ogunlana Drive. I was bagging packs of jollof rice for delivery, and Daniel, as usual, was doing nothing. However, Daniel is a good writer and a gist guru.

I immediately answered the call, nodded like a politician under investigation, and simply replied "He can't cook," before turning suddenly to him.

"Chacha," he called me by my nickname, "What's up? Who can't cook?" he inquired.

"Ovie wanted me to fill in for him for a cooking show, but the slot is only available for men. Ovie suggested that you could fill in for him since they needed a male cook, and they'll pay one hundred thousand naira, so I remembered him that you can't cook." I clarified swiftly, while still bagging my jollof rice.

"Why na?! You should have told him I can do it! It's one hundred thousand naira at state here, o," Daniel said, suddenly grinning as if he had won the visa lottery.

I froze instantly. "Cook what?! Daniel, you who burns water, and once set indomie on fire, the only thing you know how to season well is gist," I reminded him with a chuckle. I continued, "Daniel, do not do it," I warned. "You're too clumsy, and you joke through life like it's a comedy skit. This is not a comedy studio; it's serious stuff, you might go there and burn the studio down." I warned frankly yet smiling.

He smiled. "Exactly. What better person to bring some fun to cooking TV?" Daniel said, grinning, showing his full teeth as he walked away.

I watched him walk away, already dreaming of the one hundred thousand naira.

Later that evening, Daniel called Ovie.

"I will do it," Daniel said swiftly over the phone. "Just tell me what I have to do," he said confidently.

" Wow! Thanks a lot, Dan. My visa interview is this morning; I wouldn't want to miss that. As for the cooking show, don't worry, it's a small show. Just go there, smile, cook rice, and say fancy things like "aromatic infusion." And you'll get your one hundred thousand naira immediately after the show," Ovie clarified happily.

Daniel didn't think of anything that night as he lay on his bed; all he thought about was one hundred thousand naira just to cook rice.

"Easy peasy," he said, hailing himself, and confidently went to bed. Remembering the one hundred thousand naira really washed over him like baptism. So he threw caution to the wind.

Daniel woke up that morning with much zeal and headed straight to the studio to claim his cash. The show was filmed at a studio in Lekki—an airy, white-tiled kitchen set with too many lights and a presenter who looked like she had never sweated in her life. Unfortunately, I was also delivering a few packs of jollof rice there at the studios, as well, a great opportunity to support and encourage Daniel since he was serious about the cooking show.

Oya! The show kicked off!

"Welcome, Chef Dan!" the presenter beamed.

Immediately I could sense Daniel's panic; I hailed and started clapping for him to ease his tension.

"What are we making today?" the presenter asked, grinning.

Daniel's mouth opened. Nothing came out.

"Erm... coconut fried rice... with... um... chicken flambée." Daniel said, grinning with full teeth like a confused goat.

"Wow!" the presenter clapped. "Fancy! she said simply.

Daniel had no Idea what flambée meant. He just remembered hearing it on a cooking competition show, I normally enjoyed watching whenever he came visiting. He thought he could use it because it sounded sophisticated and slightly French. However, to me, it definitely sounded flammable.

They handed Daniel a lapel mic, a clean apron, and then rolled the camera.

"Rolling in 3... 2... and action!" the camera man said, and...

It began.

Daniel chopped onions like he was slicing a chicken's throat. He sliced with the confidence of a man who had once watched a YouTube video about knife skills. However, halfway through, the blade slipped and flung a chunk of onions across the studio. The onion flew and landed on the cameramen's leg.

"My apologies," Daniel muttered. "It's a kinetic technique. It helps to keep the kitchen alive." Daniel said and winked at the camera.

"Bwahahaha!!! I almost choked on my laughter.

"Haaahahahaha!!! The cameraman almost peed on himself.

"Haaa! My stomach!" one of the crew members who was behind the scenes said as he laughed his heart out.

The presenter nodded like she'd just discovered a new culinary trend, holding her laughter in.

"Tell us, Chef Dan, what's the secret to your signature coconut rice?" The presenter asked, smiling.

Daniel forced a smile, "Ah... very simple. It's not just rice—it's an emotion. You must whisper to the grains." he said, grinning and looking confused about what to do next.

"You whisper to the... grain?! The presenter said, surprised.

"Yes. You say, 'cook well, my dear. Don't disgrace me on national television,'" Daniel said, still smiling but confused.

Noticing this, I stylishly shouted, "Goodjob, Dan, 'fries na koko!'" I said, hoping he understands what I mean. This is a term we usually use back at my place whenever he sees me cooking. Meaning it's time to fry the already chopped items before cooking.

The crew laughed. And then, there was a sudden calm.

Suddenly Daniel requested for a lighter; he had definitely understood my signal. Then I felt slightly relax but still worried for him. I just wished the show would end already before I had a heart attack.

Daniel stared at the raw chicken, totally confused; he had no clue what he was supposed to do. So he poured water into the pan, lit the fire dramatically, and shouted...

"flambée!" Daniel exclaimed.

A tiny flame leapt up and died immediately. Suddenly, smoke rose gently, then aggressively, the fire alarm began screaming.

"Cut! Cut! Cut!" someone yelled from behind the scene.

"Cut the camera!" another crew member shouted.

"Fire! Fire!" Daniel shouted, choking as he threw away his apron.

What followed was a stampede of studio assistants; someone was spraying a fire extinguisher, and Daniel was fanning the air with a chopping board like a village chief repelling spirits. A security guard burst in, holding a mop like a weapon.

"What in the world is he doing with a mop? To quench a fire?" I wondered, still looking for Daniel, hoping he had not fainted from shock.

The chaos was crazy; the confusion was huge.

Eventually, everyone evacuated the building and came outside, including Daniel. The fire was extinguished.

"I can explain," Daniel said, still coughing and choking.

The presenter looked half-amused, half-ready to cry.

"Who are you, really?"

Daniel sighed, and I just stood behind him like a local bodyguard. "Honestly, I am a hungry writer who heard one hundred thousand naira and made a bad decision." Daniel said feeling really sorry. I also helped to apologize as well.

Apparently, Daniel was given the expected money, anyway.

That period Daniel was known for his cooking catastrophe all because he threw caution to the wind.

THANKS A LOT FOR READING ME.