Baking With HATE

The HATE logo flashes on the HOTv screen as we cut to a brightly lit studio kitchen that would make any cook jealous, again through the shaky lens of what is presumably a cell phone camera.  Cameras point towards the island setup, various bowls of ingredients are neatly laid out, and in the midst of a taping is none other than world renowned chef, Gordon Ramsay.

Suddenly a voice fills the studio from a PA system, clearly the director:

“Ok, cuuuut.  Who let these guys in here?”

Ramsay, clearly agitated looks at the group with a disdainful glare.

“Right, now who the fuck are you lot, and what the FUCK do you think you’re doing interrupting me in the middle of a taping, yeah?”

 Questions Ramsay, ready to carve the two men walking out on the stage towards him.

“Ladies and HATEmen, welcome to the inaugural, season premier, debut edition of Baking with HATE!  I, of course, am your COO of HOW, the creator of HATE and Corporate Artist… Scott Woodson.  I am joined by my co-host, The King of Rickdickulousness, Rick Dickulous!”  Rick is starstruck, an excited look on his face at seeing one of his heroes in the flesh – and for once, no sound escapes his lips.

“The fuck you are!  You can get your arses off my set before I fillet you both…”

“”I-I’m sorry, chef… can I call you chef?” Asks a smiling Rick.

“No.” Retorts Ramsay as cold and pissed off as he can.

“See chef, my friend and I have placed some money down to rent this studio for a real cooking show.  And by real I mean fake, but it’s gonna seem real, don’t you worry.  We need to make some brownies for a very special friend of ours.”

“Chuck, what the fuck are these wankers talking about?  Get them the fuck off my stage.” Shouts Ramsay up to his director as he waves his arms around even more animated than usual.

“Actually Gordon… they’re right.  I just talked to the studio… they somehow bought the next thirty minutes.” Replies the director over the speaker from the control room.

“How in the fuck is that possible?” Again questions Ramsay who can’t believe what he is hearing.

“You drop a few names, find a bit of leverage and grease some wheels… that’s how it’s possible Mister Bombay.” Explains Woodson as Rick with his free hand taps Woodson on the shoulder.

“Wrong Gordon…”

“Whatever, but this is my set for the next sixty… make it fifty-nine minutes, so stop wasting my time:” Instructs Woodson as he throws his grocery bags up onto the counter, nearly knocking over a couple of Ramsay’s bowls.

“Watch it!” Yells Ramsay back as he picks up the chef knife, quickly garnering Woodson’s attention.  He cocks his head to the side and shoots the world renown chef one hell of a look.

“You better make your move count Ramrod… cause I’ll go full Hannibal and you’ll be the next thing on the menu from this kitchen.” Warns Woodson as the chef places the knife down and backs himself away from the duo.

“Easy Woodson, I bet he tastes like shit… plus we already had a Hannibal reference earlier in the week.  Oh… and Ramrod was Super Troopers.”

“What meow?” Ask Woodson with a smirk as Rick tosses his bags up onto the counter.

“So, what the fuck do you want from me, then?  Do you want me to make you some fucking brownies?  Just bin the scallops and capers?  Fuck me and my duck a l’orange?” Angrily asks Ramsay with a load of sarcasm as he tries to keep the two from ruining his food.

Rick’s eyes widen with excitement, he bends down to whisper in Woodson’s ear.  As Rick straightens himself, he looks at Woodson with a nod, they both look back to Ramsay.

“Well, Gordy,” says Woodson with a smirk, “what I’d like YOU to do is get the fuck off of MY set…leave the scallops and capers.”

In typical Ramsay fashion, he launches into a tirade, cursing up a storm at the two as he walks off the set in exasperation.

“Do ya think he’ll taste test these for us, or…” Rick says to Woodson with a shrug as he begins clearing Ramsay’s setup, seemingly at home in the kitchen.  

Deftly stacking bowls and plates full of ingredients, Rick sets them on the back counter and begins to cover them in food wrap and slides them in the fridge as Woodson steps behind the island.

“Sorry for that delay folks, these new shows have all kinds of kinks ya need to work out… like stuck up wanna be Hollywood cooks from that depressing little island.”

“Now it’s Bobby’s Brownie-Time!” Yells Rick as his voice almost echoes in the empty studio.

“…I was expecting there to be a bit more a pop for that.” Admits Rick as he starts pulling some fresh bowls out from under the counter top.

“There isn’t anyone in the crowd… guess Ramshackles isn’t much of a draw these days.  Franklin, make a note to pipe in some noise in post.” 

“So we got all our ingredients here… again, thanks to HOW and Lee Best for sponsoring tonight’s show.”

“You know what is the most important ingredient in brownies Rick?”

“Eggs?” Suggests Rick as he picks up a carton of eggs and hands them off to Woodson.

“Hell no!  Eggs are cheap… and after a few weeks they start to smell like shit.  Anyone wanna draw the easy comparison I’m making here?  Cause we all know eggs don’t last very well.  They always look and taste great when fresh… but their shelf life is short as shit.  How ya think I got the chance to team up with Jiles back in the day?  Huh Doozer?  How long will it be until you spoil and leave this time?  Before you hit that revolving door.” Rips Woodson as he takes the carton and slams them down onto the counter top… breaking most, if not all as we see the yolks start to spill out.

“Plus they are fragile as fuck.  A coma Bobby?  I really would have thought that some of that fat woulda made it up into your skull and protected that weak brain of yours.  What Mike did to you Bobby was far less than what Chris Diamond did to me years ago… he really… scrambled… my  brain, and I didn’t fall into any coma.” Somewhat braggingly states Woodson.

“Are the brain jokes game now?  I’ve been saving a few up since I joined HATE.” Asks Rick as his face lights up.

“No… not yet Rick… you haven’t earned that privilege at this time.” Quickly fires back Woodson as Rick lowers his head somewhat disappointed, but nods understandingly. 

“Then again, maybe I don’t give The Bandits all the credit I should.  I mean Dean was smart enough to not let everyone know he was better.  He used it to surprise all at Refueled… maybe the whole thing was planned after Mike Best beat Dean to a pulp.  Maybe… maybe some of my scheming has rubbed off on Jiles.  But we’ll be ready for it this week Dean.  No soap opera like surprises gain an advantage.  Time to welcome Bobby Dean back to what wrestling is like when you don’t have that fat suit to protect you.  Think what Mike Best did to you hurt… oh get ready Bobby.  You’re gonna HATE how you feel Sunday morning.” Smiles Woodson as he passes things back off to his co-host who just shakes his head at the destroyed eggs on the counter.

Rick smiles at the camera awkwardly, blinking a few times before continuing.

“So, back on track, bud!  As Mr. Woodson mentioned at the beginning of the program, this is baking with HATE, and today we will be baking some lovely brownies that will definitely tickle your tastebuds like a fat kid’s when he sees cake…and of course, that joke is relevant not only because brownies are cakes, but, well…Bobby Dean, need I say more?”

A list of ingredients flashes on screen:

   1/2 cup + 2 tablespoons salted butter melted

    1 cup granulated sugar

    2 large eggs (hold the bandit)  

    2 teaspoons vanilla extract

    1/2 cup melted milk chocolate chips

    3/4 cup all-purpose flour

    1/4 cup unsweetened cocoa powder

    1/2 teaspoon salt

    1 cup milk chocolate chips

Rick laughs to himself a little as he digs through the shopping bags, pulling out flour, more eggs, sugar, chocolate chips, cocoa powder, and a couple of margarine containers that look to have seen better days.  He reaches under the island and retrieves a square metal baking pan, sliding it over to Woodson.

“So, ladies and HATEemen, first things first, you’re gonna wanna take some parchment paper and line the pan.”

Rick points to the roll of parchment paper sticking out of a shopping bag to a slightly bewildered Woodson, who tears off a chunk and successfully lines the pan with it.  Rick then passes him a paintbrush and a small bowl of butter.

“Next, you’ll want to paint the parchment paper with a little bit of butter, just to keep it from sticking to our brownies, and also to keep the outside nice and moist, eh?”

As Woodson follows Rick’s instructions, he continues talking while watching on.

“Now, the key here is that you don’t want too much butter, because otherwise the cake isn’t going to bake properly on the outside…we just need that thin little coating.  FUCK YA, BUD!”  Exclaims Rick as Woodson finishes the task, tossing the paintbrush over his shoulder with a shrug.  “That’s buttered up just like a door frame before the rest of the Bandits push Bobby on through!”

“Now, we can leave that for later, because now, guy?  We gotta get our butter melted!  Grab a little pot and set it on the range there and we’ll get it turned on, and while you’re at it, get another one so we can melt the chocolate chips!”

Woodson retrieves a couple of small pots from under the island and places them over burners, igniting one with a rapid clicking.  Rick holds up a stick of butter towards the camera.

“So we need here a half cup of butter melted…so we just take a bit and toss it in the pot,” Rick tosses half the stick in the pot, ” and we let the heat do its job, eh?”  Woodson gently stirs the pot as Rick continues.

“You may as well get that second burner on so we can get the chocolate chips on – you want a half cup of these melted on down,” he says as Woodson fires up the second burner and fills a measuring cup with chocolate chips.

“So, next up, we need to get our sugar together, because we’re gonna add it into this melted butter…so we need one cup.  Now, remember, we’re just making a small pan right now, but since we’re sending this to Booby- I mean Bobby Dean, it’s gonna need to be a much larger pan…so, we’ll probably have to at least triple all of these ingredients.”

Woodson motions to Rick a few moments later, “Hey, Rick…I think this is just about done…look at the magic o f TV!”

“Nice!  You might wanna get that chocolate on the go…go ahead and get it in the pot!” Rick has a look into the butter pot with a smile, reaching over and turning the burner off.  He pulls a mixing bowl and a whisk out from behind the island and sets it on the counter top next to him.

“So, we take our half cup of melted butter…” Rick dumps the liquid butter into the bowl, “and we dump it in the bowl, and we gently whisk in this cup of sugar.”

Rick begins whisking the sugar into the hot butter.  It liquefies as it hits the butter, becoming a lovely, thick mixture.

“Next up comes Bobby Dean and Doozer, along with a couple of teaspoons of vanilla extract.”  Rick pulls two eggs out of the uncracked carton and cracks them one at a time into the bowl, “again….Bobby Dean…” he drops in the first egg, tossing the shell over his shoulder, “…and Doozer,” he says as the second slips into the bowl.  He drops in an eyeballed amount of vanilla extract, and then continues whisking.

“We’re gonna keep whisking this together, and in just a moment we should have that melted choc–“

“You mean now?”  Asks Woodson, gently stirring the other pot.

“Yeah, get that shit on in here!  Pour it on in this bowl, all thick and gooey…”  Rick narrates as Woodson adds the chocolate to the mixture while Rick continues whisking.

“You wanna make sure you’re getting the air in here as you whisk, that’s what makes your batter nice and smooth.  Now once you have all this mixed together, you’re gonna switch from this,” Rick holds up the whisk after tapping it on the edge of the bowl, tossing it over his shoulder behind him, “to this!” He produces a rubber spatula from under the counter.

“Woodson, you wanna turn on the oven over there to 350 degrees?  We need to make sure it’s ready to go when we get this shit all ready to go in the pan!”

Woodson does as directed, then returns with a quick thumbs up to Rick.  Rick picks up a package of flour, handing it to his cooking assistant before smiling into the camera.

“Now we get the flour, salt, and cocoa powder together…so, Woodson, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Woodson grabs the adds in the ¾ cup of flour as Rick gently folds it into the wet mixture.  As the flour folds in, it starts to resemble batter…gooey, with a little body.  Woodson tosses in the ¼ cup of cocoa powder, and dumps in the half teaspoon of salt.  Rick continues folding the ingredients together, the mixture becoming a viscous, smooth amalgamation, dripping off the spatula as Rick holds it up above the bowl.

“See that?  That’s what you wanna see!  Nice, smooth batter, not all clumpy and rough.  That’s gonna make gross, chewy spots in your brownies.  Now, the last thing we nerd here is some more chocolate chips inside here – what fat kid can resist chocolate chips, am I right?!”

Woodson takes the remainder of the bag of chocolate chips and dumps them into the bowl as Rick continues folding the ingredients together.  After a few more folds, Rick motions to the pan Woodson lined with parchment paper.

“Now, we need to add this mixture into that lovely pan so we can get this all into the oven!  Then, all we need is thirty minutes, and we’ll have some lovely baked brownies…WITHOUT my favorite special ingredient.”

Rick taps the two beat up margarine containers with a smile.

“See, Woodson?  I don’t ALWAYS make pot brownies!”

“Sure… say whatever you want, I’m still not eating anything you have a hand in baking.” Quips back Woodson as Ricks nods understandingly.

“So, we dump this into the pan, and then we let it settle…” Rick slowly pours the mixture into the paper lined pan, scraping the sides of the bowl with the rubber spatula, “and then, right in the oven on the middle rack…Woodson?”

The COO takes the pan over to the waiting oven and slides it in, closing the door gently.

“So after about 30 minutes at 350 degrees, your brownies should come out of the oven looking a bit like this…”

Rick reaches into a second oven, retrieving a pan with a dishrag protecting his hand.  Smelling the pan, he stares into the camera with an exaggerated “Mmmmmmm!”

Suddenly, Gordon Ramsay comes strolling back onto the set, looking between Woodson and Rick.

“Right, you said thirty minutes, it’s been thirty minutes…are you about fucking done?  Can I get on with MY program then?  Yeah?”

Rick shrugs, setting the pan down on the counter, looking between Woodson and Ramsay before blurting out “You know what would make this even better?  If you’d maybe…try my brownies, chef?  Tell Doozer and Bobby Dean what they’re in for?” Asks Rick with baited breath that Gordon Ramsay might actually try something he’s cooked.

“Oh, fuck me,” exclaims Ramsay, “just give me some and then maybe you can fuck off and let me get to work!”

Rick lifts a piece of the brownie out of the pan and plops it onto a waiting plate, though it sounds almost fake, maybe rubbery.  Pushing the plate over to Ramsay, Rick watches as he attempts to spear it with a fork to no avail – the brownie on the plate is indeed made of plastic!

“Are you fucking DAFT?!  THIS IS A FUCKING CHILDREN’S TOY!! Who the fuck taught you to bake, fucking Fisher-Price?!”

Rick looks at Ramsay, clearly devastated at the criticism.

“Jeez, bud…we had to use the magic of television…you didn’t have to be so mean about it, eh?”

“Jesus fucking christ, are you going to use the magic of television to get yourself a brain too, you fucking wanker?” Ramsay exclaims.

Rick shoots a look to Woodson, “Hey, I thought brain jokes were off the table, guy!”

“You fu… “ Pauses Woodson for a second as he tries to calm himself down…

“Nah, fuck it.  You fucking little shit!  You wanna pretend to be some kind of bad-ass?  I’ll fucking gut you right here in this kitchen and have Rick here stuffing your intestines with your own ground up flesh to make little Gordon Ramsay sausages.  How ya think those will taste?”

“My guess is a bit salty.” Answers Rick as Woodson nods his head agreeing.

“Just get the fuck off my set….” A defeated Ramsay again pleads as Woodson backs down from his murderous threats.

“And with that, thanks for watching the first… and likely last episode of Baking with HATE.” Admits Woodson as Rick looks over a bit puzzled.

“You don’t think ABC or maybe even Netflix will pick us up?”

Both Woodson and Ramsay shake their heads “no” at Rick.

“But if you want to see us crack two more eggs… tune in to Refueled this Saturday night, here on HOTv when HATE takes on The Egg Bandits…” Pitches Woodson before Rick jumps back in…

“That’s if Bobby Dean makes it to the ring.  As Gordon Ramsay can attest, these brownies are irresistible.”

“Oh fuck off now… I ain’t said the slightest thing like that.  You tried to feed me a plastic toy.” Complains Ramsay as Woodson and Rick just ignore him and carry on as if he just confirmed their comments.

“The fun is over guys.” Now warns Woodson as he reaches under the counter and pulls out one more surprise… his barbed wire hockey stick.

“What in the bloody hell is that?” Asks Ramsay as he takes a few steps back from two men who he is finally realizing have screws loose in their heads.

“It’s now time to start extracting some revenge.  I let you get the jump on us last week.  I should have seen the faux coma coming.  But trust me… Bobby, Doozer… Jiles… I won’t make the same mistake this week.  I’m walking out of Refueled with a pound of flesh… and one damn good reason to have HATE in that Tag Team Title match come War Games.  Just try guys… just try and test my limits.  See just how far Scott Woodson is willing to go to get what he wants….” Warns Woodson… a chill in his eyes as Rick almost marvels at the beauty of the famous hockey stick.

“See you guys Saturday!” Waves Rick as the camera starts to pan out while some generic exit music starts to play.  We start to hear a bad cut job of a fake audience clapping while we see Rick try to offer Ramsay another bite of the plastic toy brownies that he smacks away right before the HATE logo flashes across the screen one more time.