He rubbed his neck. The studio lights were making him hot and bothered and he was regretting his decision to wear shirt and tie. He wished he could loosen the tie, but the cameras were on him and the audience watching him.
‘This one if for you, Rupert,’ the quizmaster, said. ‘What is the main religion of Costa Rica?’
As for the religion of Costa Rica; you can’t chop, grill or flambé religion so he wasn’t interested. Chopping. That’s what he wished he was doing; chopping vegetables. He should be in his kitchen cooking something amazing. He shouldn’t be suffering the sweltering studio lights, or be feeling hundreds of eyes piercing into him. Neither should he be with these people who by their lack of knowledge of food showed themselves to be more celebrity than chef.
‘I need an answer from you,’ the quizmaster, urged. ‘I’ll repeat the question. What’s the main religion of Costa Rica?’
There was that stupid question again. He didn’t care about Costa Rica.
‘I need an answer from you. What’s the main religion of Costa Rica?’ the quizmaster
‘How the hell would I know? I’m a chef,’ Rupert snapped.