Cheetos: He was a PhD, in from London doing research on chefs, he asked if he could interview me for a piece he was doing. I was flattered. He was coming into Pollen to interview a few of the other chefs as well. When my turn came I went out, lipgloss on, hair tidy. Hope he is ready for eloquent perfection. I removed my apron and to my horror!!!!!!! one of the 87 Cheetos I had stuffed into my mouth seconds earlier, hadn't made the destination. It had fallen in my apron and was hiding and as I untied the strings, it fell on the floor, the doctor picked it up and put it on the table.

"Is that a Cheeto?"
"I guess so, no clue where that came from" (LIE)

then I look down at my shirt, and I had a cheesy belt imprint. That lone Cheeto, in a matter of minutes, had cheesed my shirt to an extent that a quick brush wasn't going to fix. I died. We started the interview. Things went fine, not sure I was the "eloquent perfection"I had hoped I would be, but I was me. He stood up to go, so did I, he thanked me for my time, I picked up the Cheeto off the table....the Cheeto that had been on the floor....and popped it in my mouth!

"Did you just eat the Cheeto?"
"Don't worry about it"

and then I walked quickly into the kitchen. So if you ever read an article about a chef who ate a Cheeto off the floor, that was me.