Recipe for a Delicious Life: Discover the Perfect Blend of Food & Music to Stimulate

Chapter Four

A Taste of Celebrity Life Behind the Scenes

THE FIRST TIME we met, Bob Hope kissed me twice and said, “Don’t tell my wife!”

I had found my way to his Toluca Lake-area home with the directions from Chris, my new agent in Los Angeles, but at first I thought I must have gone to the wrong door. It was opened by Dennis, the Hopes’ personal manager, who invited me in. I stepped into the kitchen, and there sitting at a table was the legendary comedian and actor himself.

He greeted me, and then looked curious when I replied.

“Where are you from?” he asked, having noted my Hebrew accent overshadowing the English words I spoke.

When I told him I was from Israel, he beamed. Jumping up from the table, he came over and kissed me on both cheeks in affection. Having jokingly told me not to tell his wife, Dolores, he clapped his hands in delight.

“I love Israel,” he declared. “When your country was just born, I came and sang for your soldiers. I fell in love with your country and your people. I support Israel every year.”

As we were speaking, Dolores came into the room and Bob told her about my background. She smiled and then asked me a few questions.

Almost before I knew it, they said, “We want to hire you.” They told Dennis to work out the details for my contract, which would be for several months while their usual chef was unavailable because of a family situation.

I didn’t know much about the celebrity chef world, but I did realize this swift process was rather unorthodox. There’s usually a longer interview and some sort of demonstration of your cooking skills required.

When Dennis asked me what my fee was I was caught flat-footed. I did not know I should have referred him to Chris for these details, so I plucked a figure out of the air. I knew it was pretty high, but Dennis made clear quite how much.

“That’s more than the permanent chef makes,” he said. “But they really seemed to like you, so I’m going to go and ask them. Wait here.”

Five minutes later he was back.

“You’ve got the position,” he told me.

Determined to make a good impression, I decided to beautify Dolores’s first breakfast tray. I went out into the garden, where there was an incredible array of rose bushes for which the Hopes were famous. Dolores loved roses, retaining a gardener to care for the hundreds they grew on the property and hosting tours of their collection to raise money for charity.

Some of the Hopes’ other staff were horrified when they learned that I had clipped one of Dolores’s beloved flowers. They warned me not to set it on her tray, but I felt it gave the setting a little flourish so I went ahead anyway.

Dolores never said a word about the “transgression” when I brought in her food. So every day after that I would clip a fresh rose to decorate the tray. Only one time did she comment, telling me I could cut from any of the bushes except the one bearing a rare black flower. I made sure to steer clear of that one.

A Little Chutzpah

Leaving that first celebrity position with the Hope family at the end of my contract with a glowing letter of recommendation, I had also learned a lot about how to work with and for wealthy and famous clients.

…the importance of a certain amount of chutzpah, the Yiddish way of describing a little bit of cheekiness or audacity.

One lesson was the importance of a certain amount of chutzpah, the Yiddish way of describing a little bit of cheekiness or audacity. I was always respectful of my clients, but I was not intimidated by them. My attitude was that I was there to serve them, but I was not their servant. I expected them to treat me courteously as I did them. For the most part that was my experience.

This refusal to be overawed by people of stature goes way back to my childhood. I was around four years of age when Yoram came to collect me from kindergarten class one day and we noticed all sorts of activity outside a house we walked by every day on the way home. There were many vehicles parked alongside the road and people standing all around.

I asked Yoram what was going on. He said that David Ben-Gurion, Israel’s beloved first Prime Minister, had come from Jerusalem to visit the friends of ours who lived there.

“I want to see him!” I said. “I want to see him!”

Yoram took me to the front door and we knocked. We were greeted by the woman of the house who asked what we wanted.

“My sister wants to see David Ben-Gurion,” Yoram told her.

“All right,” she said, surprising us both. “Do you want to see him too?”

Yoram said no, that he would wait outside. The woman took me by the hand and walked me into a rear room where Ben-Gurion was sitting with his wife and several other people. I don’t know whether it was some sort of a government meeting, or just an informal gathering.

After I had been introduced, Paula Ben-Gurion looked at my skinny frame and said, “I see that you don’t like to eat.” Then she sat me on her husband’s lap and proceeded to feed me pita bread dipped in hummus and eggplant salad.

My visit lasted only a few minutes, but something about being welcomed and accepted even though I might have been considered an interruption must have stuck with me. I have never since been nervous in the presence of famous people.

That chutzpah was how I came to spoon-feed Mariah Carey during my interview and end up touring the world with her—even teaching her to dance to the traditional Israeli folk song “Hava Nagila” along the way.

Over the Rainbow

I got a call from my agent, Chris, telling me Mariah’s people were looking for a private chef to join the singer on her world tour in 2000 in support of her latest album release, Rainbow, which was to begin soon.

I was one of several candidates being considered, and spoke about my background and experience in the interview. At some point, something just welled up inside me and I said, “All I want is to take care of Mariah.” That spontaneous comment must have struck a chord, because the next thing I knew, I had been given the job.

Before finalizing things, I had to meet Mariah, naturally. I waited quite some time, as she was busy finalizing some video work, but eventually she came to say hello. I was familiar with her music, and knew that she was a true superstar. But I immediately found her to be very friendly and warm.

We chatted pleasantly for a while, and she told me she would like to sample some of my food before making a final decision. “I love everything,” she told me, “except curry powder. Don’t give me curry.”

“Right,” I replied. “Madame Carey does not like curry!”

She laughed.

The next day I returned with a fresh serving of my famous roasted red and yellow pepper soup, something I thought would be the right balance of flavorful and nutritious.

With the tour starting soon, Mariah was caught up in a flurry of last-minute preparations. I was ushered in to where she was working, but she was distracted by all the demands being made of her.

If it gets too cold it just isn’t going to taste the same, I thought. She needs to try it while it is still warm.

Drawing close with the bowl, I dipped the spoon into it and held it to Mariah’s lips as she looked at a computer screen. She took a sip, then another.

“It tastes sweet,” she said, turning to me with a smile. “Just like you.” I was hired.

In my Rainbow tour travels I got to see Mariah close up. Though she exuded confidence and charisma on stage, away from the lights she could be quiet, almost shy. Partly she had to conserve her energy for the next show. There would be days when she needed to rest her voice and would communicate only by writing notes.

With around one hundred and fifty people as part of the Rainbow tour crew, two big trucks were needed each time we landed to transport all the luggage to the hotel. My main job was to provide lunch and dinner—something light enough not to leave her feeling heavy and tired but with enough nutrition to sustain her through a demanding performance—and some simple snacks for the green room. Mariah ate a lot of vegetables, with salmon and saltwater fish as her favorites, along with my signature frittatas.

I would be given the run of the kitchens of the five-star hotels in which we stayed, with a chauffeur to take me out to buy whatever ingredients I wanted and a “spend what you need to” credit card. Then I would serve Mariah in her private suite. Often she would ask me to sit with her as she ate, and she would tell me about her life, and growing up.

After the Applause

Though concerts and appearances are physically draining, they also leave performers on an adrenaline high afterward, when it can be hard to come down. I’d often serve herbal teas to help soothe wired nerves. Chamomile was especially calming, I found.

Entertainers will often be very hungry after finishing a show and giving of themselves so physically, but I learned they needed something light, not heavy like pasta. After I had served The Kelly Family post-show, I would make sure that only quiet, relaxing music was playing in the background, to help bring them down, rather than sounds that kept them amped up.

One night on the Rainbow tour after one of the concerts, my room phone rang. It was Mariah.

“Honey,” she said, “I cannot go to sleep. Could you please make me one of your special egg dishes?”

Dressing quickly, I went down to the kitchen and got busy with the eggs and made one of my famous frittatas, which I knew Mariah enjoyed. When I arrived with the food she wanted some company. I enjoyed my time with her, and we sat for an hour or so chatting.

As with all my other clients, I felt that I was not just feeding Mariah’s body but feeding her soul too. I wanted her to feel good about herself and the world, believing that when she was feeling at her best she could offer her best.

The way good food prepared with love and care can bring joy and togetherness was sweetly illustrated for me when the Rainbow tour reached Italy.

We were staying at Milan’s renowned Four Seasons Hotel when Mariah decided she wanted to cook her personal staff a special meal. That inner-circle group included her manager, her stylists, video editor, and me.

Mariah chose her specialty—pasta with clams. As her “sous chef” I enjoyed cooking with her and helping with the preparations. Then she diligently finished things off and served all of us. The intimate gathering put us all in a fun, silly mood. At one point, I asked Mariah why, if she was from Queens, she did not speak with any hint of a New York accent?

“You want New York?” She chuckled and launched into a lengthy monologue in the city’s most striking tones.

Then she turned to me.

“Z,” she said, using the affectionate nickname she gave me, “you’re from Israel. Can you sing something in Hebrew? I’d really like to hear it.”

Without stopping to think that I was singing in front of someone with one of the most wonderful voices in the world, I opened my mouth and started to sing:

Hava nagila

Hava nagila ve-nismeha

I stood up to demonstrate the familiar, joyous steps that go with the song. Mariah and the others stood to join in, and soon we were all dancing and laughing. Then my voice cracked between notes, and we all laughed some more.

As I got to know her better, I took on responsibility for meeting more of Mariah’s personal needs. When we arrived at a new hotel, I would make sure the pillows in her room were of the right thread count, her favorite wine was chilling in the fridge, the flowers just so, and the humidifiers were running properly to protect her voice.

Such attention to detail may make celebrities sound high maintenance, and some can be very particular. But remember that as the center of a major business operation they have a very stressful position, so I have always felt anything I can do to help ease that is not only caring for them personally but in some way for all the other people who are part of their world.

Being part of a world-famous artist’s inner circle opened the door to all kinds of experiences. On Mariah’s Rainbow tour I was able to fulfill a long-held dream of visiting Tokyo’s renowned Tsukiji fish market. The largest fish and seafood market in the world, famed especially for its tuna, with its nearly one thousand stalls it’s almost like a small city, vibrating with activity, humming with noise, and swirling with smells.

My driver took me there before sunrise, to see Tsukiji at its busiest. There seemed to be every variety of fish possible there—and some I did not even recognize. It was fascinating to see the fresh catches of tuna being auctioned.

Among the market’s attractions is a celebrated sushi bar. It doesn’t look much to the casual passerby—small, with room for maybe only a dozen or so people. You don’t get to choose, you just eat what you are presented with. But people wait for up to two hours to be served. It’s worth every moment, I can testify.

I’ve enjoyed some good sushi in the United States in my time, and consider myself a bit of a connoisseur, but I have never tasted any like that I enjoyed at Tsukiji. Just one of the perks of life as a celebrity chef.

Keeping the Stars Shining

Over time, I almost became part of the family with some of my clients. That was never more true than with The Kelly Family, with whom I lived and traveled more than any other client.

Our time together included three months at famed Chateau Miraval in the south of France, an estate with its own recording studio and vineyard later owned by Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie. We stayed there while the band recorded an album in the studio, also used by the likes of the Gypsy Kings, Pink Floyd, Sade, and Sting. I especially enjoyed preparing meals featuring some of the many delicious cheeses from the region, and matching them with wine from the chateau’s own grounds.

Spending so much time together in one place, away from the busy schedule of the road, we grew even closer, and the Kellys all became very dear to me. Our fond relationship was broadcast live in Germany one time when we appeared on a daytime television show. Loved all over Europe, where they would often be mobbed when out in public, the Kellys were superstars in Germany, and we had been asked into the studio for a segment about how they lived and ate on the road.

I was supposed to demonstrate how I prepared their favorite fresh Irish soda bread, a delicious whole wheat brown loaf. All was going well until one of the siblings, Maite, playfully tossed flour in my face. Without thinking, I threw some back at her, and then there we all were, having a fun food fight on German television.

Being able to read just what my clients needed from me to succeed in eating healthily was important. They differed in the way they received motivation. For some it was the friendly encouragement of a friend or older sister. For others I needed to be more of their Jewish momma or a firm schoolteacher.

Learning the dietary requirements of the different artists I worked with was a bit like being a tailor, trimming the fabrics to fit their unique person.

One time I caught a client, who was on a strict eating program to hit a deadline for getting in shape, with a donut in their hand. Then I found contraband pudding in the fridge. I scolded them in a good-natured way, but made it clear that I was there to help them succeed. I also threatened to increase my fee if they didn’t keep on track. I don’t know whether it was the telling off or the fear of being “fined,” but they accepted my tough love message.

Learning the dietary requirements of the different artists I worked with was a bit like being a tailor, trimming the fabrics to fit their unique person. I’d consult with their doctor and nutritionist if they had a strict health or fitness regime they were following. From there it was a mix of science and art, avoiding foods before a performance that might leave the client feeling parched, or bloated, or gassy. That ruled out spicy foods, which constrict the throat, or things like tomatoes or oranges, which are known for pinching the vocal chords.

Some preferred to stick to tried-and-true menus, while others liked to be more adventurous. Seal was working on a new CD in the state-of-the-art personal recording studio he had in his Hollywood home when I was contracted to provide lunch and dinner daily for him and his crew, for a season. He wanted something different every meal, which stretched my creativity.

I served everything from Indian to Mediterranean cuisine. He must have been happy with what I came up with, because he then asked me to cater a weekly, Friday night dinner at which he hosted some of the music industry’s leading figures. One time I decided to prepare about twenty-five small lobsters, and he offered to help. He told me stories about his childhood as we sat together in the kitchen cracking the shells.

The kitchen adjoined the studio, which led to an amusing incident. In the afternoons, Seal would be visited by a man and I’d hear the strangest noises coming through the wall. It sounded for all the world like someone was trying to kill a cow, or some kind of tribal ritual.

One afternoon, the visitor came into the kitchen for some reason, and we chatted a little. My curiosity got the better of me, and I knew I had to take the opportunity to find out.

“What was all the noise about?” I asked. “Was it some kind of incantation or ancient credo?”

“Oh no.” The man laughed. “I’m a vocal coach. That’s one of the exercises we do.”

For all his openness to variety, there was one thing about which Seal was very definite—his afternoon tea. He knew just how he wanted his “cuppa” to be prepared. On my first day working with him he explained about boiling the water and how long to let the tea leaves steep before pouring.

One day I got distracted and left the tea leaves in too long. But there was no time to throw it away and make a fresh cup, so I decided to serve it up and hope for the best. A little later he came and told me that had been the best cup I’d ever made. So much for routine.

While I thoroughly enjoyed working with celebrity clients, over time I found the constant demands beginning to wear on me. I was so focused on caring for them and making sure they were doing well that I was not looking after myself enough. Long days ensuring they were eating healthily and looking and feeling good left me tired. Gradually my weight increased, until one day I realized I was now a size sixteen.

I was horrified. I recognized that I wasn’t living what I was “preaching” to others. Some people think the round, jolly chef is the ultimate advertisement for their food, but not me. I knew I needed to live more consistently with what I believed and encouraged in others.

About the same time, I was asked whether I would like to be the private chef for singer Mick Jagger. It was a great opportunity, and I knew the Rolling Stones frontman seriously cared for his health and weight, and would be someone great to work with. But I also knew I needed to take some time out to focus on myself.

Leaving Los Angeles, I moved to Scottsdale, Arizona, to regroup. With the support and encouragement of good friends, I spent time taking better care of myself and studying more about dietary health. Refreshed and refocused, I developed a more comprehensive philosophy and approach to food and health that could be attainable by anyone, even if they didn’t have a private chef.