“You’re sure?” Harriet said.
“Sure as death and taxes.”
“Everyone dies,” Mad pointed out. “But not everyone pays their taxes.”
“Aren’t you a precocious little thing,” the secretary said, her voice suddenly irritated. But before Madeline could offer some statistics on tax evasion, the quartet launched into the Supper at Six theme song and the secretary disappeared into the ether. From off to the left, Madeline watched as Walter Pine settled into a cloth-backed chair. He gave a nod, then a camera rolled into position, then a man wearing headphones gave a thumbs-up. As the song reached its final measures, a familiar figure strode like a president to the podium, her head held high, posture erect, hair aglow under the bright lights.
* * *
—
Madeline had seen her mother in a thousand different ways—first thing in the morning, last thing at night, leaning away from a Bunsen burner, peering into a microscope, facing off with Mrs. Mudford, frowning into a powder-filled compact, coming out of the shower, gathering her in her arms. But she had never seen her mother like this—never, ever like this. Mom! she thought, her heart swelling with pride. Mommy!
“Hello,” Elizabeth said. “My name is Elizabeth Zott, and this is Supper at Six.”
The secretary was right. There was something about the lights, the way they revealed things that the grainy black and white at home could not.
“It’s steak night,” Elizabeth said, “which means we’ll be exploring the chemical composition of meat, specifically focusing on the difference between ‘bound water’ and ‘free water’ because—and this may surprise you,” she said, picking up a large slab of top sirloin, “—meat is about seventy-two percent water.”
“Like lettuce,” Harriet whispered.
“Obviously not like lettuce,” Elizabeth said, “which contains far more water—up to ninety-six percent. Why is water important? Because it’s the most common molecule in our bodies: sixty percent of our composition. While our bodies can go without food for up to three weeks, without water, we’re dead in three days. Four days max.”
From the audience came a murmur of distress.
“Which is why,” Elizabeth said, “when you think about fueling your body, think water first. But now, back to meat.” She picked up a large, sleek knife, and while demonstrating how to butterfly a hunk of meat, launched into the steak’s vitamin content, explaining not only what the body did with its iron, zinc, and B-vitamins, but why protein was critical to one’s growth. She then explained what percentage of the water in the muscle tissue existed as free molecules, ending with what she obviously thought were exciting definitions of free and bound water.
Throughout her explanation, the studio audience remained rapt—no coughing, no whispering, no crossing and uncrossing of legs. If there was one sound, it was only the occasional scratching of pen on paper as people took notes.
“Time for station identification,” Elizabeth said, acknowledging a cue from the cameraman. “Stay with us, won’t you?” Then she put the knife down and strode off the set, pausing briefly as the makeup woman pressed a sponge to her forehead and patted down a few loose hairs.
Madeline turned to take in the audience. They sat nervously, impatient for Elizabeth Zott to reappear. She felt a small pang of jealousy. She suddenly realized she had to share her mother with a lot of other people. She didn’t like it.
* * *
—
“After you’ve rubbed your steak with a halved clove of fresh garlic,” Elizabeth said a few minutes later, “sprinkle both sides of the meat with sodium chloride and piperine. Then, when you notice the butter foaming”—she pointed to a hot cast-iron skillet—“place the steak in the pan. Be sure and wait until the butter foams. Foam indicates that the butter’s water content has boiled away. This is critical. Because now the steak can cook in lipids rather than absorb H2O.”
As the steak sizzled, she removed an envelope from her apron pocket. “While that’s cooking, I wanted to share with you all a letter I received from Nanette Harrison in Long Beach. Nanette writes, ‘Dear Mrs. Zott, I’m a vegetarian. It’s not for religious reasons—it’s just that I don’t think it’s very nice to eat living things. My husband says the body needs meat and I’m being stupid, but I just hate thinking an animal has given up its life for me. Jesus did that and look what happened to him. Sincerely yours, Mrs. Nanette Harrison, Long Beach, California.’