17/08/2025
Happy Sunday!
Helen Mirren and a Cheese Omelette
2003
Helen Mirren was petite. Of course she was. Movie stars seem big on a movie screen. She was wearing a pair of purple cotton pedal pushers, a light sweater and black flats. Not a whisper of makeup on her face and hair pulled into a short ponytail.
When she’s brought to the set for rehearsal, every single crew member has formed a circle. They have left their jobs to watch Helen. In the kitchen of an old mansion in Hancock Park, I witness the shadows of the crew sneaking behind faux pillars, huge flower arrangements and stylish oversized furniture, trying to peek. 100 sets of eyes are on Helen.
And on me, only because I was standing next to her. Helen draws an audience. And she hasn’t starred in The Queen or won an Oscar yet, but Hollywood knows Helen Mirren. Highly respected, and here working alongside us on a pilot.
The job call came to me from a prop man I’d worked with for a decade. Robert was happy to dump all the food from his list on us. Food can be a nightmare for the art department. Real food moves, discolors, burns, settles and, sometimes, stinks. It can create a scene and, also, inadvertently choke the talent.
Once a producer told me, “Easier to dance with a drunk monkey than shoot a big food scene.” I told him, “No, you just need to hire the right stylist.”
I look back now and think it was a simpler time, I was younger, braver, full of hope…and still had nice thighs. Now, as a jaded old crone, I know a million things can go wrong. And do.
This project was a primetime pilot, with a big shot director, hot off a money record-breaking film, but his first time working in TV. Boundary lines between film and TV work were blurring. I did recognize his name; he was known for his relentless attention to detail and need for perfection. A mad genius, he was called in People Magazine.
Robert mentions the director wants me to come in for a pre-production meeting—his assistant will call. Excellent, face to face, for the details.
On a famous movie lot with plush bungalows, polished wood tables, valets and a fancy water bar, I settled in for the meeting. The director, the supervising producer and me. I was passed a copy of the script pages for the breakfast scene. I could make notes and take the pages with me if I promised not to tell anyone. There would be NDAs from the production office to sign on the day of the shoot.
I gulped. I promised. It’s just breakfast, right?
Acting out all the parts in vivid detail, the director set up the scene for me.
“We are in Washington DC, a wealthy Senator’s wife is making breakfast, a perfect cheese omelette. A background table is beautifully set with exotic fruit and overflowing baskets of croissants, muffins, a rich assortment. The Senator’s wife greets her beautiful but hungover daughter arriving home and walking into the kitchen, the peaceful beauty of her morning is broken.”
I interject “Might there also be fresh flowers in a small vase and the dishes are china, right? Gold rimmed maybe cream color? So, the omelette pops?”
“Yes.” murmurs the mad genius, he was excited now. He was sparkling like the Waterford crystal juice glasses we both imagined.
I brought our portfolio omelette pictures. Herb. Cheese. Bacon and vegetable. American. French roll. Open-faced. Frittata. “Please choose.”
“Cheddar cheese! That’s a bright orange color!” He shouts. His creativity couldn’t be denied.
I made notes about several strawberries on the plate, maybe a small toast point and the “just cooked and styled omelette” sleekly slipping onto the plate from the polished copper omelette pan. One easy movement for the talent.
A smallish American omelette—it will be folded not rolled. Only two eggs. We aren’t at Denny’s, and our Madame has gone to culinary school. I mention sautéed julienned vegetables are the way to go if he decides the omelette needs more interest for the camera.
In my mind, the meeting is almost done…I want to leave before traffic is any worse on Melrose…what? My new favorite director was wildly miming a pan; he wanted Helen to flip the omelette and “she’ll get it on the plate.”
Screeching brakes…I’m back…Does Helen know how to flip an omelette? Cooks flip pancakes not usually omelettes…How many minutes is this scene? This could take many more attempts, and maybe never really work. It would cost a lot more money. Okay, let’s talk, if the omelettes are premade…It’s a sure thing. I’ll have 3 or 4 perfect omelettes made and we just show the slide onto the plate.
“Free styling this will cost a lot more money,” I said. The producer is awakened. He was probably dreaming of leaving early too but now he’s awake…he’s keeping the budget.
I explained why more money. Because, with Helen making the omelette, WE are no longer in control. We might have to do 10 takes, 20 takes…and that’s if it all goes well…AND we get a recognizable omelette. This is going to take a lot more time.
Oh. Mad Genius said, “Okay, Denise, have several beautiful cheddar cheese omelettes made and bring extra eggs.”
“And pans, cheese, bowls, whisks, possible garnishes, a portable cooktop,” I squeezed in.
The producer broke out into hives and started to squirm in his seat. “Well, how much IS this all gonna cost!!? And please don’t buy anything you don’t need! This is just one tiny scene.” It’s always like this. Creativity versus budget. The producer told me again, “Don’t buy anything you don’t need!” I repeated my promise.
Everything outside was a mess when we arrived at the location the day of the shoot. Always is. Parking was scarce, neighbors already complaining about the congestion, private police arrived checking for permits, the talent trailers were scattered way too far away, walkie talkies needed more charging. Inside, barely enough room for three cameras and the ceiling too low for the boom/overhead camera….and every gardener in Hancock Park was using a leaf blower.
The sound man is already googly eyed with terror. Cindie and I were working in a maid’s room off the kitchen. No running water. Turned the twin bed into our prep table. I removed the very stainable bedspread and covered the bed with garbage bags. Those were probably flammable.
On a small table in the kitchen, out of the camera’s eye, I had beautifully styled cheddar cheese omelettes and several with colorful vegetables sprayed with PAM so they can’t dry out. Glossy, like they’ve just been cooked. Garnishes, herbs, toast, stacks of matching plates. Everything’s in order.
I had omelette pans, whole eggs and extra cheese at the stove. Helen was brought into place. We were introduced. Helen nodded.
Mad Genius loved the styled omelette and showed Helen. He then says “Helen, would you like to try making one?” Helen said nothing. It was a quick turnaround; I hated the Mad Genius now.
Helen proceeded to break a few eggs, I passed her a whisk, I turned on the heat, the pans are small non-stick not the tres chic copper, I’m not stupid.
I sensed Helen thought this was a waste of her energy. The omelette tore as she tried to retrieve it…and she forgot the cheese. It was grated in a prep bowl, but with her lines, camera blocking, lights…the cheese got lost.
Mad Genius yelled at me, “Denise, more cheese!” I was at the ready with several bags of grated cheddar. We could do 20 takes if we needed to. I was prepared!
I was shocked to hear Helen’s loud voice, almost booming…she was looking at me. Directly at me. “Oh, no, not that horrible orange American cheese!”
“No, not American this is cheddar,” My voice was almost a whimper. I was perfectly still with my bags of cheese, standing in front of the entire crew. I was hit by a bus I never saw coming.
Helen went on to tell me, the director, the producer, and the entire crew, “I must only use PAR-MA-SAN!” Her accent makes PAR-MA-SAN seem even more elegant.
Helen went into hair and makeup, and I sent the producer’s assistant with his petty cash to the closet grocery store for PAR-MA-SAN cheese. I told the assistant to buy a lot and the most expensive. No cheap PAR-MA-SAN for THIS omelette.
We moved to final looks, and taping, very late in the day. Lighting director was now making the afternoon light look like morning light. Production ain’t easy.
We never did get Helen making the omelette. But the cameraman shot filled pans, empty pans, ingredients, the hero omelettes, Helen passing styled plates. We got enough coverage to make it work in editing.
A week later, when I turned in my invoice to the Mad Genius for his approval, he emailed me back to tell me all the food looked gorgeous. But he was now reworking the script, the pilot, recasting the daughter, the location, dialogue and maybe the breakfast scene. But he’d call me soon.
He thanked me.
I replied. “I see dead omelettes.”
