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ALTHOUGH INITIALLY I hadn’t been in favor of Ricky trying out for this crazy cooking show Rising Chefs, I appreciated driving into Brooklyn with Ricky and Brian on Saturday for his audition. It got me away from what had turned into the near constant news coverage of Celeste Cantor’s arrest and the revelations about the Land Sharks.

Ricky hadn’t said much on the drive over. The normally personable and chatty teenager gazed out at the cityscape and kept his thoughts to himself. I’d already given him the “I’m proud of you no matter what” speech. I just wanted him to have some fun.

The studio was in a new five-story building in Brooklyn Heights, not far from the bridge. The lobby alone was awe-inspiring, with forty-foot ceilings, enormous potted trees, and modern art placed strategically around the atrium.

As we signed in at the security desk and walked back toward the studio, I realized what a big deal this was. There was a huge staff and things were busy. I would have said things were “cooking,” but I didn’t want to become Walter Jackson with the puns.

A production assistant led us to the studio where Rising Chefs would be filmed. The lighting immediately caught my eye. It was soothing but also illuminated everything well. I wished I could replicate it in our apartment. Nearly a dozen workers scurried around the set, making sure everything was just right.

As soon as we stepped into the studio, I noticed that the other participants had their mothers with them. Mostly younger mothers. All of them attractive mothers. The actual participants were a mix of male and female.

I turned to the young woman who’d led us to the studio. “Think I missed the memo that said no dads or big brothers allowed?”

She smiled. Then she cut her eyes back and forth to make sure no one was listening before she said, “Chef Gino appreciates pretty women. Sometimes when these young chefs miss out on their first auditions, they and their mothers get invited back to try again.” She smiled, but I sensed she wasn’t happy with the situation. That might’ve been why she’d confessed it to me. As far as I was concerned, it made Chef Gino sound creepy.

Luckily, we’d been out of earshot of Ricky. He was still excited and interested in starting the show.

After a while, the stage manager clapped his hands and got everyone’s attention. Each teen chef was given ingredients and told to make a simple Italian red sauce using any of the vegetables at their workstations.

Brian and I were allowed to stand near Ricky while he put his sauce together. The filming wouldn’t start until after this ex ercise. The stage manager said something about first making sure each of the young chefs knew how to use spices and the ingredients to the best effect.

I noticed other kids using their phones to check recipes. Some were even clearly getting coached by their moms, which we’d been told was against the rules, but no one from the staff seemed to really care. Ricky just jumped in. He used a sharp knife to chop onions, tomatoes, green peppers, and fresh garlic at a speed that worried me. When he was done, I glanced over to make sure all of his fingers were still attached.

After about forty-five minutes, he let Brian and me have a taste of his sauce. It was fantastic. I gave him a thumbs-up and hoped he’d make it again for Sunday dinner.

Everyone knew when Chef Gino stepped into the studio. The larger-than-life TV star tasted several of the sauces as he made his way down the line. I noticed he did tend to linger near pretty moms. I still didn’t think it would be an issue.

Ricky stepped up and introduced himself to Chef Gino. Gino shook his hand, glanced at me and Brian, then tasted the sauce. He smacked his lips and acted like he was a sommelier sampling a rare red wine.

Gino looked at Ricky and said, “Where’d you learn to cook?”

“At home.”

“You never went to any schools or took any classes?”

“No, sir.”

“It shows.”

That shocked me. I figured out he was an overcritical ass, but this was too much. All three of us just stared at the overweight chef. I was at a loss for words.

Gino said, “You clearly have only a rudimentary understanding of spices. Plus you used way too many onions. The sauce has an acid taste, and the tomato-to-salt ratio is way off. You really think you’ll be able to compete on a show like this?”

Now Ricky looked a little shaky. “I … I … I guess so.”

Gino raised his voice. “You guess so? You know how many kids want to come on this show? You just wasted a spot for some promising young chef.”

I was about to intervene when Brian took the lead. He stepped forward and stiff-armed Gino. Even though the chef was almost twice my son’s girth, Brian backed him up a few paces.

Brian kept his voice low and even but stern. He didn’t want to attract attention. “Who the hell do you think you are? You’re supposed to build kids’ confidence, not shatter their dreams. That sauce is outstanding. Ricky is outstanding. You’re just a fat blowhard with some kind of complex. You apologize to my brother right now.”

It wasn’t lost on me that none of the staff had rushed to help Gino. Either it had happened before or they all felt he deserved it. The other kids—and moms—were all looking on silently. For his part, Gino looked scared, but he didn’t say anything.

Brian repeated, “Apologize to my brother. You better do it right now.”

Gino gave Brian a little nod. He turned to Ricky and said, “Your brother is right. I shouldn’t have been so harsh.”

It wasn’t much of an apology. Brian forced the big chef back another step. Gino stumbled over a step stool and hit the carpeted floor with a profound thud. He just sat there like his bulk was balancing him on the floor.

Brian looked at me and said, “We should probably leave.”

I said, “I agree.”

Ricky slipped off his apron and casually tossed it onto his workstation. Brian and I followed him out of the building silently. Once we were outside, Ricky turned to Brian and said, “Thanks, Brian. I needed you to stand up for me so I could stand up for myself. I know now that that guy’s full of crap. I’d rather the family like my cooking than the whole world.”

The smile that spread across my face was so wide it physically hurt for a moment.